Decked with Holly (14 page)

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Authors: Marni Bates

BOOK: Decked with Holly
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But no fire alarms went off. Jen was staring at me so intently there was no way I could even distract her with cute puppy videos on YouTube—and she
loves
watching anything that involves small dogs leaping into large bodies of water.
“Uh, well . . . he's . . . erm—”
“Spill it, Holly!”
“Oh, yes.” An all-too-familiar voice said coolly from the other side of the room. Nick stood in the doorway, clutching a shopping bag and looking like he was trying very hard to remain calm. I watched the navy color of his eyes turn darker—more gunmetal gray than blue. “Don't hold back now, Holly.”
I was so incredibly dead.
Chapter 18
Dominic
 
I
was an idiot.
And not just for leaving Holly alone in my suite, but because I had stupidly thought I could handle picking up some girl stuff. I figured it would be easy. A quick in-and-out job.
Except I became overwhelmed within minutes. There were spinning racks full of lipstick and at least thirty different kinds of mascara all claiming to do different things: Thickening, lengthening, plumping, and on top of that there was black, midnight black, and ultra-black mascara to either add volume or supervolume.
How was anyone supposed to know the difference between the tubes?
Clearly, I was way out of my league.
Which is why I pulled out my iPad and called Tim's boyfriend, Corey. He was the only person I knew, male or female, who enjoyed makeover projects.
“Hey, Dom,” Corey answered smoothly on the third ring. “Mackenzie and I were just about to check in with Tim, see if he had any sound track updates. Have you heard anything?”
“Uh, no news,” I muttered softly, so as not to annoy my fellow shoppers. “But . . . I could use some help.”
They both sat up straighter while I tried not to let my discomfort show. They had never heard me ask for anything before, probably because asking for help isn't something I did . . . until Holly made it absolutely necessary.
“I, uh, need to go shopping for a girl,” I mumbled.
“Is this for your new girlfriend?” Corey demanded. “You know, the one you should have mentioned to us
weeks
ago!”
Apparently, Tim hadn't filled Corey in on the real story behind the Holly situation. It struck me as a little paranoid. I mean, all of us trust Corey and Mackenzie to keep their mouths shut. Still . . . if that was the way he wanted to play it, I could stick to the script.
“Uh, yeah. Holly. The two of us just went public and she could use a makeover, I guess.”
“You guess?” Corey smirked. “You've seen the photos of her on the Web, right? The girl needed a stylist yesterday. Possibly
years
ago.”
“That's a bit harsh,” Mackenzie pointed out, elbowing Corey in the stomach as a not-so-discreet signal for him to shut up. “She just looked really, uh, tired.”
Mackenzie might be an Internet sensation but she wasn't a hypocrite. She couldn't ream Holly's look while wearing basic jeans and a sweatshirt with a stain that looked distinctly like mustard.
“Right. So what do I buy to fix that?” I aimed the camera at the display racks. “Seriously, Corey. Help.”
He laughed and then rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Mascara, eyeliner, lip gloss, concealer, blush, and eyeshadow. At least.” He turned to Mackenzie. “Am I forgetting anything?”
“I don't think so.”
I tried to push down my panic. “So . . . volume mascara? Supervolume? Clump-free or plumping wand?
What the hell do I get her, Corey?
”
“Wow, man. Breathe. Okay, so what kind of lashes does she have?”
I stared at him on the screen. “What do you mean? Normal ones. Is this a trick question?”
Mackenzie laughed. “Are they light colored? Long? Short and bushy? Or—”
“How should I know? It's not like I've been examining her eyelashes!”
Corey decided it was time to take over. “Okay, we get it. You don't know. Grab a few and move on, okay? Get dark brown and dark black. Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Now some black eyeliner.”
“Okay,” I mumbled, feeling even more foolish with the tubes clenched in my free hand.
“Almost halfway done already. Now, what color are her eyes?”
“Uh . . .” I drew a complete blank. “You know . . . normal eye color.”
Mackenzie shook her head in amused disbelief. “You know that tells us absolutely nothing, right?”
I tried to think back to the first time I had seen Holly up close: Her face deathly pale, her mouth hanging open, and her red-rimmed eyes . . . that was all the detail I could recall.
“I think they might be brown. Sort of. Maybe.”
“Wow. You're not very good at this boyfriend thing, are you?” Corey drawled. “And to be clear, by ‘not very good,' I mean you suck.”
