She makes a fist, and the nut shoots out of her hands. "Damn!"
"Can’t do it?" I laugh, retrieving it from under the tree. "I’m surprised. You always were a nutbuster."
"I wish." Gigi fits another shell within the metal jaws and squeezes.
"Ouch. That made my balls twinge."
"I don’t want to hear about your dick."
"Really? You sure enjoyed getting an eyeful."
Her skin burns a shade of magenta.
"Shut up, Ronan. I’m trying to—" The nut slips within her clenched fist. "Goddamn it!"
"You shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain during such a sacred celebration."
"Do the Santa Clauses hanging over the fireplace make it holy?"
"For shit’s sake. Let me do it." I seize the nutcracker, splitting a chestnut with hardly any effort. "It’s all in the wrist, Good Girl."
Harassed, her amber gaze crashes into mine. "There must be plenty of other chores. Pick another corner and stay away from me."
I grin in the face of her acid glare. "Have you missed me?"
"Yeah, like people miss cancer.” Gigi misses, crushing her finger within the nutcracker. She pops the digit into her mouth. “Ouch!”
God, I’d love to do that for her.
A sharp tug of arousal hits me as she sucks on her finger. "So what have you been up to?"
"Besides getting dumped by my fiancé, not much."
His loss. My gain. "Sorry. That’s a bummer."
Gigi frowns, merely irritated. "I’m not that fussed, to be honest."
"I’m sure you’ll find another guy’s nuts to crack."
"Funny." She rolls her eyes at me. "Ugh, not this song."
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer blares from the speakers.
"Yeah, sorry about that. Mom has a thing for holiday music. There’s no talking her out of it. Believe me, I’ve tried."
Over the years, Liam and I stood back from Mom’s mania over Christmas. I’m no psychiatrist, but it doesn’t take a shrink to realize she pours her energy into the holidays to make up for us not having a father figure.
"It’s okay," she sighs. "I’m just in a mood and I’ve never been a fan of the holidays."
"Me neither."
"I don’t know how you do it." Sighing, Gigi gives up, laying the nutcracker on the table. "Can’t figure it out."
"I’ll show you. Wait a second. I’ll get us drinks."
Her eyebrows fly into her hair as she pretends to consider the offer. "Er—thanks but I need to help my mom."
With a twirl of her cocktail dress, she returns to the kitchen. Annoyance stabs my chest as she flits around my house in that curve-hugging outfit. I’d love to lift her onto a counter and grab a handful of her ass.
But Gigi won’t give me the time of day, and why should she? I was an asshole to her. My status as a football player gave me a ridiculous amount of power in high school, and I threw it around like an idiot. I regret it now—just like I regret the spontaneous tattoo on my thigh.
Gigi was a permanent fixture while growing up. She was the girl next door—shy, mousy, and quiet. The perfect target for my rambunctious ass. Five years later, she comes back, confidence rolling from her in an intoxicating cloud. I wonder why her ex ended their relationship.
I watch her while these thoughts stew, well aware of my pulse rocketing when our paths cross, and my sharp frustration when she doesn’t show an iota of interest.
Before long, the house becomes a hive of activity. Mom gets more and more frantic as the hour approaches. A focused Gigi stands in the hallway on short ladder, reaching for wine glasses. She’s not wearing a bra and my jaw might drop to the floor.
"Here. I’ll take them." I offer an outstretched hand, and she frowns at it as if expecting a trick.
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
She climbs down. "Look, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone tonight."
"Does my presence make you hot and bothered?"
Flames lick her cheeks. "No, it doesn’t. I just want a nice, quiet evening without assholes from my past badgering me. Is that too much to ask?"
"Gigi, I’m not the same guy I was in high school."
"Yeah, yeah. Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots. I’m not interested in your redemption story." Gigi palms my chest, pushing me aside. "Excuse me."
Which leaves me gaping after her like a fucking trout.
I need another chance to talk to her. She might be done with me, but I’m not done with her.
