Home for the Holidays: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

by Christine Bell

  “Hush.” He shifted so that one of his legs was over mine and one was kind of under. We were still in a box. Sort of.

  “What? Why?” I sat up and looked around my grip tightening on the neck of my wine bottle. There were coyotes all over this area. “What is it?” I was still looking around but I hadn’t spotted anything. Not a horse or a cow or a coyote. Overhead, the clouds blew clear of the full moon, which was fat and silvery white. I tilted my head back and took another sip of my wine, my eyes on the moon. “Wow,” I breathed.

  He shushed me again and popped the top on his second beer. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It sure is,” I said softly. Then I frowned and asked, “Why did you tell me to hush?”

  “Because the more you talk, the more I want to kiss you.”

  “That’s a bad idea. I can’t feel my face, Boomer.” I didn’t dare look at him or I’d forget about the wreck and the last nine years and do something really stupid and selfish.

  “Come get under the blanket with me, Mattie. I’ll warm you up.”

  I shook my head and took another tiny sip of my wine. “That’s a bad idea, too, Boomer,” I drawled. “A very bad idea.”

  “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I also don’t think that kissing you is a bad idea.”

  I stared up at the moon and said, “It’s the worst idea ever. Even listening to you talk is a bad idea. Your voice is making me mushy—”

  “Mushy?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Yeah, like warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “What’s wrong with warm and fuzzy?” He opened the blankets, and I sighed. I was starting to shiver a little, so body heat and all that. At least that was the lie I told myself as I handed over my bottle.

  I should have made him take me home. Instead, I crawled into his arms and then let him arrange the blankets around us.

  “I mean it—”

  “You know,” he said as he handed back my wine, “Greta was probably just jealous that you’re leaving. Sometimes people get like that.”

  I clutched my wine bottle for dear life, acutely aware of every hard warm inch of him pressed against my side, of his arm around me, pulling me closer as I tilted my head back and looked up at him. “This is the awfulest idea ever.”

  “Who cares.” He shrugged, never taking his eyes off me. “Say Boom Boom again.”

  If I squeezed the neck of my wine bottle any harder, it might shatter in my hands. “No.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  Was he leaning closer, or was I just really really drunk? That was the last thought that crossed my mind before his lips touched mine. His tongue followed, coaxing and teasing its way past the last of my defenses. And suddenly I wasn’t cold anymore. It may have been the wine, it may have been Boomer, or it may have been our world-class make out session. Then again maybe it didn’t matter. All that mattered was us stretched out in the bed of his pickup under a cocoon of blankets. We came up for air, laughing like the teenagers who used to park out here as we tugged and yanked at each other’s shirts. Then his arms were around me, his stubble scraped my breasts, and then he was pulling one of my nipples into his mouth. His mouth was liquid fire, scorching me with every tug of his lips, every bite of his teeth, every lick of his tongue as I panted up at that big silvery moon and fisted my hands in his hair.

  I wanted him on me; I wanted him in me.

  I also knew this was probably the biggest mistake of my life, but Boomer had his hand inside my sweats, and his lips were on my neck. I spread my legs for him, and tugged at his hair, until he was looming over me laughing.

  “You’re so beautiful, and crazy, and beautiful, Matilda Lucile Johnson,” he said as he slipped a finger inside of me.

  I covered his hand with mine and showed him what I liked, letting my hips slowly grinds against his fingers.

  “Like that?”

  I nodded and bit my lip.

  “Nobody’s gonna hear you scream out here, sweetheart,” he panted just before he kissed me again. Nobody except him. His fingers dug in deeper and faster, stroking the walls of my pussy while his thumb caressed my clit and his tongue explored every inch of my mouth. He didn’t let me come up for air until my hand tightened on his. Then he sat up, and he had an almost feral smile on his face while I howled at the moon as the Earth shattered around me.

