Page 65 of The Quit List
Ugh. Her and Seb tell each other everything.
I nod.
She twists around again, then looks back at me with a brow raised. “You never told me she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Didn’t seem relevant,” I reply.
But it is relevant. Because tonight, Holly is wearing a short, dark red dress with a low neckline that shows a tantalizing hint of cleavage, coupled with strappy high-heeled sandals, and gold hoop earrings. There’s a red scarf tied in her hair, and her lips are the same glossy bubblegum pink as ever.
She looks good. Damn good.
But maybe not quite as good as she did the other day when she sat on my lap in that kayak, her head lolling against my chest. All I could think about for that whole paddle was how I hoped my heart wasn’t beating so loud and fast she could hear it.
Ever since that afternoon, when I close my eyes to sleep, all I see is her in that purple bikini. But it’s more than just her (admittedly incredibly sexy) body. It’s those brown eyes dancing with a mixture of contempt and mischief as she verbally spars with me. Her crazily messed-up wet hair and cheeks dripping with black mascara after she tipped over in the kayak and then immediately tried to solve the problem and right the boat.
She’s way more comfortable outside of her comfort zone than I think she realizes. A fighter.
And right now, as I watch another guy lean close to her as he laughs at something she’s said, I wonder if he sees this about Holly, too. If he’s giving her enough credit for the person she is.
“You’re totally jealous right now,” Maddie tells me, a delighted smile on her face.
“It’s not like that,” I reply. Which is true.
Because, yes. I like Holly. A lot. That much is clear to me—I’m not in complete denial of how I feel when I’m around her.
And yes, if things were different, I’d ask her out. Pursue something with her.
But I know that what I can offer her is so much less than what she’s looking for, and she deserves to find what she’s looking for. I’ll help her do it. I promised I’d help her do it.
I just don’t think Foot Man is the right guy for her.
Maddie sucks another sip of her gross lemonade through her straw. “I’ve never seen you jealous before.”
“I’m not jealous, Mads. I’m… helping her out.” I’m also distracted. Because over Maddie’s shoulder and behind the voluminous hair at table three, Foot Man has suddenly leaned in close to Holly and is whispering in her ear. Holly’s chin is tilted up as she listens, a small smile on her pink lips. I clear my throat. “I’m observing her date so I can offer her pointers later.”
At this, Maddie chokes on her drink, hacking and coughing. Alarmed, I reach out to pat her back. But luckily (unluckily for me), she recovers quickly. “I’m sorry. Did you say that you are giving her dating pointers?”
“That’s right.”
“And she thought you,” she pauses long enough to gesture vaguely towards me before continuing, “were qualified to do such a thing. You, one of the most commitment-phobic people I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not commitment-phobic.”
Maddie ignores me, wiggling her straw around her glass so the liquid is stirred up into a whirlpool. “I’ve never known you to go out of your way to help someone before. Let alone help them with their dating problems.”
“Why does everyone keep saying I never help people?” I grouch, my mind flying back to the night I met Holly and Dante’s shock at my stepping in.
“Because you mostly avoid people.”
All I can do is shrug. “Not at work. Listening to peoples’ woes is basically part of a bartender’s job description.”
“Doubt that you’re supposed to be jealous when they’re on dates with other people, though.” She widens her eyes at me. “I’m not sure it’s a good look on you, Jax.”
“Just for that, I’m cutting you off.” I whip the half-drunk lemonade away from her and dump it down the sink, smirking in satisfaction at her outraged expression.
“You total jerk?—”
“Hi!”