We walk into a lot bustling with families choosing last-minute trees. People smile at us. Ronan and I probably look like a couple looking to get a tree for our apartment. I don’t mind that assumption because it’s better than walking in here, wondering if everyone can tell that I’m horribly alone.
A text chimes from my phone. It’s from my ex. "Ugh."
Ronan glances over. "What’s up?"
"My stupid ex." I stuff the phone deep into my purse. "He keeps bugging me."
"So block the deuce."
"Can’t. We still have things to sort out." Like me moving out. "Not looking forward to it."
"All you need to worry about right now is which tree you want. And how you’ll repay me."
"We can talk about repayment when you’ve erased your asshole debt."
He snorts. "Asshole debt?"
"It’s what happens when you’re a jerk for so many years to people who don’t deserve it."
A deep sound rumbles from the back of his throat. "Maybe you’ll have it in your heart to forgive me."
He makes that seem so suggestive, and yet I still feel like the perv. Ronan hasn’t done or said a thing to hint that’s he’s interested in anything more.
I swallow hard. "Probably not."
Ronan points an axe at a tree missing a clump of branches. "That one’s okay."
"There’s got to be better."
Side-by-side, we stroll through the rows of Christmas tree rejects. Stunted, ugly things that nobody wants.
"Is it weird that I feel bad for them?"
"Not at all." Dimples carve into his cheek. "Bleeding heart."
"I want to find the ugliest tree and bring it home. That one looks very Charlie Brown-ish."
"It’s skeletal," he says, dismissing it. "Your mom will be pissed. What about a Douglas fir?"
It’s cone-shaped, gnarled, and nasty-looking. A tough tree. But the needles are brown.
"Hmm." I turn on the spot, my breath misting the air. "That one?"
Shorter than the others, the tree stands at a crooked angle. Branches warp around a curiously blank spot on the stump.
"Sold. Ugly as hell." He rolls his sleeves to keep his sweater clean from flying pine needles. "Stand back."
It’s nice to watch Ronan break a sweat on my behalf. There’s nothing more beautiful than seeing those rippling muscles in action.
He swings. A crack like a gunshot shoots through the lot.
"Wow." Desire tugs at my heart when he gives me a hearty wink.
He brushes needles off his broad chest. "Want to try?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever done it before?"
"Nope."
Ronan gives me the axe. The handle is still warm from his touch. I’m glad the cold disguises the sudden rush of heat to my face when he guides my waist. His fingers are gentle as he positions me.
The axe weighs down my arms. I squint at the progress he made and swing. The blade misses wildly, sinking into the bark with a jarring thud.
"Ow!" The shock reverberates into my elbow. "That hurt my wrists."
I struggle to pry it loose, incensed by his laughs.
"It hurts because you’re so dainty." Ronan yanks it free, sliding it back into my grip. "Try again."
This time, he moves behind me. His arms snake around me, finding the axe. His bearlike hands fold over mine.
"First, you make a notch." A blast of air hits my cheek. "Then you chop the other side until it falls."
Ronan’s closeness steals my breath. His unexpected warmth fills my stomach. It’s like I’d been freezing this whole time, and I didn’t even realize. God, it feels damned good. So much so that his shameless flirting doesn’t bother me.
What does he want?
The wonderful feeling disappears as Ronan releases my hands and steps away. It’s like being doused with cold. Without him, I’m freezing again.
I swing. The axe skates off the bark.
I sigh, handing it back to him. "This isn’t my thing."
"That’s okay. You have plenty other things going for you."
I snort, watching him fell the tree in a few quick strikes. "Like what?"
"A nice ass." Ronan smirks as he drags the tree to the cabin where electric saws are set up outside. "I need to saw the base to make it flat. Hold on."
A nice ass.
That brings a smile to my lips, even though he’s being crass. "Seriously, what’s with the flirting?"
"Some people like to flirt, Good Girl. It’s fun."
"I know it is, but it’s weird coming from you."
"Is it?" Ronan yanks the stump over the circular saw. "You’ve known me forever."
