Hold Fast Chapter 1

Jason

I shouldn’t be here.

A blind date. Me. Jason Clarke, who still flinched when the subway doors hissed shut too fast, who had spent twenty-three years in a town where the most exciting thing to happen was Old Man Henderson’s tractor catching fire. And there I was, standing outside a pizza place in Queens, sweating through my only decent shirt, because some guy on an app said I’d be perfect for his friend.

This isn’t going to end well. I’m sure of it.

I wiped my palms on my jeans for the third time and pushed through the door. The heat from the ovens slammed into me, thick with garlic and burnt cheese. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since the sad desk salad I’d picked at during lunch, the one that had tasted like regret and wilted spinach.

And then I saw him.

He was leaning against the host stand like he was waiting for a red carpet, not a table for two. Tall—Jesus, tall—like he’d been stretched out on some corporate assembly line. Dark hair, cut close but not buzzed, the kind of style that probably cost more than my rent. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, shadowed with just enough scruff to make it clear he chose to look this good. Not that he’d rolled out of bed like it.

Then there were the tattoos.

Not the sleeved kind, not the kind you get on a drunken weekend in Vegas. These were intentional. Thick black script crawling up the back of his neck, disappearing under his hairline. A clean line along his throat, like someone had taken a ruler to his skin. And when he turned his head I saw it—ink on his scalp, faint under the short hair. Like he’d marked himself where most people wouldn’t even think to look.

He stepped forward. Took my hands.

His knuckles were tattooed too. Letters, dark and precise—D-O-M-I-N-A—I didn’t get the rest before he was lifting my hands to his mouth and pressing his lips to my skin like it was normal. Like we’d done this before. Then he was close enough that I felt his breath when he spoke, low and rough.

“Jason,” he said. “I’m Rami.”

I made a noise. It wasn’t a word. My brain had short-circuited.

He pulled out my chair. I sat. He ordered wine like it was water—not even glancing at the prices. The waiter brought two glasses and Rami lifted his, eyes on me.

“To the first date,” he said. “Hope it’s not the last.”

My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass. Not the last? I haven’t even decided if I can afford the second round of drinks.

He stopped for a moment and just smiled at me. I went still, waiting for whatever I’d done wrong.

He squeezed my hand. “You’re really fucking adorable.”

My cheeks went warm. Before I could say anything, he asked what I liked to eat.

I shrugged. “Whatever’s good.”

That’s not true. I liked anything that wasn’t microwave burritos or the sad, shriveled apples from the break room at work. But I didn’t say that. Instead I watched him order some pizza with figs and fancy cheese, words rolling off his tongue like he was fluent in rich people.

I fidgeted with my earrings—cheap gold hoops I’d had since high school, the kind that would turn your lobes green if you wore them too long.

“Those suit you,” he said.

I blinked. “They’re five bucks from a county fair.”

He smiled. “Still suit you.”

Dinner went too fast. He was easy to talk to, funny in a way that didn’t feel like he was performing. He asked about my job, my apartment, my life, and I gave him the sanitized versions—the tech support gig that was fine, the studio that was cozy, the fact that yes, I did like living in the city, even if my bank account disagreed.

“So,” I said, swirling my wine. “How’d you end up on a dating app?”

His smile didn’t waver. But something in his eyes did. A flicker. Like I’d asked the wrong question.

“A friend set me up,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“Taylor.”

“Taylor who?”

Rami’s thumb traced the rim of his glass. “Just Taylor.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s enough.”

I should push. I don’t.

He invited me to dinner on Tuesday. Said he knew a chef.

I said yes before I could overthink it.

Outside, he took my hand. Just—took it. His fingers wrapped around mine, warm and sure, like he’d already decided I was his. It should feel weird.

It didn’t.

“Need a ride?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’m two blocks away.”

He nodded, stepped closer. I didn’t have time to brace before his hand was on the back of my neck, his mouth on mine. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t polite. It was a kiss that tasted like wine and something darker, something that made my pulse stutter.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Goodnight, Jason.”

I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded.

He got into his SUV—of course it was an SUV—and I stood there like an idiot watching the taillights disappear. My lips still tingled. My chest felt too tight.

I should’ve known this was a bad idea.

I also know I’m going to say yes to Tuesday.