When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“I’ll say.” Holden went to the fridge and rummaged around. “Ah, perfect. Beer. You like beer, right? Or maybe something harder?”

“I’m driving. Beer’s fine.”

Whatever was happening tonight, I was not going to get drunk with Holden Parish. I’d already let things go further than imaginable. Losing control was not an option.

I shoved my hands in my tuxedo pants pockets. “You going to turn on a light or what?”

“I like it better in the dark,” Holden said with a wicked grin as he handed me a bottle of beer. He went to the living room where he glanced around in the dimness, searching until he found a minibar. “Ah, here we go. Be a pal and see if there are any olives in the fridge.”

“You don’t know?”

“Do I look like I go grocery shopping?” Holden asked, shaking vodka and ice in a silver mixer.

I found a jar of green olives in the stainless steel fridge. Just as I started to close it, the yellow light fell over a magnetized family photo on the other door. Mom, Dad, two kids, all with dark hair, all with white smiles beaming from brown skin as they posed in front of a golden temple surrounded by a huge pool of water. A little graphic ran across the bottom: Our trip home! Amritsar, India, Summer of 20—

“Fuck me.”

I shut the fridge door and rejoined Holden in the dim living room, sure that at any moment, spotlights were going to blare on us, and police would shout to put our hands up.

I shoved the olives at Holden. “You don’t live here, do you?”

“Never said I did.”

“Jesus Christ, are they home? Upstairs? What the—?”

“Relax,” he said, dropping an olive into his martini. “They’re on vacation for the next two weeks. My Aunt Mags is friends with the Sridhars and offered to water their plants while they’re away.”

“Dude…this is breaking and entering.”

“We’ve only entered. There’s been no breaking.”

“That’s not how that works.”

He took his cocktail to the sliding glass door that opened onto the patio. “Are you coming or not?”

I stood halfway between Holden and the front door. I could end this madness now and salvage the dance with Violet.

And go back to your plastic, pretend life.

I grabbed my beer off the bar counter and joined Holden.

He carefully set his martini on a small table and stretched his long form out on a lounger facing the pool. I sat on the edge of another lounger, still in my tux.

“Gorgeous night, don’t you think?” Holden said.

“Sure. Perfect for committing petty larceny.”

“No one’s losing their shit over a missing beer and a few olives.” He pondered his martini glass, turning it in the moonlight. “Though they might wonder where a few ounces of their Ciroc vodka has run off to. This stuff isn’t cheap but then again, we’re taking excellent care of their plants.”

“Do you break into people’s houses on the regular?”

“On occasion. It’s easier when the owners give you the security code but not as fun as slipping in unannounced. You’d be surprised at how many people leave a window unlocked.” He shot me a look. “Or their front door.”

“Why?”

“The thrill of it, mostly. And because I’ve only ever lived in a house and don’t know what a home looks like. And yours, River, is the homiest home to

ever home.”