And Hollis certainly doesn’t fit the description of one, so I’m sure they’re wondering what the hell a man like Trace Wallace is doing with a girl like her. Today, the girl I’m shepherding into the lion’s den looks wholesome. Sweet. Respectable.

Exactly the kind of girl I would take home to my mother, but also exactly the kind of woman who would never let me.

I doubt she recognizes any of them, so there’s no way they know she’s Thomas Westbrooke’s daughter; some of them wouldn’t even know who Thomas Westbrooke is, despite him being the boss of every man out here.

I feel her go rigid at their perusal, clutching the gift bag in her manicured hand, allowing me to steer her straight toward Noah and Miranda, our host and hostess.

“Hollis, this is Harding and his new roomie Miranda. Guys, this is Hollis Wallace.”

Noah’s brows shoot straight into his hairline—it’s shaggy, unkempt, and I should tell him he needs a haircut, but that’s his girlfriend’s job now, not mine. “This is your sister?”

“No, babe.” Miranda nudges him with an elbow. “This must be…your wife?” Her tone is perplexed, expression priceless.

“You’re married?” Noah’s eyes couldn’t be any wider. “When did you get married?”

6

Hollis

I am going to kill Buzz Wallace.

Literally. With my bare hands wrapped around his puny neck. Okay, so fine—maybe it’s not puny, and maybe I won’t be able to fit my hands around it, but I sure am going to try because what the actual fuck does he think he’s doing?

He slides his big hand around my waist and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m kidding. This is Hollis, but she’s not my wife. She was having a weak moment and agreed to come along with me today.”

He kisses my temple, but my face is still frozen into a stunned smile and I’m having one helluva time trying to relax.

“But wouldn’t it be funny if we were married?”

No! “I could never marry you because I could never live the rest of my life as Hollis Wallace.” Never, ever.

No.

Everyone is laughing now except for Buzz, who is pouting beside me, hand still settled at my waist. I want to shrug it off, but I don’t want to do it in front of his friends, not when we just arrived. Besides, I can feel Marlon’s eyes watching us from his spot by the pool, and I feel a wave of intense satisfaction move through me.

Drink it in, asshole—drink. It. In.

“Well Hollis, it’s so nice to meet you,” Miranda says with a smile, and I remember the gift bag in my hand, offer it up to her—to them.

“Oh! I almost forgot, this is for you.”

She takes it and peeks her nose inside the bag with a delighted smile. “Oh! I love foaming hand soap!” Removes the lid from the candle and sniffs it. “Ugh, this smells so good! Thank you!” Miranda digs through the rest, and when she lifts her head, “Hollis, want to come inside with me so I can put this in the kitchen?”

“Of course.”

She’s going to grill me for details as soon as we are out of earshot, I can’t help thinking as Buzz leans in and smooshes his lips to my cheek.

“Don’t be gone too long, sugar bottom. I already miss you!”

“Could you not?” He’s laying it on way too thick. It’s vomit-inducing, looks ridiculous, and is embarrassing me.

I wonder what his friends are thinking but can’t bring myself to look at Noah, and I certainly can’t bring myself to glance over at Marlon.

What a mess Buzz is making—they’re supposed to think we’re on a date, not in a full-blown relationship.

Miranda leads me back into the house, resting the hand soap at the sink, placing the candle in the middle of the counter, and removing the rest of the bag’s contents. Squirts some lotion on her palms and happily locates a container for the chocolate-covered almonds.

“This was so kind of you. Thank you.” Now she’s resting her palms on the counter and smiling directly at me. “So. Now that we’re alone…how long have you and Buzz been…you know. Seeing each other.”

Why is she saying it like that? “Um. It’s very new.” So new this is our first date and we’ve only met once, one other time, for a total of maybe ten minutes, tops. But isn’t that how most people meet? Briefly, and then they go out on a first date?

Yes, but not to a party with all the guy’s friends.

Oh my god, are you seriously arguing with yourself? Get it together.

I wish Madison were here—she’d do all the talking for me.

My palms sweat.

“Are you alright?” my hostess asks, going to the fridge and putting some ice in a cup. “You want an ice water? You look like you could use an actual drink. Maybe some alcohol?”

“No! No, I mean—no thank you, I’m good—but yes to the water. Thank you.” Shut up, Hollis. Stop talking.