Gigi
This party blows, but at least there’s liquor. I’m sipping my third appletini as the house fills with people I haven’t seen in years. Faces I wish I could forget pop from the shadows, partners wrapped around their arms.
I don’t care.
The chatter of happy couples doesn’t move me. I block out discussions of their Christmas plans, how they intend to go ice skating, bake a pie together, and other revoltingly cute couple activities.
I’m not jealous.
I’m glad I’m single.
The last drops of the cocktail fizzle on my tongue. I stare into the bottom of another empty glass, and then I grab a handful of chocolate red-and-green M&Ms because who the hell cares? I’m not watching my weight anymore. I don’t have to endure my ex’s frequent comments warning me against too much of this or that. Eating sweets doesn’t really fix the boredom, though.
A friendly face surfaces through the crowd.
Thank God. "Liana!"
"Gigi!" A woman with sleek black hair and almond-shaped eyes waves, cherry-red lips smiling. "Oh, my god! How are you?"
"I’m good. " Liana throws a skinny arm around my neck. "You look as hot as always."
Liana was a fellow awkward geek who attended most of my science AP classes. A white Prada purse hangs from her shoulder and a ruffled black dress flows down her slim figure. A thick line of sparkling silver rides across her lids. Simple but elegant.
"You look amazing." Liana holds my arm as she pulls back. "How’s James?"
"No idea." I tip my glass before remembering there’s nothing inside. "We broke up."
"You’re kidding."
"Nope." A pang of hurt stabs my chest. "He ended it. Said he was having second thoughts."
"Well, he picked a great time to tell you. What an ass."
"Honestly, I’m not that broken up over it. Which tells me he wasn’t the right guy, anyway."
"Makes sense." Liana wets her lips with her white wine. "It’s crazy being back here. Like a mini high school reunion. Remember how awkward we were?"
"I was secretary and treasurer of the book club."
She laughs. "I remember reading Twilight and Anne Rice. We wore fan t-shirts."
Groaning, I push the empty glass over the counter. "Don’t remind me."
"We had a vampire phase growing up. So what?" Liana leans in closer, beckoning me. "You know who really changed since high school? Ronan. Damn, that guy’s filled out. He’s gorgeous."
I snap back, shaking my head. "I don’t care what he looks like. He’s persona-non grata."
"He’s right next door! And I heard he’s single." Liana twirls the wine stem, her cheeks burning. "If I were you, I’d be all over him. I’d be bumping into him in a silk camisole with no bra—"
I sputter as she cracks up. "That’s a little forward."
"Guys love it when you flaunt it, and you’ve got nice boobs."
A deep voice cuts through our conversation. "Speaking as a guy—I agree."
Liana gasps. "Were you eavesdropping?"
Ronan pauses, beer halfway raised to his mouth. "Can’t help listening in when I hear my name."
Liana raises her glass, laughing as she disappears from my side. "Gotta go to the bathroom!"
No you don’t, bitch.
Ronan’s broad shouldered frame slides into Liana’s vacated spot. Damn him for his impeccable bone structure and fashion sense. For the party, he changed into slacks and a red knit over a w
hite shirt. I avoided looking at him the whole night, knowing, if I did, I’d fantasize. A blush creeps up my neck as I picture him naked. I’ll never be able to look at him without seeing everything.
Now he’s cornered me. There’s no escape from his tractor beam.
A playful smile dances on his face. "Gigi, you still with me?"
"I—did you say something?"
"You’re drunk." His grin widened. "I guess you’re not a good girl anymore. Are you?"
"I’m tired of that stupid nickname. And I’m thirsty." I pluck the beer from him and taste it, nodding in approval. "It’s not an IPA. You’re full of surprises, Ronan."
"Sadly, I can’t tick all of the boxes of a true bro."
At least he’s honest about what he is. "Why are you talking to me? We’ve never been friends."
"Can’t I be curious about my next-door neighbor?" He tugs my elbow. "Come. I want a drink."
Too tired to argue, I follow him into a game room where a group of college boys shriek rock ballads on a karaoke machine. Compared to the Christmas music in the foyer, it’s tolerable.