The mechanical scream of the saw seems to cleave me in two. What is he saying? That he had a crush on me?
No way.
Ronan’s pestered me for years. Aside from a brief truce when we were children, our relationship was hate at first sight. Now he’s pretending to be into me to set me up for another humiliation.
But if this is a prank, he’s going about it an odd way. Lifting the tree with one hand, he strolls to the cashier.
The old man seizes the yellow tag. "That’ll be thirty bucks."
Ronan rips out his wallet and gives him two twenties. "Thanks, man."
The change goes into the tip jar.
Beaming, the cashier waves at us. "Merry Christmas!"
"You too!" Whistling, Ronan makes his way back to the car.
My head reels with the strangeness of it all. "What are you doing?"
He pauses in the middle of tying the tree to the roof. "Securing the tree. What does it look like?"
"I mean, why are you paying for my Christmas tree? You don’t owe me anything. We’re not friends. We weren’t even acquaintances before this."
"Guys do things to get a hot girl’s attention," he says, stealing the air from the world. "Even when she’s as stubborn as you."
After he’s done tying the tree, he opens my door. "After you."
I roll my eyes, sliding inside. The mirror reflects my pink face.
He settles into the driver’s seat. "There’s no trick, Gigi. I’m not out to get you."
"You’re always out to get me. Remember spring break of freshman year? Your super soakers blasted into my room while I was asleep—"
Ronan roars with laughter. "God, I almost forgot about that."
"That—wasn’t—funny!"
"You were supposed to hit me back, Gigi. That’s the whole point of pranks."
"I didn’t want to engage in your juvenile behavior." Anger burns in my chest as I remember waking to a jet of water aimed at my face. "I really hated you."
"I’m sorry. In my defense, I was a teenage boy."
"No, no, no. Don’t you dare give me that 'boys will be boys' crap, because I will shove that so far up your ass—"
"Ooh. Kinky. Can you run it by me before putting anything up there?"
"Talking to you is so fucking exhausting."
"Relax. We had fun, didn’t we?"
Until he pushed my buttons. "Why is it that you’ve always been the only guy in my entire life that can get me this upset?"
Ronan’s grin broadens. "Because you have a crush on me."
Ronan
I snap awake as a stench fills my nose, which itches. I scratch it, my fingers brushing cotton. As I inhale, a memory slams into my head. It’s so strong it’s as though I’m standing in the men’s locker room at school. It always smelled like a combination of mold and ball sweat.
I fling the cloth off my face, and the tighty-whitey unwraps in the air like a grotesque bird taking flight. Someone put their underwear on my damn face.
Not someone.
I bolt upright, a scream balling in my throat. "Liam, I’m going to fucking kill you!"
"Don’t swear!"
Ignoring Mom, I burst into the hallway and march into my brother’s. Liam’s back is against me when I enter. He sits on the floor, mashing an old PS2 controller.
"M
orning, bro." His boyish features tense with mock alarm. "Something wrong?"
"You know what you did, fucker."
I smack his head, and he strikes back with lightning speed, slapping my chin.
"Oh, it’s on!" I shove him backward, and the controller to the PS2 goes flying. I have the advantage because I’m heavier, but Liam is a wily bastard. He slips from my headlock like an eel and grabs my neck, grinding his knuckles into my skull.
"Noogie!" he screeches.
"Let me go, you jackass!"
"What’s the matter?" Liam bops my head. "Can’t stop me?"
Like hell I can’t.
I throw him off my back, and he crashes into the bed. The headboard slams against the wall. Laughing, he bounces from the mattress’ springs to launch at me. We grapple each other, locked in a fierce slapping fight. My back slams into a desk.
"Boys!" Mom thunders from the threshold. "Stop it!"
We break apart, breathing hard. "Asshat."
"Lil’ bitch," my brother chirps, collapsing onto his bed. "Consider it sparring practice with your sensei."
"There are scones in the kitchen," Mom interjects. "Liam bought some. Isn’t that nice?"
"Yeah." I smack Liam’s head once more, for good measure. "So was waking up to his ball sweat."
