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Authors: Marni Bates

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BOOK: Decked with Holly
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Chapter 7
Holly
 
P
regnant.
The Hot Guy from dinner thought I was growing a zombie baby. After having my family critiquing my stomach for hours, that was the last straw.
I dissolved into tears.
Not that I thought Pepper Spray Guy was concerned about my eating/exercise regimen. He was way more distracted by my resemblance to a flesh-eating monster. Which, after seeing myself in the bathroom mirror, I was willing to admit he might actually have a point about—the ashen tinge to my flesh gave me a very
back from the grave
look. But still. Who thinks
zombie
and then reaches for their handy bottle of pepper spray?
A total nutcase.
One who apparently had multiple personality disorder too, judging by the way his whole
everything is going to be okay, here, let me hand you some bottled water
routine kept switching into a full-on interrogation. Plus, what was with the Hawaiian-print shirt on the floor? That didn't seem his style at all. Not that I really knew anything about him except that he had a severe case of paranoia and a jumpy trigger finger.
Oh, and that he was a royal jerk. That part was pretty obvious from the way his mouth appeared set into a permanent scowl.
But even though I wanted to place all the blame for my latest string of disasters on him, it was my own fault.
I
was the one who had gotten seasick and broken into
his
cabin. Well,
technically
it was Allison and Claire's fault for kicking me out of our cabin in the first place.
I swear I didn't mean to start crying.
It wasn't some sympathy ploy to make The Jerk feel bad for me. Technically, I suppose the tears had first started dribbling down as a defense mechanism for the pepper spray. It was only when my legs gave out from under me that I began to sob in earnest, much to The Jerk's horror.
“I'm fine,” I mumbled, trying to staunch the flow in my blanket. “I'm just having a really bad . . .”
I didn't know what to say. A bad night? That was obvious. A bad day? Yeah, sitting through that dinner had pretty much been torture. A crappy week? Well, there was the whole pervy Santa disaster in the mall. . . .
“. . . a really bad time lately,” I finished lamely. “I'm sorry for disturbing you and, uh, taking over your bathroom.”
“Don't forget the breaking and entering,” he added, but when I looked up his scowl had eased into something approaching a smile.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“And I sprayed you with pepper spray.” He shook his head in disgust, although whether that was aimed at himself or at me was hard to tell.
“Um, yeah.”
“Well . . .” He shifted uneasily. Claire and Allison had a talent for flirting, but me? Oh, yeah, I've got a knack for making hot guys with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes uncomfortable. “Do you want help getting back to your room?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“You sure you can make it on your own? No offense, but you look like cra . . .” He clamped his mouth shut. “Uh, you don't look like you'll get very far.”
Well, he was right about that, at least. My legs had turned completely gelatinous and the thought of even trying to reach the elevator seemed beyond me.
“I don't have a room,” I mumbled.
“How is that possible?”
“Well, I do, but my cousins—”
“The ones who picked me as their fling?”
“Yeah, Claire and Allison. They're, erm,
entertaining
right now, so they sort of kicked me out.”
“Define ‘sort of.' ”
I might as well just come clean.
“They kicked me out, okay! They're hanging out with some skeazy guys and didn't exactly want to share the room with a seasick cousin. So I can't go back there. At least not for another few hours.” My head lolled against my shoulder as if my neck had decided that carrying such a dysfunctional body part was no longer worth the effort. “Look, you didn't sign up for this on your vacation. I get it. So I'm sorry I ruined your night. If we see each other again we can just pretend we didn't.” I struggled into a crouched position and then stood. “Now I believe the Lido deck is calling my name.”
He looked disbelievingly from my blanket to my backpack and settled on my pale but determined expression. Then he sighed.
“I can't let you do that.”
“Funny, but I don't recall asking for your permission.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making the ends stand up in ridiculous little spikes.
“Look, you can't sleep out on a deck, and I feel kind of responsible for your present state . . . because of the pepper spray.”
He looked like a guy who badly wanted to kick me out of his suite but whose well-ingrained manners wouldn't let him do it. There was no sign of the utterly confident stranger from the dining room anymore.
“I insist,” he grumbled.
Okay, so he didn't look happy about the situation, but even spending the night curled up in his bathroom would probably be a vast improvement on the deck . . . or my cabin. Plus, if I just stayed with him then I wouldn't have to move. Given the current state of my stomach and legs, that sounded pretty damn good.
“I have a foldout couch, and we can pretend we've never met starting tomorrow. Come on, what's the worst that could happen?”
“Since I've already been pepper sprayed, I'm waiting for you to pull out a Taser from a matching purse.”
It probably wasn't the best idea to mock the guy offering me a pretty great setup, but Sensible Holly was long gone.
His expression turned thoughtful. “You know, I can still call security for the breaking and entering. It'd be a bit inconvenient for me, but for you . . . it would be an absolute nightmare. Or you can spend the night here so I'll know you aren't breaking into anyone else's suite.”
I blinked. Well, that sounded smug.
“Hand it over and you've got a deal.”
He looked confused. Perfect. “What are you talking about?”