Hand wrapped around my arm, he guides me through the maze of people to a cooler packed with ice. He releases me, digging for a golden bottle.
I should leave, but I don’t like the idea of brooding on my couch, of Ronan telling everyone that Good Girl was the same old priss that wouldn’t let loose even though her engagement was canceled.
"What’s your life been like?" I steady myself on a pool table. "For some insane reason, I’m your Facebook friend."
Ronan pops the cap, raising the beer to his lips. He makes drinking a Corona look sexy, for God’s sake. That should be criminal.
"Football and school take up most of my time, but honestly I’m thinking of quitting."
"I thought football was your thing."
"In high school, sure. But I’m getting older and the injuries take longer to heal." He shrugs, taking a swig of alcohol. "I don’t know."
"Is it weird that I feel the same indecision about my life? I’m supposed to be studying for the MCAT, but I don’t want to."
"So don’t! Live a little."
"Easy for you to say." My head pounds with appletinis and beer. "You have the world by the balls. You always have."
"There you go again. Talking about balls." A hearty laugh bursts from his throat. "Is this because you saw me naked? You’ve got penis on the brain."
I do. "Shut up."
He takes my hand, actually envelopes it in his massive one. The sheer warmth of his grip steals my breath. "Sing a duet with me."
"A what?"
Ronan’s face swims closer. "Let’s do it. It’ll be fun."
My first impulse is to object, but fuck that. So drunk I can’t really stand. "Which song?"
I stumble, but he catches my waist. A gasp hitches in my throat as he flashes a grin. "How about, I Got You Babe."
My face burns. "Too romantic."
"Baby, It’s Cold Outside."
"Also very romantic." I shake my head. "Under Pressure."
"Tough song," he ribbed. "Which one do you want to be? Queen or David Bowie?"
"Queen. Definitely."
He rubs his forehead, cheeks going pink. "I can’t believe I’m doing this."
"This was your idea," I remind him.
"Yes," he sighs, resigned. "Let’s do this. A promise is a promise."
Reading the lyrics is a challenge, because the world has gone topsy-turvy. By the time Ronan says it’s our turn to sing, my mind is blank. I don’t remember which song I picked. I walk to the makeshift stage illuminated in the pink-and-blue hues of a disco ball, and try to make sense of the words scrolling across the LCD screen.
My laughter booms from the speaker as the first bars play. Ronan lifts the microphone to his lips and belts the music. People scream encouragement. They cheer as I stumble through the song, shrieking the high notes. Ronan breaks off to laugh, a deep rich sound.
Suddenly, it’s over. The red-and-blue light stops spinning. People clap. Ronan guides me off the stage, still giggling.
"Was I good?"
"Sure," Ronan chuckles. "You could barely stand, let alone sing."
I feel as light as a cloud. "It was still fun."
"Good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. It’s nice."
"I never let you see me like this. There’s a difference." A pleasant feeling inside me simmers, like the expanding warmth after drinking a shot. Every time I meet his gaze, I feel it ensnaring me.
Ronan takes my hand, pulling me into living room packed with people. He clears off a seat, still clutching me firmly, and maneuvers me down. I sink into the cushions of the loveseat. He sits beside me, closer than he’s ever been without inflicting some kind of misery on me—whether it was a water balloon or a kick-me sign.
I never thought this would happen. Ronan and I having drinks together, singing karaoke, hell, just sitting side-bye-side. And it’s not horrible.
Ronan’s expression is calm, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. A smile curves his wet lips, and he raises his glass, toasting me. I polish off the beer, so drunk I can only focus on Ronan. It’s deafening with all the chatter and the music, but I’m tuned into him. Somehow, I know I’ll catch every word tumbling from his lips.
"Gigi," he says, softly. "How long are you in town?"
"A few weeks."
"Good. So am I."
Hold on. "What does that mean?"
"We should do this again. You’re not bad company."
"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re still a menace." I need water. I pull away from him, but the world spins way too fast.