"If you have time to fight, you have time for chores," Mom snaps, pointing outside. "I want you both to shovel the driveway."
Liam groans. "Why?"
"It needs to be done." She shoves an armful of laundry into his chest. "And don’t ever do that to your brother again. That’s disgusting."
"Yeah, there’s no telling where his dick’s been."
Shaking her head, Mom leaves the room.
Laughing, Liam rises from the bed. He stretches his arms over his head, yawning loudly. "Speaking of sex lives, how’s yours?"
Weirdo. "Fine."
He switches off the television still blaring with his game. "What about the girl from last night?"
"The girl?"
"I saw you schlepping a tree with Mom’s car and carrying it into the neighbor’s house."
"Don’t you have papers to grade?"
"I’m on break, moron." Liam’s hooded eyes narrow. "She’s hot, but that’s a little much. Don’t you think?"
I’m not just trying to get laid.
In all honesty, I don’t know what I’m after. "I’m here for a while, and I’d like to spend them balls deep in the hot chick next door. So what?"
"So go on Tinder or something." Exasperated, he grabs his phone from his nightstand. "Check this out, bro."
I push his cell aside. "I’m not interested in random hookups."
Liam stares at me like I’ve sprouted antlers. "Whatever."
"I need to eat." Walking from his bedroom, I enter the kitchen blazing with red and green decorations. A quick glance outside tells me it won’t take too long to shovel our driveway, but a thick blanket of snow covers Gigi’s.
I scarf down breakfast and coffee before pulling on a thick Northwestern sweater. Liam joins me, jabbering about his life in Manhattan as we work together. Eventually, he realizes I’m ignoring him. Instead of backing off, he pelts me with snowballs. My brother’s older than me by two years, but acts like he’s thirteen.
"Come on!" Liam pounds his chest like a gorilla. "Fight, you coward!"
Snowballs explode on my back as I continue working, tuning out my brother’s shouts. He’s always been a whirlwind of energy. Sometimes it surprises me that he never went into sports.
"Ronan!"
I pause to look at Mom hanging from the doorway just as a flurry of white smacks my head. "Yeah?"
Concern knits Mom’s brows. "Could you go check on Gigi? She’s not answering the phone."
"What?"
"Come here!"
The packed snow crunches under my boots as I approach her, shovel in hand.
She tightens her jean jacket against the cold. "You need to check on Gigi," she says, handing me keys. Gigi’s mom left them in case there was an emergency. Go inside and check on her, please."
"Mom, that’s insane. I’m not barging into her house."
"She was supposed to be here half an hour ago!" Mom’s lips tremble as she stares at the dark interior of Gigi’s house. "She’s not picking up her phone, and I promised I’d look after her. What if she drank herself into a coma and split her head open?"
My laughter earns me a death glare.
"I’m serious, Ronan. That girl is beyond grief-stricken—"
"She didn’t seem that upset about her fiancé. Just saying."
"Don’t you dare, Ronan. Until you’ve felt the loss of a partner, don’t try to assume what she’s going through."
I roll my eyes. "She clearly doesn’t want company if she’s not answering."
"Or she’s hurt and can’t reach the door!" Mom begs me. "Check on her. Please."
"Why can’t you?"
"Because I’ve got something on the stove," she hisses. "Just go."
I sigh heavily. "All right."
"And be nice to her." Glowering, she disappears behind the door with a snap.
I rest the shovel against the wall, fingering Gigi’s house keys. I’m the last person she’ll want to see, but whatever. Anything to keep Mom from having a meltdown.
I walk across the driveway, the porch creaking under my feet. My knuckles rap the wood. I wait, my toes slowly turning to ice. Then I ring the bell.
The house is dark inside. A pile of blankets covers the couch, spilling onto the floor. Bottles litter the floor. Empty bags of chips sit on the coffee table.
I knock on the windowpanes, looking for movement. "Gigi!"
My breath frosts the glass. It’s fucking cold and I can’t stand much more of this. Jiggling the key into the lock, I open the door and step inside.
This is breaking and entering.
