Winning the Right Brother(30)

“No kidding,” Alex said, surprised.

“Why is the floor covered in CDs?” Holly asked. They turned to see her coming down the stairs.

“We’re talking about music,” Will said. “Coach was asking what you like. He says a person’s taste in music is like a map of their soul.”

Holly looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

Alex shrugged. “Okay, so I waxed poetic. Even football coaches are allowed to do that once in a while.”

“Sure,” Holly said skeptically, sitting down in an armchair next to the couch. “Okay, then, what does my musical taste tell you about me? Assuming Will actually knows what my musical taste is.”

“Well,” Alex said, leaning back again. “Some of it, we’ll hope, is not significant. Like Foreigner. But there seems to be a clear pattern in some of the other stuff. Joan Jett, Bruce Springsteen—that’s the rebel touch. Bad girls and bad boys. The Stones even more so. But there’s also passion and intensity, hunger for life. ‘Thunder Road’ and ‘Born to Run’ are about busting out, breaking free.”

Holly frowned. “Hey, I just like those songs. I don’t have a secret urge to rebel.”

Alex ignored her. “Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell are all about love. Love that changes you forever, love that burns you up and heals you at the same time. The kind of love you can’t live without.”

He glanced at Holly and saw surprise in her eyes. She probably didn’t think he was capable of using the word love in a sentence. He grinned at her. “Aretha Franklin, on the other hand, is just a woman with the greatest voice God ever bestowed on a human being. You don’t need any other reasons for Aretha. We’ll just put her down to good taste.”

Will was grinning, too. “No deep psychological analysis?”

“Nope.” He rose to his feet and reached out a hand to help Holly up. “So, who’s ready to go shopping?”



At one point during their mall trip they split up, Holly trying on clothes while Will and Alex went to two different music stores. As a surprise for Holly, Alex bought every CD of hers that Will could name. They had a great time, talking about bands and musicians and concerts they had seen and would like to see. And Will had come up with a list of his mom’s all-time favorite songs, or at least as many as he could remember, and Alex had written them all down.

Later that night, after Holly and Will went to bed, he used the list to make Holly a mix CD.

It was a little like being with her, Alex thought as he burned the last song and let it roll over him as he sat back on the couch. The song was Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On,” which was one he’d already had on hand and which happened to be one of his all-time favorites, as well.

He grinned suddenly as he realized he was acting like a lovestruck college student, making a mix tape for his latest crush. Well, at least he’d moved on from high school. He was progressing. By next week maybe he’d be up to his late twenties.

Man, this was a sexy song. Alex closed his eyes and imagined kissing Holly to this song, swaying with her on a dance floor somewhere and feeling every inch of her pressed against him as he tasted her, slow and soft at first and then hard and insistent, bringing out the passion he knew was just under the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

Alex sighed and pressed a cushion to his face. Yeah, he had it bad.

He headed upstairs for bed, pausing as he walked past Holly’s door to lay a palm flat against the wood, thinking of her on the other side, curled up in bed with her red hair fanned out across the pillow.

Then he heard her call out his name.

He froze.

“Alex,” he heard again, distinctly, and there was no question it was Holly’s voice.

Okay, this was weird. Did she know he was out here? How could she? Was something wrong? Did she need him?

Confused, uncertain, Alex turned the knob as softly as he could and slipped inside her room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and moonlight as he focused on the figure curled up on the bed.

“Holly?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. “Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

She didn’t answer him. After a moment or two of listening to her deep, even breathing, Alex decided that she was definitely asleep and that his mind had been playing tricks on him. Time to make his getaway before she woke up and punched him again, this time with cause.

He’d put his hand on the door knob when she stirred, stretching languidly.

“Alex,” she said clearly.

She was still asleep. She was lying in full moonlight now and he could see that her eyes were closed. What the—

And then she said it again, softly.