Quickly, he steadies me. "Where do you think you’re going?"
"I’m a bit tired. I should go home."
"I’ll take you."
Laughter bursts from my chest. "I live next door. I don’t need an escort!"
"Yeah, you do." Amusement rolls from his rich voice. "You’re wasted. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself."
I swallow my instinct to argue. He wants to play the white knight—fine. Lord knows it’s way overdue.
Arm intertwined with Ronan’s, I follow him through the maze of people, bedazzled by the swarm of red and green. I stumble over the threshold, laughing. Maybe this Christmas crap isn’t so bad.
"Damn girl. Where’s your tolerance?" Ronan stops for a moment, adjusting his grip. "Hold on."
Suddenly, I’m flying in the air, screaming. He sweeps me into his arms, and I lock my hands around his neck.
"That’s better," he says.
"What are you doing? Put me down!"
"No. This is easier."
I’m speechless, the words stolen from me by this caveman who’d rather throw a woman over his shoulder than let her walk. The nerve of him.
Who the hell does that to a stranger?
He’s not some rando. I’ve known him since I was five. Before he turned into a complete ass—before his father left—he was a sweet kid. He taught me how to catch grasshoppers. For a brief time, he was the boy I liked.
When Ronan transformed into a little shit, I thought that sweetness was lost forever, but clearly it’s still there. He buried it under layers of machismo and teenage angst.
But he’s not a boy anymore. I’ve never been more aware of that, with his rippling arms locked around me and his intoxicating scent. My weight effortless, he walks through the frigid air. Being this close to him feels so good. My heart hammers, so loud I’m sure he’ll hear. Then he’ll ask why—and I won’t have an answer. He’s close and it’s great.
A blast of warmth hits me as he unlocks our door and steps inside the darkened house.
"How did you have the key?"
"Your mom gave it to me. We talked to her on the way out." Sensing my confusion, he laughs. "Where do I put you? Wait—let me guess."
Kicking the door closed, he flips the light switch and strolls down the hall. He turns into a room with sunshine-yellow
walls, and my heart throbs.
Ronan is in my bedroom.
Gently, he drops me onto the mattress. He kneels, unlacing my shoes, which clatter loudly to the floor. My hair spills over my pillow as he rips back the sheets and tucks me in. Crossing the room, he grabs several pillows and stuffs them behind my back.
"I don’t think you’ll get sick, but just in case." Ronan pulls the comforter to my chin, tucking the sheets around my body.
I’m so warm. My eyelids are like lead. "Ronan?"
"I should get back to the party." He hesitates, arm still draped across my shoulder. "You’ll be all right."
"T—thanks."
"I hope you remember this." Ronan leans over and kisses my forehead.
Suddenly, I’m hot all over. Such a chaste gesture shouldn’t inflame my body with embarrassment and desire.
"The—the kiss?"
"No." Ronan stands, grinning. "That I was nice to you."
"This is a dream, isn’t it?"
"If it was, we’d be naked." He winks before flipping the switch. "Sweet dreams, Good Girl."
Ronan
"What was up with you and Gigi last night?"
Mom fires the question the second I walk into the kitchen. It’s like slamming into a brick wall.
She stands at the stove, pushing aside the skillet of sizzling bacon as she wipes tongs clean. Ignoring her is a futile enterprise. Her stare burns two holes into my head.
I meet her heated gaze. "Good morning to you, too."
"Morning." Her disapproval makes drying dishes look like she’s cleaning a gun. "What were you doing with Gigi?"
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I grab a plate from the cupboard. "Always the tone of suspicion."
"Can you blame me after what you did to that poor girl?"
"For the love of God, that’s ancient history."
"It might be for you, but I still remember the call from the principal. Most embarrassing day of my life."
Mine too, come to think of it. "I’m sure she’s gotten over it."
"Pete’s sake," my brother bellows from the living room. "If she hasn’t, someone should buy her lube for that stick up her—ow!" Bemused, Liam peels an oven mitt from his head. "Good arm, Mom."
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