  When I finally caught my breath enough to shiver, he gently adjusted the blankets while his hand remained inside my sweats, his fingers inside of me. I closed my thighs against the aftershocks, my hand still on top of his as I rolled to face him. “Wow,” I breathed, then laughed softly. Not that anybody would or could have heard us. “Just so you know–” I paused to lick my lips, “—just so you know, I’m more than happy to reciprocate.”

  “I bought condoms at the Texaco.”

  He might as well throw in ice water on me. I pushed his hand away and sat up, tugging my sweats back into place. “Boomer Kendall! Are you out of your fucking mind? The whole town’s gonna know we had sex. Marsh is gonna know we had sex. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Louisiana is gonna know we had sex. And your mom! Oh my God. Your mom. I love your mom.” I shook my head as tears pricked my eyes and I sniffled a little. “We can never have sex, Boomer, because if we do, I’ll never be able to look your mom in the eye again.”

  He roared with laughter and kept laughing as I punched him repeatedly. “Stop it! Stop it, Boomer. It’s not funny.”

  “Relax,” he gasped, his bare shoulders still shaking.

  “Relax? Relax? We might as well be having sex in Miz Mae’s parking lot.” He kept laughing but I wasn’t. Instead, I punched him again and added, “During the lunch rush. I told you this was a bad idea.”

  He dragged me against him and kissed me until I quit struggling. Every naked inch of me from the waist up was plastered against every naked inch of him. Then his teeth were at my earlobe, gently biting before he whispered, “I didn’t really buy condoms at the Texaco, I brought them with me.”

  “Asshole.” I punched him one last time for good measure. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

  I cannot tell a lie. I liked the idea of him being mine, and deep down inside I always had. That didn’t stop me from sticking my ice cold hand down the back of his jeans. He yelped, and it was on. We laughingly fought and bit and wrestled as we stripped away last of our clothes while doing our best to stay under the blankets. We failed miserably and were cold as often as not, but we didn’t care. He liked it when I pulled his hair, and bit him on the ass. Don’t ask, like I said, we were wrestling.

  I did not like it when he tickled my feet till I screamed. Somehow he managed to get my hair out of its braid, and every time I tried to pull it out of the way he smacked at my hands. That part I liked. I also liked it when he kissed my whole face with a reverence that left me stunned and silent. Finally, I was straddling his lap, lower lip caught between my teeth as I rolled a condom onto his big beautiful cock.

  “Hurry up,” he groaned.

  I hurried, sliding home, and then snuggled in the safety of his arms while I rode him. I buried my face in his neck so he couldn’t see, couldn’t know, how much it all meant. At first it was slow, hot and sensual, like earlier, but that didn’t last long. Boomer grabbed a handful of my ass with an almost pained moan and we were off, fucking faster and harder with every downward stroke, until I could barely keep up, until all I could do was hang on. Until I sank my teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming as I came again, and Boomer came with me, his grip tight enough to steal my breath. He hollered so loudly they probably heard him in town, and I told him so when I finally could breathe a few minutes later.

  He rolled me over with a laugh and gave me a sweaty kiss and said, “I hope they did.”

  I wasn’t ready to go there. I relaxed underneath him, reveling in the feel of every hard muscular inch of him against me and the aftershocks of our mutual climax. Apparently, he felt the same because neither of us spoke or move
d for the longest time. Finally he rolled away, being sure to cover me against the cold, while he took care of the condom. He returned with a beer which we silently shared.

  “What happened to my wine?” I finally asked. What I really wanted to ask was what happens next, but I was too much of a fucking coward.

  He pressed his head to mind so his lips were barely an inch from my ear. “I’m pretty sure you drank it all.”

  We stayed at Rosewood Ranch until one in the morning. Right about the time they were probably announcing last call at the dancehall. And we talked. Or rather I talked. It was hard not to when Boomer kept asking all the right questions. More importantly, he listened and didn’t laugh at the idea of me being a farmer—unlike Marsh and Louisiana. He nodded his head while I talked about organic farming and the community co-op I wanted to start after my internship and teaching the kids about growing their own food. And then he took me home, walked me to my door, and asked me to go to Susie’s Christmas party at the dancehall the following night. No was not an option.

