Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  I tilt my head and tap his bottom lip with my index finger. “Hmm. How about here?” I grab his hand and bring it on top of my breast.

  A gleam enters his eye. “I like how you think, boss.” He plumps the flesh beneath his hand, then lets go and circles the pebbled nub with his index finger.

  “And I like how well you take direction.”

  Mark wraps me in his arms, kissing me as if I were necessary for his life. As his tongue explores my mouth, I reassess my earlier decisions about this man. He’s much deeper than I ever thought and more dedicated to his craft. And, well, he’s a fantastic kisser.

  I push my chest forward and he drops little kisses down my neck until he ends at my breast. The one he hadn’t been fondling minutes ago. He sucks my nipple into his mouth and bites, causing pleasure-pain to burst through my body.

  “Wow.” That’s all I manage to say before he bites me again and every single shred of rational thought dispels from my body. I skim his torso with my hands, dipping into every hard muscle in his abdomen.

  I pull back and, breathing heavily, stare at his ripped stomach. With mouthwatering precision, I lick every line separating his six-pack, finally moving on to his Adonis belt. The “V” that drives women all over the globe nuts. His stomach ripples with my actions, and his hands rip open his belt. I grab the one end and pull it through the belt loops, discarding the piece of leather onto the floor with a clank.

  Biting my lip, I open the top button on his pants and unzip his fly. “Now you’re mine,” I murmur as I pull the material down his legs. We’re both only in our underwear.

  “Come here,” he orders and I return to lie next to him, our mouths fusing.

  His hands stroke over my back. I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with the Mark Ivan-Ivanoff. So what if he’s rich? He doesn’t see me as some charity case, not worthy to be in his orbit. He wants me for who I am and my talents. He understands because he’s just like me. He came from nothing and look where he is today. Striving to get an award for his acting.

  He turns and I’m on top of him, looking directly into his gray eyes, which have morphed into much deeper hues. “Is this for real?”

  “Feels real to me, boss,” he teases, then lets his hands slide down my back and end on my butt. His fingers dip inside my waistband and I let my legs fall open. “I think this shoot is going to be very entertaining.”

  It’s as if I just did that Ice Bucket challenge from years ago. Still on top of him, I stiffen, my whole body turning rigid. The words “this shoot” play on repeat—he’s only looking for a good time while this movie films, and then it’ll be sayonara like he’s done with all the rest of his onset flings. I’m nothing special. Maybe a better camera angle.

  “Wait. Stop!” I push back from his hard frame, sitting up on my haunches. Still straddling him.

  “What?” He reaches out for me, but I scramble off his hard body. His very aroused, very hard body.

  Bending down, I yank my dress into my hand. With it dangling from my fingers, I bark, “What’s this about, Mark?”

  He struggles to sit up. “What’s it look like? I thought our roles were pretty clear.” He pauses. “Boss.”

  It’s as if he plunged a knife straight through my heart. My eyes slam shut as the impact of what he said hurls through me. He’s just another rich boy looking to get his rocks off and leave me in the trash can when he’s through. I’m no different from his other “shoot hos.” Shame, disappointment, and disgust roil through my body, effectively dousing the passion that was there moments ago.

  My eyes sweep over his Russian frame. “A mistake.”

  I toss my dress over my head and shove my arms into it, adjusting my boobs in front of him. Because why not? This is what he wanted anyway. Picking up my shoes I stride out of the bedroom, keeping my head straight ahead despite feeling as if I’m fracturing inside. Reaching the front door to his suite, I grab the doorknob and sail through, leaving the room—and Mark—in the rearview lens.

  3

  Mark

  What the fuck just happened?

  One minute she was on top of me, and we were kissing as if our lives depended on it. The next instant she was dressed and out the door. Glancing down, the hard-on I had for her has waned. At least not having to jerk one out is a positive. I huff out a breath and collect my clothes.

  When I’m presentable once again, I stomp into the kitchen. I need something stronger than stupid spiked eggnog to make it through tonight. And make no mistake, I’m not going to hide out in here for the rest of the evening. She doesn’t hold that power over me. No one does. Pouring myself two fingers of scotch, I hold the glass up to the lights of Los Angeles below.

