Do Anything by Wendy Owens Page B

floating around inside. I want to call Kenzie and tell her every detail, but I also know my stories won’t be juicy enough to satisfy her.
    My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I realize I’d left it in the room all day. Pushing myself up, I extend my arm and grab for it. I see I have six missed calls from Jack but no voicemails. In the past month I’d noticed a pattern of this with Jack. He would go quiet for days, and then all of the sudden start calling and texting me again. I assumed it was perhaps when he was unable to track down a successful booty call to fill his time.
    I swipe my phone to read my text messages; there is one from Jack, received only five minutes ago,
    Where are you?
    I stand, tossing the phone onto the bed and strip out of my clothes, slipping on the satin robe I’d brought with me. I hear the phone buzz again. I pick it up and look at it.
    You can’t just ignore me.
    Oh, but I can , I think, turning off the power to the phone and sliding it into the drawer of my nightstand. I retrieve the towel from the chair in the far corner of the room and make my way to the bath at the end of the hall.
    I was going to take a shower, but since it’s the middle of the evening and nobody else is around, I decide on a nice, long, hot bubble bath. I secure the door, run the water, slip into the tub, and allow the ecstasy of the warmth to bring an end to a perfect day.

A sliver of light from the moon settles on my pillow. I peer at the shadows dancing out in front of me, sleep far from my grasp, and Holden heavily on my mind. Men like Holden don’t actually exist. That’s what I keep telling myself. And also, maybe he’s not who I think he is; after all, how well can I know this guy? He seemed to open up to me, but don’t people only share enough to keep their facade intact? Perhaps there’s more to his fiancée story. For all I know it wasn’t about escaping the small town for his mystery woman. What if Holden is just like Jack? Maybe the real reason she fled was because Holden was unfaithful.
    Of course, why does it matter? When this trip is over, I’ll return to my life on the other side of the world. Does it matter if Holden is a scoundrel? I’m here to explore and learn things about myself; maybe he’s exactly what I need to start these adventures. A no-strings-attached fling that can’t possibly lead anywhere. I’ve never done that in my life. Somewhere in me, I just want to know what it would feel like to have sex with someone for the pure pleasure of it.
    I punch the pillow next to me and sit up. One thing is for certain: I’m never going to get any sleep if I keep thinking about Holden all night. I stand up, and over my tank top and night shorts, I slip on my robe. I assume everyone in the house must be asleep by now, so I creep quietly out of my room and down the cool stairs in my bare feet. My last hope to put these thoughts of Holden to rest and get some sleep is a warm cup of milk, a trick my mother taught me as a kid.
    The bar looks completely different in the dark. No chattering voices, no glasses clanging, and everything draped in shadows. The place takes on a cave-like atmosphere in the night. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to go into the kitchen, and the thought of doing something against the rules quickens my heartbeat. Pushing open the swinging door that separates the kitchen and bar, I realize how silly I am. Going into the kitchen is enough to get my adrenaline going … seriously, I can’t help but giggle.
    “You really are always cracking yourself up, aren’t you?” The voice in the darkness startles me, and I let out a scream. “Whoa, calm down. It’s just me, Holden.”
    “Jesus,” I exclaim. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you.”
    “Well …” He laughs as my eyes are adjusting to the dark room. “It is my kitchen.”
    “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t want to wake anyone,” I explain, moving toward the long prep table where he’s seated. In front of him