Chapter 1 - {Holden}

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My eyes lock with hers as a cold sensation spreads over my cock. "Dammit. They haven't even had dinner and people are already spilling their shit." My mouth gapes open as I pull my pants away from my body and start to shake them. I look back up, but she's gone. The group of young women who are responsible for my now ruined slacks have covered their mouths, obviously trying unsuccessfully to contain their giggles. Or maybe they're not even trying at all. Who actually gives a fuck?

"I'm so sorry," the blonde, whose tits are about to fall out of her black, strapless dress, says as she leans over, attempting to wipe the spillage.

Brushing her hand away, I roll my eyes and shake my head. The last thing I need is some random chick feeling me up right now. "Whatever. It's fine." The only thing available is a cocktail napkin, so I grab it and start dabbing my crotch all the while searching the crowd, trying to find her again, but she really is gone, nowhere to be found.

It's just as well. The thin paper of the napkin is disintegrating on my drenched slacks. I need to clean myself up before I run into her again. There's no way I can do what I intend if I look like a toddler who just wet his pants. Turning on my heel, I round the corner to the men's restroom, which much to my surprise has a line longer than the ladies'.

I smirk at all the guys waiting and do an about-face. It's not like I need to take a piss. I just need something to absorb some of the fuckin' wine the drunken lady emptied on my trousers. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. My plan B is so much better. I bet, if I'm lucky, I might be able to even find another pair of pants instead of just drying these.


The valet has my keys, which I need. Turning back around, I pass by the bathroom and out the side door, which opens right to the tent where the keys are kept.

"Yo, Lewis. I'm not here to pick my car up. Just need to use my keys for a minute."

He nods, smiling, the wrinkles around his hazel eyes curving up. "What's your number, son?" I love it when he calls me that. He's one of the few people who doesn't treat me any differently around here after all the shit that went down years ago.

Reaching in my back pocket, I pull my billfold and snatch the stub. I glance at the number. "Thirty-seven," I say before nestling it back into place.

Lewis opens and scans the metal box, then hands me my keys. "Bring 'em back when you're done. Don't want someone to think I lost your keys. You know that happens, right?"

I chuckle. Lewis has been a part of the valet crew nearly my entire life. We've had many talks through the years, but this is new. They lose keys. Comforting. Unable to keep the grin off my face, I reply, "I'll bring 'em back." I pat his shoulder. "Thanks, man."

The noise from the party dissipates with each step I take toward the pool area. My family co-owns a cabana. It's a stretch to think there would be any clothes stashed away that are adequate for this type of event, but I say a silent prayer that maybe my worthless father kept an extra pair of work clothes in there for the summer. If not, there'd at least be a terry cloth towel. Any kind of towel has to be better than any paper version likely to be found in the bathroom. And I bet there's even a hair dryer.

This plan is brilliant.

But the thought of my father causes my steps to come to a quick halt. I stare at the sky, the sun and moon both visible, and contemplate just going home. Through the years, I've grown to despise anything to do with the country club. Keep your eye on the prize, Holden. Shaking my head, I start to walk again. There's a reason I agreed to tolerate an evening of excessive drinking, exorbitant spending, and kissing ass with yuppies—even though, by definition, I am one.

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