  Other than the Christmas Eve parade, which Boomer wouldn’t be here for, Susie Boudreauxe’s annual Christmas party at the Bluebonnet dancehall was one of the highlights of the holiday season. Which meant, that pretty much the whole entire town came out for it. Which meant, that pretty much the whole entire town would know I was there as Boomer Kendall’s date. Including, but not limited to, my brother, Louisiana, her friends a.k.a. the Mommy Mafia, and Boomer’s parents. And the fire department. And, yeah, the whole town.

  Even though most people were pretty good about respecting Boomer’s privacy, I could just see some asshole posting a picture of us on Facebook or something. The thought made me nauseous. So I’d spent all afternoon digging around in my greenhouse and trying to think of ways to cancel on Boomer.

  I was elbow deep in tomato cuttings when Marsh found me the following afternoon. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  I held up my dirt caked hands. “Little busy here.”

  “Well, Boomer asked me come and check on you.” He stood at the end of the bench arms crossed over his beefy chest which appeared to be stained with carrot purée, or maybe sweet potatoes. Whatever Moses had had for lunch, my brother was wearing it.

  “I’m fine,” I said as I dug back into my tomatoes, placing the last little seedling into its new container.

  “He says to tell you he’ll pick you up at seven.” Marsh set aside a basket full of gourds and took a seat on an overturned bucket. “Do we need to talk about this?”

  “No, we do not,” I practically growled.

  “You know what dating him means?”

  One hand on my hip, the other propped on my workbench for support, I turned to glare at him. With his receding hairline, he looked enough like Dad to make me blink a few times. He looked enough like Dad to remind me of how he’d been so inconsolable when Dad died. We both were, but he’d been injured, so at eighteen, I’d been the one to sit with our comatose mother, and later, pick out a casket for our father. I’d watched as, one by one, our neighbors had gone back to their lives. I’d driven him to rehab, I’d gotten a job to help pay what insurance didn’t cover, and given Mom plenty of sponge baths while he’d recuperated and gone on to junior college because I had everything under control. That’s what he’d said.

  I loved my brother but sometimes I wanted to use a two-by-four to beat some sense into him. Sometimes I hated him almost as much as I’d hated Boomer. I was no martyr, but goddamnit, it was my turn. “Yes, I know what dating Boomer Kendall means. I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were stupid, Mattie.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Fine, but if I lose my best friend—”

  Leave it to Marsh to cut to the heart of the matter, focus on what was important, and shit like that. “I’ll try and make sure you don’t lose your best friend, big brother,” I said snidely. I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed the lump of anger and pain in my throat.

  “You know, Mattie, it’s not all about you.”

  “You know, Marsh, it’s not all about you either.” My face literally burned as I stood there choking on ten years of pain and frustration. “I’ve always supported you, been there for you—” I swallowed angry tears and waved a hand in the air, “—when have you ever supported me?” He opened his mouth but I beat him to the punch. “Never.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “I’ll stay out of your business from now on.” He stood and dusted off his jeans, his eyes on the ground. “Christmas Eve, I’d really appreciate it if you would ease up on Louisiana. She’s really excited about Moses’ first Christmas.” He turned to go, pausing in the doorway to add with a sigh, “She’s really sensitive right now, too, and your comments about her breast-feeding–”

  “The only reason I make comments about her breast-feeding is because she acts like she invented it. Her and her Mommy Mafia and—” While I talked, Marsh shuffled backwards into my kitchen.

  “Oh my God. Oh. My. God.” He knew I knew, and he knew what was coming next. “Moses Marshall Johnson Junior, did you…is she…” He didn’t even have to answer. I could tell by the way he shoved his hands in his pockets and refused to look me in the eye. Hell, it was probably the real reason he’d come over. I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and sighed. “Well…congratulations. When’s the next bundle of joy due?”

