Christmas in the City II

by Samantha Chase

  “All right. Be careful.”

  “Always am,” I answer. I hurry back into the kitchen and ask Mom if she needs anything else—she doesn’t—then grab my coat from the hall closet and hustle out into the snow with Aaron behind me.

  Once settled into my SUV, Aaron speaks. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  “No problem, there’s no sense in making two separate trips.”

  The car is silent as I back out of the driveway and make my way down the street. Dean wasn’t kidding, it really is coming down out here. Visibility is still okay, but the snow is falling in big chunky clusters that are definitely going to stick.

  “I lied,” Aaron says out of the blue.

  I quickly glance at him before looking back at the road. “Okay…about?”

  “I packed my wrist wrap. I just wanted to get you alone.” Did someone turn up the heat? I glance down at the heater; it’s still set at a toasty seventy-two. “With all the family festivities planned, I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance.”

  “Okay…” I say, drawing out the word. Seriously, there’s something wrong with the A/C in this car.

  “I wanted to…do you…Jeez, what’s wrong with me?” he mumbles to himself.

  He’s nervous? Mr. I Ooze Sex Appeal is actually nervous?

  “Do you want to go out some time? With me? Like on a date?”

  I freeze. Surely he didn’t just ask me out. He being the guy I’ve been drooling over for the past forty-eight hours.

  “So, do you?” he asks again, looking over at me expectantly. His baby blues begging me to say yes.

  Crap.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  “Um. I don’t exactly date.”

  “What?” He sounds flabbergasted.

  “It’s nothing personal. It’s not you.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me? Seriously? That line?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I argue, pulling into the parking lot of our local grocery store. Great. It’s mobbed with last minute shoppers. They better still have hot chocolate. I pull into a space, put the car in park, and turn towards him. “My last relationship…it didn’t end well. My ex, he cheated on me. I think you’re a nice guy, and I’d like to go on a date with you, but I’m just not sure I’m ready for a relationship.”

  He lets out a sigh. “Can I say something?” I nod, and he continues. “First, your ex is a douche. Any guy who would cheat on someone like you is a dick.” A small smile creeps across my face at his words. “Second, I didn’t say anything about a relationship…yet. I just asked for a date. We can just go out and see how it goes.”

  I nibble on my lower lip as I consider what he’s asking. It’s a date. Just a date. With the first guy I’ve let myself be attracted to since Stephen and I broke up. I mean seriously, how much harm could one date do? It’s not that big a deal. And maybe I’ll even get lucky. That’s a plus.

  I glance over at Aaron, taking him in from the bottom up. He’s so muscular and handsome and hot…when I reach his eyes I see him staring at my mouth. I let my lower lip pop out from between my teeth, and his eyes dart up to meet mine. Oh, the heat in his stare. He’s scorching me and he’s not even touching me.

  He looks into my eyes, then back at my mouth…eyes, mouth. “Screw it,” he says before he leans across the console and presses his lips against mine.

  Holy crap. If I thought sparks flew when he touched my hand, that was nothing compared to this. There are fireworks going off on every surface of my body.

  Unable to stop myself, I bring my hands up to the back of his head and pull him closer to me, weaving my fingers through his hair. He wraps his arms around my back and tugs me towards him. Our lips never disconnect and our tongues continue their assault on one another. He tastes and feels so good. I’m about to hop over the console and have my way with him right here in the front seat of my car in the middle of the Safeway parking lot when my phone rings.

  What the—?

  10

  Back at the house, I can’t help but glare at my mother as we all crowd around the Christmas tree, hanging ornaments and tinsel. My freaking kiss-blocking mother. Ran out of flour my foot. Whatever. She’d had a counter full of flour when I’d left twenty minutes earlier. She just had to interrupt the most amazing kiss of my life. Of. My. Life. It’s like she knew…a mother’s sick intuition or something.

  Dad had returned with the tree while Aaron and I were at the store and, lucky for me, he and Dean had gotten it in the stand and the lights halfway hung by the time we got back. I hate stringing the lights. At present, I was irritably tossing tinsel onto random boughs.