Mackenzie elbowed him with enough strength to make him wince.
“That's just mean, Corey!”
Corey shrugged. “It's the truth. You seriously need to step up your game, Dom.”
At that point I was ready to agree with anything to get me out of the shop.
“Fair enough. I guess I should probably start thinking about her birthday present soon too.”
Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. “When's that?”
“Day after Christmas.”
Both of them jerked in their seats, as Mackenzie demanded, “And you're only getting to it
now?
That's, what? Five days away?”
“Something like that.”
She swiveled to face Corey. “You're right. He does suck at this.”
“I've got plenty of time,” I protested.
Mackenzie remained skeptical. “Plenty of time to find something thoughtful and personal yet beautiful? Right. Good luck with that, buddy.”
Well, crap.
“I'll deal with it later. Now, what else should I buy?”
I slowly panned the shelves with my iPad.
“Okay, stop! That eyeshadow. Yeah, okay. Now grab a range of lip gloss. Yep, some blush and you should be good to go. On the makeup front anyway.”
I bobbled the cosmetics as the pile spiraled out of control.
“Thanks, guys, I appreciate the help.”
“No problem. Don't forget the makeup remover!” Mackenzie blurted before I disconnected.
All I wanted was to return to the suite and kick back with my music. Snag a beer from the fully stocked minibar, sit out on the balcony, and make the most of my vacation. But I would have Holly waiting for me.
Which reminded me . . . I began loading my arms up with every drug they stocked that claimed to combat seasickness. Given the unpredictable way color flooded or fled from her face, I had a feeling she might be visiting my bathroom again in the not-so-distant future.
Corey and Mackenzie were wrong about me: I could be a good boyfriend. I'd even figure out the color of her eyes. If knowing that junk was important to selling the role, I'd pay closer attention.
The woman at the counter gave me a funny look as I handed her my credit card. I wondered how quickly rumors would start spreading that I had a raspberry lip gloss fetish and a major case of seasickness.
Tim and Chris would mock me mercilessly if that actually caught on.
Which is why after making one quick stop to pick up a second key card for my suite at the concierge desk, I headed back to the room . . . and to the privacy of the balcony.
It was about time I enjoyed the view and kicked back.
So when I opened the door I expected to see Holly unpacking her suitcase or watching TV or generally making herself at home in the suite that used to be mine.
Our
suite now.
I hadn't anticipated finding her sitting cross-legged on the bed, using
my
laptop to discuss my kissing prowess with a girl I could only assume was Jen.
The girl was an absolute nuisance, but I found myself wondering just how she would describe our kiss to her best friend. Something she didn't look inclined to share, considering the way her lips were pressed tightly together and her face had flushed.
I decided to enjoy making her squirm.
Which was easily accomplished by moving into the sight line of the laptop and draping an arm across Holly's shoulder.
“You were saying, Holly?” I prompted.
Her back straightened in indignation. “Just that I don't kiss and tell.”
“Since when?” the cute redhead on screen demanded. “Don't tell me you've been holding back on me all these years! After I told you
everything
about Jason too!”
“Jason Treadwick never even learned your name, Jen. And believe me, I wish you had kept more about him to yourself. I really didn't need to know every detail about the one time he asked to borrow a pencil.”
I quickly turned my laugh into a cough.
“We had a moment!” Jen insisted. “There was an undeniable connection!”
“I'm pretty sure he would deny it. As would his current
boyfriend
.”
“Shut up!” Jen mock-scowled at a now grinning Holly. The easy back-and-forth made it pretty clear that they probably knew each other better than anybody else ever could. In fact, their exchange reminded me of some of the long bus rides with Tim and Chris. Especially late at night when we're buzzed off performance adrenaline and heading for a new crowd in another city.
“I, uh, don't think we've actually been formally introduced, Dominic. I'm Jen. Jennifer Lawley, Holly's best friend.”
Jen shot me an adoring look at the same time that Holly stiffened up. It was almost as if Holly were
jealous
.
But that couldn't be right. The girl could hardly stand being in the same room with me.
“Nice to meet you, Jen. Call me Dom,” I replied easily.
“Dom?” Holly repeated. “Since when have you used
that
name?”
I raised an eyebrow. Her voice certainly had a brittle edge to it, as if she didn't like what she was hearing. “It's what most people call me.”
“And I'm not most people?”