  Drifting over to the windows, I stare—unseeing—at the city sprawled in front of me. My need for recognition and validation bares their ugly two-sided head. Why did Sophia panic and bolt? Did I do something wrong? I shake my head. Why do I care? There’s plenty more women out there who would jump at the chance to take her place.

  Something in the back of my mind tells me they wouldn’t be her. I thought she really got me like no one else. With her, she made me feel whole. And worthy.

  I down my drink in one swallow to shut the stupid voice off and head back down to the party. The Mark Ivan armor clothes me once more like the superhero costume I wore during Doctor Mainupul8. Minus Sophia capturing every angle.

  Mentally putting myself in character to party with the hip Los Angelinos, I hold my head up high and reenter the ballroom. It’s as if nothing monumental happened. Hunte’s still playing. People are still dancing and laughing. Good.

  I hop into a group of women, lapping up their delighted squeals as I dance with each one of them. Any of these ladies would be thrilled to go up to my suite. When the song ends, I exchange one group for another, dancing my way across the dance floor. Forced joviality almost cracks my face, but I continue.

  I’m twirling a blonde when I see him and lose all sense of time and place. Kane Martin. The well-born actor who deserves to be taken down a notch or two. Or at least move over so someone else can grab an accolade. I don my happy-to-see-you façade and take a couple of steps in his direction when he shifts and the light green dress his dance partner’s wearing comes into focus. My extremities go cold and I’m unable to move an inch. Is Sophia dancing with him to get back at me?

  Their interaction doesn’t last too long before she steps away, releasing me from her unknowing choke hold. Kane glances around. I don’t have a moment to become scarce when his eyes zero in on me. Licking my lips, I let the residue of my scotch gird me for the upcoming encounter and approach him.

  “Kane.” I extend my hand.

  “Good to see you, Mark.” We shake.

  “What brings you out tonight?”

  “The usual, man. Hunte always rocks it, and the charity underlying the party is near and dear to my heart.”

  Testicular cancer awareness certainly is a worthy cause. “I hear ya. Hope you don’t know anyone with the disease.”

  “My uncle beat it. So I always support them whenever I can.”

  Of course he has an excellent connection to the foundation. Me? I was here hoping to see Sophia again. Not only is he from an acting dynasty, but he’s philanthropic, too. Shit. “I’m glad he’s a good statistic.” What else can I say?

  Kane hooks his thumb toward Sophia, who’s talking with Melody—Chase’s fiancée. “Did you get a gander at that one? Asked her out.”

  Without a doubt, she agreed. Blood speeds through my body, and my hands close into fists. How dare he think he can go on a date with her? She’s mine. All my thoughts come to a screeching halt. What the hell? Didn’t she just prove she’s definitely not mine?

  “Sophia,” I manage through a clenched jaw.

  “Yeah. What a hot piece.”

  The man who always rips award buzz out from under me is now trying to steal my woman. My scotch tries to resurface. She’s the real deal, never judging anyone based on anything but
their character. She most definitely found mine lacking.

  Clearing my throat, I scan the room for an escape hatch. My eyes land on a bunch of movie crew members standing around the eggnog. Reluctantly, I add, “She’s Noble’s new camera operator for the upcoming trilogy.” I use the shorthand nickname for our director. “She’s damned talented, if you ask me.”

  He punches my arm. “Lucky man. Wish she were operating my camera, if you know what I mean.” His hips rock to accentuate his point.

  Lawrence, the 1st AC on my upcoming film, waves to me. I barely know the guy, but the cameraman has to be better than this douche. Clapping my hand on Kane’s shoulder—which is super buff, reminding me to get to the gym in the morning—I say, “Gotta go. One of the crew is waving me over. See ya around.”

  “You bet.”

  Arriving at the punch bowl, I take the offered cup of eggnog from Lawrence. “I didn’t notice you were talking with Kane Martin. Sorry to pull you away from your conversation.”