  “What’s eating you?” Dean asks, coming up alongside me and nudging my hip.

  I lift one side of my lip in a sneer before I even realize I’m doing it, then quickly look across the tree and meet Aaron’s amused stare. I’m glad he thinks my frustration at being kiss-blocked is funny. See if he gets kissed again. “Ha!”

  Dean looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I realize I’d said that out loud. Whoops. I shrug my shoulders, and he shakes his head, going back to hanging his hockey ornaments. I pull my lower lip into my mouth and sneak a glance at Aaron. Yep, he’s staring at my mouth again. I release my lip and run my tongue along the top, then the bottom. His eyes widen a little, and I smirk, causing him to meet my eyes. He smiles back and shakes his head. Yeah, he knows what I’m doing.

  Eventually I make it around to Aaron’s side of the tree. He’s slowly, carefully placing ornaments on the branches, spaced perfectly apart. It actually looks pretty good over here compared to Dean’s haphazard placement of the bulbs. Too bad I’m about to ruin it with my tinsel tossing.

  “Hey, what the heck?” he scolds, drawing everyone’s attention to us.

  “What?” I ask, using my best innocent face, complete with puppy dog eyes and a pout.

  “You are the most terrible tinsler in the world,” he sputters, sounding so frustrated as he plucks my globs of tinsel off the tree. I can’t help but laugh at him.

  “Is someone a little tense?” I whisper as I brush against him, my back to his front, as I pass by.

  He sucks in a breath. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Actually, I was playing quite fair. My mother is the dirty player.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that. She sure has good timing.”

  “That she does,” I say, scowling again.

  He reaches his hand up and, with the soft pads of his fingers, he smooths the crease between my eyebrows. “You’re so beautiful.” I blush. Again. Because apparently that’s what I do when I’m around Aaron Davis. I turn around and get back to work with the tinsel. “You never answered me,” he says quietly over my shoulder, his breath tickling my ear and sending vibrations straight through my center causing my thighs to clench.

  Answer him? Did he ask me something? I can feel his breath on my neck and I can’t concentrate.

  “Go out with me,” he says. Oh, right. The date. That’s what he’s asking me, only this time he’s not asking me at all. More like telling me. And I kind of like it.

  “What’s in it for me?” I whisper back, turning to face him again. I’m glad we have the Christmas tree dividing our little moment from the rest of the room.

  He simply smirks in response, and damn. That smirk holds a lot of promise. I lean in closer to him, pressing my chest against his as I raise my lips to his and—

  “Brenna, I need your help in here,” my mom calls from the kitchen.

  I growl—actually growl—and spin away from Aaron. “Damn kiss-blocking mother. What the heck did I ever do to deserve this?” I mutter all the way into the kitchen, hearing Aaron’s laughter behind me. I turn around and glare at him, only to catch him adjusting the front of his pants. I smirk, ha-ha buddy. He narrows his eyes at me in response. Dang, he’s even sexy when he tries to be mean.

  “Yes, Mother,” I say as I round the doorway into the k
itchen.

  “Can you help me set the table, dear?”

  My mom looks genuinely flustered with the mess around her, so I cut her some slack. “Of course,” I tell her.

  I get to work setting plates and silverware on our massive dining room table. A few minutes later, Dean, Aaron, and my father join me with glasses and serving dishes filled with ham, stuffing, a variety of steamed vegetables and casseroles. My mouth waters as I stand by, looking at our feast.

  “You outdid yourself as usual, Ruth,” my dad tells my mom as we all seat ourselves at the table.

  “It looks delicious, Mom,” Dean says.

  I nod in agreement, “Yep.”

  “Thanks for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter,” Aaron adds.

  “Thank you, everyone, and thank you for joining us, Aaron,” Mom responds. “How about we go around the table and say what we’re thankful for this holiday season?”

  “Didn’t we just do that at Thanksgiving?” Dean grumbles.