“Nope, you're not.” I turned back to Jen, who didn't appear to have any idea how to handle having her best friend cutting her out of a conversation with a rock star. “Don't you agree, Jen?”
“Uh . . .” she said uncertainly. “Yes?”
“I bet the two of you go way back too.”
Jen bobbed her head enthusiastically in the affirmative. “Way back.”
“So I'm guessing you know all of Holly's embarrassing stories.”
“Sure! Not too long ago, actually—”
“Jen!”
Holly interrupted. “Zip it!”
“Oh, but Jen would never share something too personal. Isn't that what you told me earlier, Holly?”
She looked fully prepared to take that statement back, but I didn't give her the chance. “You should hear the way she talks about you, Jen. She considers you safer than Fort Knox.”
“And we've got to go.” Holly was clearly desperate to end the conversation. “Important stuff to discuss. I'll talk to you later, Jen.”
“Right. Later.” Jen paid her almost no attention. “ 'Bye,
Dom
.”
A silly smile crossed her face as she tried out the truncated version of my name as if it were an expensive wine she was sampling for the first time.
I winked back. “Take care, Jen.”
Holly instantly shut the computer, disconnecting the call.
Making it feel very private with the two of us sitting on the bed together with my arm still draped over her shoulder. She adjusted her position but her face remained close enough to mine that kissing would have been the simplest task imaginable. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my ear when she finally spoke.
“So . . . what girl stuff did you get me?”
Yeah, that was one way to kill the mood.
Chapter 19
Holly
 
I
didn't know how to feel.
Okay, technically, I did. I was
supposed
to feel very cool and important. Regal. Princess-like.
What I
wasn't
supposed to feel was miffed that he had told Jen to use a nickname that I thought had been reserved for his ReadySet buddies. Apparently, it was just set aside for people that he genuinely liked.
I also wasn't supposed to feel jealous that he had gotten along so well with
my
best friend. Or nervous that he might, rightly, blast me for using his laptop without permission. Or jittery because for a second there I thought he might be interested in, erm,
practicing our chemistry
again.
Nick's scowl made it clear that not only was he completely disinterested in me
that
way, he loathed my choice of conversation topics.
“I'm never buying girl stuff again,” he growled. “Never. I don't care if that makes me a bad fake boyfriend. From here on out, if you need something you buy it yourself.”
“Okay.”
His glare didn't soften. “See, you act all agreeable now, but in about ten minutes you're going to be doing something to annoy me.”
Apparently, the very mention of shopping was bringing back all sorts of bad memories, like he was having post-traumatic stress disorder from selecting mascara. Best to tread carefully.
“Probably true.”
“Great. Just . . . great. Well, here you go. All yours.”
He dumped out the contents of his bag on the bed and stepped back as if the cosmetics might be harboring some kind of terrible infection.
“What is all this?” I demanded, fighting back horror at the massive pile that tumbled across the bedspread.
He shrugged. “Girl stuff.”
I scrambled for an excuse not to touch anything.
“But . . . I can't afford all of this!”
“Sure, you can. You're getting paid to be my publicist, remember?”
“But . . . I don't know how to use most of this!”
Nick didn't look surprised by that confession. “Well, don't look at me. I don't even know your eye color.”
I widened them intentionally. “They're green. Jen swears I've got flecks of chestnut brown too, but I've never spotted them.”
Nick's intense look might have been romantic if it hadn't creased his brow like he was trying to figure out an SAT math question.
“I don't see the brown either. Just green.”
“And your eyes are blue. Then again, I suspect you know that already.”
He grinned and it was the first time I had seen him look even remotely relaxed since I had turned the topic to the shopping bags.
“Now that we've got that sorted out . . .” I held up a medieval torture device that was masquerading as a beauty device. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“Use it,” he said simply.
I glared at him. “Easy for you to say!”
“Definitely.” His smirk spread and I knew he was inwardly laughing at my expense. “But it can't be that hard,” Nick said at last. “You brush some stuff on your face. Simple.”
I glared at him. “This from the guy who nearly had a panic attack at the mere mention of shopping.”
“Believe it or not, this is one particular area where male rock stars generally don't have to venture. Unless that's their thing, obviously.”
“Great!” I threw my hands up in disgust. “That's just fan-freaking-tastic!”
“Now
that
screams maturity.”
Which actually reminded me of something I'd been meaning to ask him. “Just how old are you, Nick?”
“Twenty-one.”