"Gigi, I’m coming inside—" I break off with a laugh. "Well, you know what I mean. I’m in your house."
Not a sound.
A growing unease expands under my ribs. I root through the blankets, but she’s not there. Junk is piled over the countertops. Looks like Good Girl went to town as soon as her mother left.
"Gigi! Are you okay?"
She’s definitely here. Her Mom’s car is still parked in the driveway, and I didn’t see her leave this morning—not that I give a damn where she goes.
Sighing, I walk into the hall filled with portraits of the awkward girl I knew growing up. Thick black glasses frame an oval face. Somewhere between pimply and gangly, she grew into the stunner who practically knocked my jaw to the floor.
Ahead, a light glows under a closed door. I approach it, knocking the wood. "Hey, you in there?"
Nothing.
Silence fills my gut with dread. Suppose my neurotic mother is right, and she’s incapacitated? She might be fine, but she might not. I should check.
I have to.
The knob twists, and a ball of air tenses in my throat. The door swings into a misted bathroom. The steam rolls out, revealing white-tiles, a fogged mirror, and a naked women lounging in a tub.
Holy shit.
Gigi’s gleaming leg hangs over the edge. If it weren’t for the strategically placed foam, I’d be able to see everything. Her hair twists into a messy knot. She tilts her head back, eyes closed as she whispers lyrics. Suddenly, she belts out a chorus, horribly off key. She’s wearing earphones. That’s why she didn’t answer the door.
Cursing my mother, I duck away from the sight running my blood hot. I close the door. It snaps, and then a splash accompanies a raised voice. "Mom?"
Goddamnit. "It’s me, Ronan."
"What the hell?" Another splash, and then wet footsteps. "What are you doing in my house?"
Well, I’m fucked. I’m no Peeping Tom, but I know how this looks. Gigi bursts outside, wearing a hastily tied bathrobe. It would be sexy as hell if she didn’t have that look on her face.
"It’s not what you think," I laugh in spite of my
embarrassment. "My mom was worried about you."
"What?"
"You weren’t answering your phone."
"Maybe cause I want to be alone! What gives you the right to break into my house?"
"For the record, there was no breaking and entering." I dangle the keys in her face. "Your mom gave my mom a copy."
"Jesus."
"Look, Good Girl. I didn’t mean to walk into you rubbing oils on yourself or whatever you were doing in there."
"I was relaxing—not touching myself!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." I hold up my hands, laughing. "Did I say you were masturbating? Or is that where you mind goes when you see me? I was on a simple errand for my mom. That’s it."
Gigi fumes. "You saw me naked."
Unfortunately, no. "All I saw was a bunch of bubbles. I’m sorry for barging in. Won’t happen again."
I should leave, but the sight of Gigi half-dressed has me paralyzed. My legs won’t work. Gigi’s neck-diving robe reveals more of her cleavage than she probably realizes, and her skin is moist from the shower. Gigi’s snarl drags my gaze to her gorgeous face.
"What gives everyone the right to think they can meddle in my damn life? I broke up with a man. So what?"
"My mom might be projecting a tad."
"Fine. She’s overprotective." Gigi crosses her arms, pushing her slicked tits together.
God, they’re almost falling out. I should say something. "You—"
"Don’t try to turn this on me. You have a brain. Why didn’t you use it?"
Not right now, I don’t.
I’m only capable of monosyllabic replies when confronted with a semi-nude chic I have the hots for. In any other circumstance, I’d walk out without a backward glance. I’ve seen dozens of tits—lopsided ones, some with brown nipples, others with pink. But I’ve never seen hers.
I was unprepared for the sheer perfection of Gigi’s shining body, still perfumey and wet. One quick jerk of that haphazardly tied rope would make all of her bare. There's nothing I’ve wanted more in my life.
I really should leave.
"Why won’t you answer me?" Gigi shoves my chest, the contact fueling my fire because her tits pop out. "You and everyone else in this neighborhood is obsessed with my failed relationship—probably because you want to mock that too. Well, go ahead, you jackass."
Jingle Balls Page 4