  “Got a problem with giving thanks?” Mom asks.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good, then you start,” she smiles at him, daring him to argue.

  Dean sighs. “I’m thankful for the love and support of my family, a great season, and for my good friend joining the Blizzard,” he nods to Aaron in that way guys do, and Aaron nods back.

  Mom goes next. “I’m thankful for my health and my family. I’m thankful that Jim and I are able to provide this home and meal for our family.”

  My turn. “I’m thankful for my family. I’m thankful that I have a job that allows me to live comfortably and happy. I’m thankful for my best friend, Bailey, and I wish she were closer. I’m also thankful for my students…and Christmas projects.”

  Dean groans, obviously understanding what—or who—I’m referring to. Mom and Dad look at him funny, and Aaron sends a small smirk my way.

  “I’m thankful for my wonderful wife and this meal she’s provided for us. I’m also thankful for my kids; I couldn’t be more proud of you both.”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” I say in my sweetest voice.

  “Thanks, Pop,” Dean adds.

  “Aaron, honey, would you like to share what you’re thankful for?” Mom asks.

  “Sure. I’m thankful for my family as well, and I’m thankful for the technology that allows me to see and speak to them when they’re so far away. I’m thankful for the Blizzard and the new friends I’ve made here in Colorado. I’m thankful to Dean for inviting me here and to you all for being so welcoming. And…I’m thankful for wrist wraps.” He adds that last part in with a smirk, and Dean’s head hits the table, muttering something that sounds like dude and sister. My face is red. I mean, what other color would it be? And my parents are oblivious to what’s going on between the three of us.

  “That’s so sweet,” my mom says. “You’re welcome here any time.”

  “How is your wrist, son?” Dad asks Aaron.

  “It’s good, sir. Just bumped it in the game last night.”

  As the conversation turns to hockey, we all load up our plates and dig in.

  11

  I’m sprawled out on one end of my parents’ u-shaped sectional in a food coma. Aaron is laying across the middle, and Dean is opposite me. After we’d stuffed our faces with dinner, Mom brought out the big guns—apple and pumpkin pie. They’re my favorites, so of course I had to have a slice of each.

  I literally can’t move.

  “I think you’d better plan to stay the night,” Dad says, as he rises from his recliner.

  “I’m just full, Dad. I can eventually drive,” I moan out.

  “I’m not talking about your…condition.” I tilt my head in his direction, and he nods out the window. “Doesn’t look like the plow’s been out. There’s a good twelve inches out there, at least.”

  “It’s all good. I could fall asleep right here,” I tell him. Too bad I don’t have pajamas, that’s exactly what I need to be completely comfortable. Oh…wait a minute. “Mom!”

  “Jeez, Brenna. Wake the dead, why don’t you?” Dean whines and Aaron chuckles.

  “What is it, Brenna?” Mom asks, coming out of the kitchen drying her hands on a towel.

  “Which one of those boxes has my Christmas PJs in it?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows and tilting my chin towards the presents under the Christmas tree.

  “You are such a rotten child,” she says, but I know she doesn’t mean it because of the smile on her face. She wanders over to the tree and grabs a few boxes. “Only because I’m happy to have my children under my roof tonight,” she says, tossing all three of us boxes. Aaron looks surprised, and Mom shrugs. “I had a little warning you were coming. You didn’t think I’d leave you out, did you?”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hunter.”

  “Oh, shush, and call me Ruth.”

  “Thanks, Ruth.”

  “Go ahead, open them,” Mom encourages, and we all tear into our presents, red and green gift wrap flying everywhere. Knowing what’s on the inside doesn’t tamper with the excitement at all.

  I’m the first to get my package open, and I pull out my soft, pink plaid pajamas and press them against my cheek. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” I say, rising from my prone position to kiss them each on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  Dean and Aaron finally unwrap theirs—green and blue plaid, respectively—and thank Mom and Dad, too. My parents bid us goodnight and head up to bed, while Dean, Aaron, and I scatter to get in our new bed clothes. As I’m changing, my inner fifteen-year-old girl is bouncing around, chanting, “I’m having a sleepover with Aaron Davis!” over and over again. I can’t help the cheesy grin that plasters itself to my face.

