The Date (Magnolia Grove #2)

Chapter 4 - {Holden}

CAMMIE AND I could go on a date where all I did was watch her sleep, and I'd be completely content with that. Will I ever sleep if she's in the bed next to me? Of course, the better question is if she'll ever be in the bed next to me.

She doesn't even snore. She's the perfect sleeper.

She's the perfect everything.

Of course, if we're going on a date where I watch her sleep, it should be after I'm fully awake and have had copious amounts of coffee. I was so anxious to get over here, I didn't stop for some. I'd thought she would be hungry, and we could grab something together before I took her back to her place. It's not like I didn't warn her I was a greedy bastard, so I'm all about prolonging the time we spend together this morning.

She stretches and moans at the same time. Her lashes are fanned over her cheeks. She doesn't even flutter those pretty lids. She had makeup on last night. I told her she didn't need any of that shit in high school, but I think she ignored me just to piss me off. Last night, she was wearing it. It only enhanced her beauty because unlike a lot of these girls, she keeps it to a minimum. It's an enhancement, not an alteration. Whatever she had on last night is long gone, though. Her skin is flawless. I suck in a breath because, damn, I just can't even with her. Fuck my father for screwing this all up.

She moans again, and this time, she pulls the towel up and bunches it under her chin like it's a blanket. She snuggles it, and I wish it were me she was nuzzling. She just defeated the whole point of me putting that over her.

She's cute, but shit. Now what? I don't want to touch that one because I worry if I do, she'll wake. I tiptoe to the linen cabinet and pull out another towel. She was sound asleep when I got here, but clearly, she's not as out of it at this point. I don't want to wake her. Or scare her. Or have her wonder if I'd do anything to her while she's fucking asleep. That's sick. Instead of unfolding the towel completely, I just open it once before placing it over her. There.

When I'm done, I glance back up at her face, and her green eyes are on mine. She doesn't look shocked or upset. I haven't seen this expression on her face since I backed away from our almost kiss against her bathroom wall when we were teenagers. What does this mean? This woman confuses the hell out of me. "Morning, tigress." I grin.

She swallows. Her pulse is beating in her neck. Fast. She's frozen. Totally unmoved. I refuse to move, either, this time. She's going to have to finally tell me what she wants—what this face means—after all these years. Maybe if she'd told me back then, we wouldn't be where we are today. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to keep myself from kissing her, from touching her.

"How long have you been here?" she says.

That's not at all what I was hoping for. There's a part of me that wants to collapse back down in the chair and sigh, but I don't. I grip my chin in between my fingers, resting my elbow on my crossed arm as I give my head a shake. "That's not what that face means."

She sucks in a breath, her words falling out in barely a mumble, "What face?"

"Did you want me to kiss you in your bathroom?"

Her cheeks pink up, but she looks conflicted. "Holden."

I inch forward. "That's what you said then. Is that a yes or a no, tigress?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I did." It's like she thinks if she doesn't say it loud, it will make it okay because it's definitely not the right answer according to this shitastic situation we've managed to get ourselves in. She's always trying to halfway answer things or evade the question altogether, but that's not going to work anymore. Not when there's so much at stake.