  “Summer,” he said softly.

  Right about the time I’d be finishing up my internship and baby Moses would be learning to walk. I honest to God did not know what say. Not because I didn’t have words, but because I had too many words to choose from…like ‘idiot’ and ‘condom’ and ‘are you crazy’ and ‘selfish asshole’, but I’d learned a long time ago that Marsh was going to do what Marsh wanted to do, and damn the consequences. So I just stood there with my head bobbing up and down while I waited for him to get the fuck out of my house.

  Color me cranky, I couldn’t wait for Boomer to pick me up. Or rather, I hadn’t waited. I’d left for the dancehall at six-fifteen, and I was two drinks in by the time he arrived. I knew he’d arrived because I kept hearing, “Boom…Boom…hey Boom,” echoing around the bar like a ping pong ball. For a moment, or an evening, I’d forgotten he was the chosen one, and I was his best friend’s sister. The lunch lady. Popular only by association.

  “Boomer Ray,” Susie Boudreaux had hollered from her spot behind the bar (and directly in front of me). “Come here and give your Aunt Susie a kiss, sweetheart.”

  She wasn’t really his aunt but a cousin by marriage. It didn’t matter. He’d obliged in usual Boomer fashion, ducking behind the bar and letting her squeeze the stuffing out of him. Then he spent ten minutes serving beers to waiting patrons, who shouted and laughed over countrified Christmas carols. While people vied for his attention, he kept shooting questioning glances in my direction. It was an almost exact duplicate of the other day in the cafeteria when the ladies had gathered around him—except this time he had the bar between him and the crowd.

  Finally, he came to stand in front of me, the expression in his eyes inscrutable as he held up a hand and tuned out shouted requests for beer. “Need a refill?”

  I nudged my empty glass toward him and shrugged. “Sure.”

  He filled a fresh glass with ice and very clumsily made me a rum and Coke that was more rum than Coke while Susie watched, an amused expression on her face.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and flashed a smile in my direction. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

  Boy was he. I nodded.

  He took a sip and pronounced my drink perfect. Instead of sliding it across the bar to me, he pulled a twenty from his wallet, kissed Susie on the cheek, and grabbed a fresh beer. I watched as he ducked under the counter and then got lost in the ever-thickening crowd. I got tired of trying to track his progress from the sound of his name, and turned my attention back to the ice in my empty glass. I should’ve stayed home. But I guess that wouldn’t have worked either, sinc
e Boomer would have probably dragged me out of the house against my will. By the time he finally made his way through the crowd to where I sat, I only had three pieces of ice left. He draped an arm over my shoulder and rumbled a hello in my ear as he set down my drink. He’d barely claimed the bar stool next to me before someone was asking for his autograph, which he willingly gave.

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he leaned over and asked once they were gone.

  “I was thirsty,” I said, fully aware of people hovering around, waiting to get a piece of Boomer.

  “You should’ve called. I would’ve picked you up early.”

  I took a sip of my drink, stalling while I scrambled for an answer, wanting to tell him what a selfish asshole my brother was, that my feelings were hurt and how much I hated Christmas. “Marsh—”

  “Can we get a picture, Mr. Kendall?” three kids from the high school football team asked. I knew they played football from their blue and white letterman jackets. The same kind Boomer and Marsh and even I had worn.

  “Of course,” he said as he slid off the barstool and set down his beer. “You’re John Ramos, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” a tall boy with dark hair said.

  “I met your sister, Bailey.”

  His friends started to laugh, while he grimaced at Boomer.

  “Let’s you and I talk for a minute.” He draped an arm around John’s shoulders. I’ll admit to being curious as he asked the other two boys if they minded and then had a private chat with Bailey’s big brother on the far side of the bar for a good fifteen minutes. First they both talked, then Boomer talked and John nodded a lot. Then I got bored and stopped watching, and John’s friends wandered off.