  “What are you smiling about?” Dean asks when I walk back into the family room.

  “My ’jamas are super comfortable, aren’t yours?” I ask, plopping back down on the couch.

  “Yeah…” he answers, not quite sure if he should press it or just let it go.

  My brother is not stupid. He knows there’s something between me and Aaron; he practically told me to “Go get him!” after the hockey game last night. I know he’s torn between being my big brother and Aaron’s wing man. Which is kind of funny, because, if you think about it, Aaron is a defenseman, not a winger…yeah okay, moving on…

  “I think I’m going to crash,” Dean says, looking carefully between Aaron and me. I think both our eyes are bugging out of our heads at the fact that Dean is about to leave us alone together…in our pajamas…in the dark. Yeah, my inner fifteen-year-old is getting quite the work out. “You cool with the couch, man?”

  My parents still have mine and Dean’s bedrooms preserved in all their glory so we’ll always have a place to come home to and feel welcome, despite the fact we each have homes of our own. But at times like this, it works.

  “Yeah, the couch is perfect. Thanks, bro.”

  “I’ll get you a blanket and pillow,” I say, hurrying out of the room. I run upstairs to my bedroom and grab the second pillow off my bed and the extra quilt off the end. I’ll be plenty cozy tonight with just my pajamas and my comforter.

  When I return to the family room, Dean and Aaron are speaking in hushed tones which quickly stop when they realize I’m in the room. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” they both say together, which usually means that something is indeed up.

  I drop the blanket and pillow onto the couch and plop myself back down on my side, curling up to watch the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas—the animated version.

  “Night, Bren,” Dean says before disappearing from the room.

  “Night, Dean.”

  Aaron grabs the pillow, placing it down near my head and sits in the middle of his section of couch. “Thanks for the pillow and blanket,” he tells me as he lays his head on the pillow and gets comfortable.

  “No problem,” I answer, trying to focus on the movie but having a hard time
given the body heat I can feel radiating from him.

  “It smells like you,” he adds.

  “It’s from my bed.” Why did I just tell him that?

  I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I like it.”

  “What were you and Dean talking about when I walked in?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual. ‘You better not hurt my sister.’ And ‘Don’t have sex on my parents’ couch.’” I burst out laughing at his perfect imitation of Dean and then redden at what he said. “Don’t worry,” he adds, reaching his hand over to thread his fingers with mine, “your virtue is safe with me.”

  “Ha. My virtue. Right.” I snort. Very ladylike, I know.

  We quiet down, watching the end of the movie, hands still entwined. The silence is deafening, and the temperature is rising. He’s rubbing circles in my palm with his hand, and I have no idea why that turns me on so much, but it does. This room might actually explode from the tension.

  Right when the Grinch’s heart grows three times its size, I’m on him. I flip off the couch in a move an Olympic gymnast would be proud of, and land on top of him, straddling his legs. He lets out a groan—might be from pain, might be from pleasure—and my mouth attacks his.

  Mmm, he still tastes so good. A little minty from his toothpaste and a little sweet from the hot cocoa. Delicious. Like a York Peppermint Pattie. His hands grab my butt and pull me towards him, gently thrusting himself against me. Gosh, that feels so good. His right hand stays firmly planted, and his left trails up my side, underneath my shirt, landing on my bare breast. He lightly squeezes, and I moan, continuing to grind against him.

  I feel a pressure building down below, and I can’t even believe it. I’ve never gotten off from dry humping before, but it’s about to happen. I guess three years of celibacy will do that to a girl. I press my mouth harder against his, picking up the pace of my grinding and letting him swallow my sounds of excitement. His fingers tease my nipple, taking it between his thumb and forefinger with a gentle pinch.

  I completely fall apart, crying out into his mouth and riding him like a cowgirl on my parents’ couch.