  “No worries, dude. How are you enjoying the party?”

  “It’s great.” He leans forward. “Honestly, I came to hear Hunte perform live. They’re one of my favorites.”

  “Yeah, they always know how to win a crowd. Melody’s lucky to have him as her father.”

  Instead of agreeing, Lawrence scowls. “Accidents of birth can’t be helped, right?”

  I cock my head, thinking of Kane. Guess he does have a point. “Sometimes they do come in handy,” I admit.

  “Yeah. And sometimes their luck is extended to friends.”

  Not following his line of logic, I ask, “And by friends, you mean?”

  Using his cup, he points toward the woman in light green. “How do you think she got the camera operator position? I was working on Doctor Manipul8 just like she was. But now? Which one of us got promoted? Not the guy who’s been with Noble through five movies, but the girl with one movie and a best friend with the last name of Hunte.”

  I take a swig of the spiked holiday cheer as I digest his diatribe. I was on the last set, too, and Sophia’s skills were outstanding. Not to mention how she played the pivotal role in determining the identity of the person ruining Chase’s costumes. Lawrence never stood out.

  I control my need to pound my chest and shout her praises. Maybe I’m wrong? In a controlled voice that hides my swinging emotions, I ask, “So, what do you think makes you more qualified than her?”

  Lawrence’s chest puffs. “Where do I start? First”—he holds up his index finger—“I’ve been working with Noble longer than she has.” He adds another finger. “I’ve been in the industry for a decade longer than she has. And three”—his ring finger is added to the list—“I can anticipate what Noble wants. She can’t,” he spits.

  He sounds jealous, not more qualified than Sophia. Deciding it’s better for me to leave, I give him a nod and step to the right. Unfortunately, like reindeer with carrots, he follows me.

  “You know I’m right. It’s all because she’s best friends with Melody. Growing up in the same town, she got all sorts of perks because of that. Leaving the rest of us out in the cold, trying to fend for ourselves. Right?”

  Needing to sort my jumble of feelings, I take another sip from my cup. After a pregnant pause, I reply, “Time will tell, I guess.” I walk blindly away, but Lawrence stays on my tail.

  “I mean, if you had Kane Martin’s pedigree, you’d already have an Academy Award by now. But no, you’re not born from Hollywood’s—”

  I don’t let him finish, as his words ignite a firestorm inside. In one of the menacing voices I’ve perfected playing villains over the past decade, I cut him off, “Listen, Lawrence. I’m working damned hard to play nice with you, but you’re all fucking wrong.”

  He doesn’t take the not so subtle hint. “You can’t say that. Sophia’s taking advantage of her friendship and getting what’s mine, just like Kane’s being born to actors gets him all the meatier roles.”

  Comparing Sophia with Kane is the final straw. Without regard for who’s around or where I am, my voice rises. “I tried to be nice to you, but you just don’t get it. Sophia has more talent in her pinky finger than you do in your whole body. She hones her skills, constantly, with classes, always putting in extra time. What do you do? Sit around and complain why she got a promotion?”

  Instead of backing away like I expected him to do, Lawrence pushes forward and pokes his finger in my chest. “I work hard, you asshole. My job’s much more difficult than simply having to memorize some lines a writer prepared.” He snaps his fingers. “Too bad reciting lines is your only forte, though. Acting involves more than that if you want recognition like him.” He points his thumb, and I follow the direction. My eyes collide with Kane’s, who’s observing us from across the room.

  “Watch it,” I snarl. “My acting abilities are more developed than your camera skills, Mr. 1st AC. Sophia deserved that promotion due to her hard work. She’s the real genius between the two of you.”

  Despite Hunte’s playing another one of their hits, the crowd around us is silent. Shit. Lifting my chin, I yell, “Anyone want to dispute me?” I motion for them to bring it with my fingers. “I’m here.”

  People shake their heads and back away from us. Damn good thing, too. After being left high and dry by Sophia, meeting up with Kane who scored a date with her, then having to defend her, my body’s coiled for a fight. I zero in on my target. “Have anything to add, Lawrence?”