“The pepper spray, of course. Hand it over.”
He glanced at the can that was sitting right next to the sink, well within my reach. Still, if I was going to spend the night in his room, I wanted him to give me the great equalizer. He warily appraised me.
“You're not planning on using this on me, right?”
“Not unless you turn into a zombie.”
“Very funny.”
“Thanks. Now hand it over.”
He hesitated and I nearly told him to forget it, because I wanted to stay there, with or without the pepper spray. Luckily, he didn't know that, and with a muffled curse he deliberately placed it in my hand and took a large step back.
“Happy now?”
I dropped it in the trash can and grinned. “Much better.”
He shook his head and then, slinging an arm around my waist, he pulled me out of the bathroom and into the rest of the suite. Which was actually pretty nice of him since my legs still didn't appear to be functioning properly. Then he unceremoniously shoved me into a plushy armchair while he converted the couch into a bed. I should have at least offered to do
something
. . . but we both probably knew I'd be more of a hindrance than a help.
So I sat there in silence until I remembered the question I'd been meaning to ask him.
“What's your name?”
He stopped straightening a blanket mid-jerk. “Uh, that depends.”
Well, that answer made no sense. Then again, things were turning fuzzy.
“Depends on what?”
“On the person. I have a lot of nicknames.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “What should I call you then?”
He placed another blanket down on the makeshift bed and then turned to get a good look at me. “Why do you need to call me anything? I thought we were going to pretend that none of this ever happened tomorrow.”
“Well, yeah, I guess. But that's hours from now. I can't call you Hot Guy until then.”
He laughed, but it still took a moment for my brain to catch up with my mouth. I was too exhausted to care so I just waved my hand and said, “You know what I mean.”
“Why don't you tell me anyway?” His grin didn't make him look nearly so unapproachable. “I think this is the first nice thing you've said to me.”
“Well, I wasn't exactly inclined to be nice when you whipped out the pepper spray,” I pointed out drowsily. “ ‘Inclined' is a funny word, isn't it? It makes me think of mountains. I like mountains. I don't get seasick on mountains.”
“You can call me Nick.”
“Okay. That's good. Night, Nick.” I shut my eyes only to mutter darkly when he yanked me from the chair to my new bed. I would have protested except . . . the couch/bed was so much nicer. I sighed happily and snuggled deeper into the fabric only to groan again as another wave of seasickness hit me. “I hate the ocean. Someone should drain it.”
Strong arms with thinly corded muscles dragged me into a sitting position, then disappeared only to return moments later holding a can of Coke.
“Here, drink this. The carbonation should help settle your stomach.”
I sipped from it, willing to try anything that might help. “Thanks. For everything. Well, except the pepper spray, but everything else. I appreciate it.”
He smiled, and it slowly started to sink in that I was actually having a nice interaction with Nick, even though he had seen me at my worst and knew that I obviously found him attractive. He didn't seem fazed by it anymore. Just amused.
“So, uh . . . sorry, what's your name?”
He looked at me guiltily for not asking the question earlier.
“Holly Dayton.”
“So, Holly Dayton, I take it you're a big ReadySet fan.”
I waited for him to get to his point but he didn't say anything else, so I took another gulp of Coke and said, “Yep, me and at least five million other people.”
He settled back against his headboard. “What do you think of their song lyrics?”
I scrunched up my nose as I concentrated on giving a well-thought-out response when everything kept going hazy. “Well, the lyrics are poetic but sharp. And usually there are wildly divergent ways to interpret their songs—even the love songs are ambiguous. I like that. Although I've been thinking. . .”
“Yes?” he said, encouragingly.
“I could be totally off on this, but I wonder if Timothy Goff is gay. It makes sense to me. I bet he's got a thing going on with his drummer.”
Nick jerked upright.
“Timothy Goff does not have a
thing
going on with the drummer!”
“Um, wow. Overreact much?”
Nick just glared at me. “He doesn't.”
“Well, how do you know?”
“I just . . . you can tell.”
“What does that mean? I know some people claim to have gaydar, but you can't
know
someone's sexual orientation for sure just by looking at them!”
“He is not hooking up with the drummer!”
“Fine!” I said, a little taken aback by his intensity. “He's not hooking up with the drummer.” I shrugged, took another sip of Coke, and giggled. “Maybe he's with the other guitarist instead.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why are you so sure ReadySet is gay for each other?”
I tried to consider it seriously, but I couldn't help shutting my eyes and grinning exhaustedly. All I really cared about was sleep. “I don't know. Three guys on tour . . . with each other all the time. You've seriously never considered the possibility ?”
“NO!”
Huh. Well, that was definite.
“I'm sure they're just close friends.”
I waggled an eyebrow at that, and Nick tossed a pillow at my head, nearly jolting my drink.
“Hey!”
“Just go to sleep, Holly.”
Which sounded like a fine suggestion to me. Although I could have sworn that I heard him mutter something like, “Gay for each other! Christ, of all the people to break into my suite it had to be The Mess!”
Not exactly flattering, but I was willing to believe I'd misheard him.
BOOK: Decked with Holly
6.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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