Page 85 of The Quit List
Raquel goes on to perch on the sofa closest to me. “I can’t believe you’re taking my girl hiking. She’s a changed woman since she met you, I swear.” She looks behind her, like she’s checking for eavesdroppers, then lowers her voice anyway. “You’ve definitely helped her get over that awful Dylan thing, that’s for sure. It’s nice to see her happy again.”
This makes my heart clench a little. I play it off with a shrug. “Awh, I haven’t done much. It’s all Holly.”
“Either way, you’ve done a good thing.” She pats my arm affectionately. “She really likes you, you know.”
My brows shoot up. “Did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. It’s written all over her face.”
I’m not so sure about this statement, or about what exactly Raquel means by it. But I don’t have time to question it, because Holly suddenly reappears from the side door. “I’m here, I’m here!”
Rick makes an excited little snort and I stand to greet her… then do a double take.
Because Holly is wearing a freaking sports bra and matching spandex shorts.
She looks like she’s about to appear in an 80s music video or something. And while I’m not going to dwell on why I suddenly find throwback workout fashion a huge turn-on, I am very much going to dwell on the fact that her tiny little outfit is absolutely going to lead to a full-body sunburn. Not to mention make Holly a very tasty meal for the mosquitoes.
“What in the hell are you wearing?” I demand, forgetting all about my vow to never comment on women’s clothing again.
She glances down at her body, then back up at me, her expression confused. “Hiking gear.”
“I don’t know what you think hiking gear looks like, but I can tell you it’s certainly not that.”
“It’s Lululemon!”
“Lulu what now?”
Holly rolls her eyes, and I nod towards the backpack slung on her back. “I hope you’ve packed some proper clothing in there.”
“If you mean more hiking gear, then yes, I have.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “Didn’t I send you a packing list?”
“Yes, and I followed it to a T.” She kicks out her foot and I am relieved to see that she’s sporting what look to be sturdy hiking boots, at least.
I can’t help but smile to myself. I was nervous about how things would go with Holly after last week’s forehead-kiss situation, but as always, we’re leaning right back into our groove. A comfortable, familiar groove that I enjoy way more than I ever would’ve expected.
And so, I lean in even more, heaving a sigh. “I have some spare flannels you can borrow.”
“This is fine,” she says, lifting one bare shoulder.
“You’re going to freeze!”
“It’s, like, seventy-five degrees outside.”
“Not where we’re going, it’s not.”
Raquel, who’s watching us with undisguised interest, her head swiveling in each of our directions as Holly and I volley back and forth, suddenly bursts out laughing. “Oh, I would pay money to be a fly on the wall for this. You kids have fun.”
“Thanks,” Holly says as she hugs her friend, who stealthily winks at me.
I relieve Holly of her backpack and sling it over my shoulder. It’s heavy, which I think is a good sign. Hopefully there are some sensible layers of clothing lurking within.
We’re turning to leave when Dylan comes waltzing out of the elevator, sweeping into the foyer like he’s the lord of the manor. His face twists in disapproval when he sees me. Twists further at the sight of Rick, which bugs me much more—I definitely just saw a pair of pedigree poodles prance by without receiving any hate.
Dylan strides over to us in a few long strides. “Hello,” he says tersely.
I know he’s remembering me dancing with Holly at Illusion last week. And I know it bothers him, so I decide to be an asshole and smile at him warmly. Rub some salt in the wound.