  “You’re a real asshole, you know that? We both know who the better cameraman is. And I’m sure your acting ability in Noble’s upcoming film will prove he should’ve paid more to get a real talent.”

  I’m blinded by fury. Ignoring his zinger at my abilities, for some reason I focus on defending Sophia. “Only a true low-life wants to kill a movie before it starts. Ever hear of a rising tide lifts all boats? Sophia’s a consummate professional and freaking good at her job. Why don’t you learn something from her?”

  “Guys, guys. You’re making a scene.”

  I flash my ire toward Kane, who’s taken it upon himself to play peacemaker. Cornered, I crush the empty cup in my hand and throw it, beaming Lawrence in the head. Short-lived satisfaction makes my lip curl upward.

  “I’m outta here.” I steam toward the exit, people moving to give me wide berth.

  4

  Sophia

  Melody places her manicured hand on top of my arm after I tell her what went down with Mark in his suite. “I’m so sorry. I really thought he was the real deal.”

  “Yeah, I was letting myself believe.” I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. “I should know better by now.”

  She wraps her arm around me. “Your guy is out there. I know it. You just might have to kiss a lot of toads.”

  “Been there, bought the T-shirt.”

  Someone tries to hand me a piece of birthday cake—the only taste I had of it came when I cut it with Mark earlier. I shake my head, but Melody takes two plates and shoves one at my midsection. “It’s your birthday, and this is your cake. You can’t turn it down.”

  I take the plate from her but make no move to pick up the fork. “This is the worst birthday I can remember.”

  Melody cuts a piece and holds it up to my mouth. “Then let’s turn it around. Eat.”

  Knowing my bestie like I do, there’s no stopping her, so I open my mouth. The bakery treat is delicious, no matter that it’s shared with the jerk. Swallowing, I utter, “It is good cake.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Sophia.” Kane Martin appears at my side, and Mel backs away, giving me a thumbs-up.

  “Thank you.” For lack of anything else to do, I pick up my fork. “Have you had any cake?”

  He shakes his head. “Not on my diet. But, please enjoy.”

  I take a bite. “Are you enjoying the Jingle Balls ball?”

  “Now that I get to talk with you, I am.”

  Geez, this
guy’s a smooth operator. Determined, once again, to steer clear of actors thanks to Mark, I take an involuntary step back. “I’m sure there are much more exciting people around here.” I point to a group of actors. “Aren’t you friends with them?”

  He tosses a glance in the direction I pointed, but his gaze returns to me. “Actors are a dime a dozen. People with true skill are more enticing.”

  Does he mean me? How would he know if I’m skilled or not? We’ve never worked together. Plus, he’s won several awards. His smarm factor goes up. “I’m flattered.” I shovel another bite of cake into my mouth.

  Kane’s blue eyes fasten on me as I chew the delicate cake. “You should be.” He invades my space, and my body rebels, not wanting any part of him. Or any man, for that matter. Especially not Mark. “I want to get to know Noble’s newest camera operator. When are you free?”

  “If you want to work with me, I’m all booked up.” Not a lie. With daily meetings next week with the director, my dance card is full.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a personal liaison.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  Ew, yuck. I shake my head. “Kane, I’m coming out of a bad breakup, and I’m not ready to date anyone.” And that’s the truth. Even though Mark and I never did date. But another rich actor definitely is off my list.

  His arm snakes out, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t be that way, Sophia.”

  I adopt a fake smile and twist my wrist free. “Try it elsewhere.” I turn on my heel and stalk away, Melody appearing at my side.

  She takes one look at me and murmurs, “You need something to drink.”

  Although all I want to do is get out of this stifling place and go home, my ingrained need to please resurfaces. A coating goodness of eggnog may perform wonders, so I point to the punch bowl.

  We get in line, which is quite deep. Mel relieves me of my half-eaten cake and deposits the plate on a nearby table. “You handled him well.”

  Knowledge that she was watching over me calms my nerves. “Thanks. All actors are assholes,” I grouse.