Well, I felt foolish. Why hadn't I thought to look up that information online? Then I wouldn't have been gaping at him like a particularly dim-witted fish.
“Really?”
“No, I'm lying. I'm actually twelve.”
“Now
that
I might believe,” I quipped, trying to play it off as no big deal. Except even a few years in high school . . . it matters. That's why college guys showing an interest in high school girls often comes across as being supersketchy . . . and why I've never been a fan of vampire stories. Anyone over one hundred years old panting after an angsty high school kid—that's not sexy. It's gross. Don't even get me started on the desire to suck blood. I'm sorry, but any guy longing to chomp into someone else's neck is just asking to get his butt kicked.
And while there might not be a vampire age difference between us, the gap still made me uneasy. It felt like yet another advantage for Nick, and considering that he's the rock star, I'd say he already had more than enough going in his favor. So to find out that he was more talented and ridiculously successful and older . . . yeah, I felt a little inferior.
In the way that a stray, flea-ridden cat might feel inferior to a lion.
“I never considered your age,” I admitted. It was true—I had gotten hung up on his looks first, then on his zombie fixation, and then on his fame, never on the years between us. “It isn't
terrible
. I guess.”
He stepped away from me. “What kind of a difference are we talking about, Holly?”
The tension vibrating off him was practically palpable. The guy was probably wishing that he had thought to ask my age before enmeshing me further into his life. Making out with a fifteen-year-old girl in front of the paparazzi . . . that would definitely be a solid blow to his all-important reputation. Especially since the abuse rumors were probably still swirling around us.
“Well, it's
almost
my birthday. So that helps things.”
“How old, Holly?”
“Almost eighteen.”
He released an enormous sigh of relief. “That's not a problem, especially now that you've taken a couple years off my life expectancy.”
“Worried about corrupting a minor, Nick?” I laughed, making sure it sounded like I had trouble believing that he could possibly corrupt me. If my cousins couldn't tempt me over to the dark side, I doubted Nick could fundamentally alter me either.
“How old did you think I was?”
He frowned, probably because age is so difficult to determine with zombies, given the whole dead factor. Not that he would say as much, of course.
“I thought you were legal. Not jailbait.”
“Oh, yeah. Jailbait, that's me. Because I love seducing older men. I've already sent a dozen guys to the slammer.”
“I'm guessing you sent them to a mental ward first.”
I wasn't sure if he meant that as a comment on my ability to drive people crazy or that someone would have to be unhinged to be attracted to me in the first place. Either way: not exactly complimentary.
I held up my hands. “Let's call a truce, okay? It's a beautiful day and I only sort of feel like puking. So I'm going to make my excuses to my grandpa and then I'm going to go relax on the balcony. If you want to hang out: great. If not: That's fine by me too. But I fully plan on holing up here tonight.”
The crease between Nick's eyebrows returned. “You should probably practice with that, uh, girl stuff now while you've got a chance.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But it's not going to happen. I'm on vacation and there's an ocean view calling my name.”
I didn't give him time to respond. Instead, I scooped up my backpack, which still held all my drawing supplies, and began sketching outside. I heard Nick making some noise from inside the suite but I resolutely refused to look. If, perhaps, I listened a little too intently, waiting for the telltale squeak of the glass sliding door in case he followed me outside, that was nobody's business but my own.
But when the door protested its use five minutes later, I jumped about a foot and a half. Nearly sending the high-quality artist pencils in my lap to a watery grave.
So much for playing it cool.
Still, Nick didn't let on that he had noticed a thing. He just sank into the other chair and began plucking away on his guitar.
It actually sounded really good. Which surprised the hell out of me since I hadn't heard of Dominic Wyatt playing anything beyond the drums. Then again, I also had no idea he enjoyed songwriting either.
I was starting to wonder whether anyone really knew what Dominic Wyatt was capable of . . . including himself.
Kind of strange, considering the way every move ReadySet makes is diligently followed by
People
's Star Tracks.
Not that I had any intention of commenting on it . . . even if I couldn't resist changing my drawing from the expanse of blue before me to the rock star sitting about two feet away.
I thought I might call it
Rock Star in Repose
.
And for a brief moment everything was simple. My cousins, his fans, our fauxmance—none of it could touch me on the balcony.
Too bad I couldn't stay out there for the duration of the cruise. Because all of those complications I wanted so desperately to ignore?
Yeah, I had no idea just how complicated they could get.

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