North of Light

by J. M. Paul

  “I beg to differ. And if you think—”

  Connor places his finger over my lips. “Stop talking and just listen to me.” He gives me a stern look before he removes his hand from my mouth. “Think you can do that?”

  “No.”

  He sighs and rubs his forehead.

  I cross my arms over my chest and peer out the window over his shoulder. It’s dark outside, but the floodlight washes the snow-covered deck in a muted glow.

  “I can’t deal with this back and forth, Connor,” I whisper after a few moments of heavy silence. “I have enough crap going on in my life.” I rub my hands over my shoulders.

  “I know.” He pries my arms apart and takes my hands in his. When I finally meet his gaze, his expression softens. “Believe me, I know.”

  I avert my attention over his shoulder, and he sighs again. Dropping my hands, he starts to pace the room.

  “She must have known you’d walked in.” I think he says this more to himself than to me. He runs his hands through his hair and then stops wearing a trail in the carpet to face me. “She must have known you’d walked in,” he repeats. “Everyone else was showering to go to dinner, and when Emily approached me in the kitchen, I told her I was waiting for you.” He grips the back of his neck. “We were having an innocent conversation one minute, and all of a sudden, she was attacking me with her lips.”

  He shivers and seems so horrified; it actually makes the corner of my mouth twitch upward.

  “I don’t want her, Noel.” Connor steps into me. “I’ve told you this. She’s the past, and you’re my future. You’re the one I crave.”

  I blink up into his concerned jade eyes and remember Connor pushing Emily away before he knew I was there. I also recall the smug look Emily gave me before I rushed away from the scene of the crime. Despite the evidence over their lip-lock, I trust Connor, and I don’t think he’d lie to me.

  Exhaling, I release all the anxiety that tightened my shoulders and neck.

  I rub at the remnants of Emily’s bright red lipstick still at the corners of his mouth. “She’s branded you.”

  “Bleck.” He swipes at his lips with the back of his hand. “Well, it was about time you showed up. I was being attacked by a predatory female.”

  “You poor thing,” I say sarcastically.

  “Yeah, and in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t particularly like kissing other girls anymore. Especially jealous exes.” Dimples crease his cheeks.

  My lips quirk into a little smile. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

  He slightly leans back and gives me a serious look.

  “I’m gay,” he says, deadpan.

  “Connor!” I smack his chest.

  He chuckles, pulling me into him and wrapping his arms around me.

  “I’m sorry,” Connor murmurs against the skin of my neck.

  I nod, unable to speak, and hug him tighter.

  We stay in that embrace until my growling stomach makes us both laugh.

  “There’s only two more weeks until Christmas,” Connor says out of nowhere.

  “Uh … yeah?”

  “That means, I have fourteen days to make you fall for me”—he winks—“and to fall in love with Christmas.”

  I widen my eyes.

  He brushes back the hair from my face and softly kisses my eyelids, my nose, and then the corner of my mouth.

  “I’ll make you a Christmas freak if it’s the last thing I do,” he whispers against my mouth before he kisses me like he’s starving.

  Little does Connor know that I’ve already tripped over my heart and that I am in deep lust with him, and despite my best efforts, the spirit of Christmas is slowly seeping into my fractured Scrooge armor.

  Circus Act

  “Ahh!” I scream.

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. It can’t be real.

  No freaking way!

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” Each time I say that statement, it gets louder. “This has to be a mistake.”

  I set my laptop on the couch and stand to pace my condo.

  We arrived back from Montana late last night, and after a restless night of sleep, I woke up early to get some work done. When I opened my email, I received the shock of my life.

  Cami rounds the corner with bleary eyes.

  “Why’s your piehole making so much noise?” She yawns dramatically, plops down on the couch, and closes her eyes.

  “Because I’m freaking out. Obviously.” I fan my face with my hands.

  “Obvs.” Cami pries one lid open to focus on me. “What has you in a hot-mess tizzy?”

  “This.” I shove my computer in Cami’s lap and point. “Read.”

  “Coffee,” she demands.

  I thrust my lukewarm cup into her hands, and she gulps it down as she scans.

  “No effing way.” Cami’s mouth falls open. She shoves the computer aside and jumps up to hug me.

  I pull back and take her by the shoulders. “What the heck am I going to do?”

  “Enjoy the ride?”

  “But I’m a writer. We’re introverts by nature. That”—I point at the computer again—“is not an introvert activity.”

  The article I penned about how to survive the holidays while dealing with loss, loneliness, and depression went viral. It was in a popular online magazine and gained a great deal of attention. So much so that their sister magazines picked up the story, and it grew into a tiny beast.

  God bless the internet and social media.

  A popular radio station in Detroit caught wind that the writer was local, and they want to interview me.

  Cue the freak-out.

  Cami scoffs and then winks. “You’re a closeted extrovert, Noles, and you know it.”

  Picking up my mug, Cami heads into the kitchen to brew more coffee. When mine’s full, she hands the cup to me and leans against the counter.

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” I release a sigh. “If I do the interview, it’ll really set Evelyn off.”

  “Screw your sister. You have to do what’s right for you and your career.”

  When Cami’s coffee’s ready, we move back into the living room to relax.

  “This could be your break.” Her face lights in excitement.

  “It could. But it could also garner attention I might not want.” I shrug.

  “Then, you have choices to make, girlfriend.”

  We sip our coffees while staring at the pity tree glowing happily in the corner.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you heard from Nicholas since he texted you on Thanksgiving?” Cami’s voice is unusually pitched.

  I recall seeing Nicholas’s searing eyes through the crowd at the tailgate on Thanksgiving Day. Remember the claws scraping my chest when he shook his head to discourage my approach and later his text telling me to forget him.

  As if that’s an option.

  “No, nothing.” The admission makes my heart feel like it’s full of acid. “I wish things were different, the way they used to be.”

  “He knows where you are, Noles. You’re not the one who walked away.” It comes out gently, but the words land like a sledgehammer against my chest.

  I swallow. “I know.”

  “Have you told Con about Nicholas yet?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?” Cami studies me.

  “I …” I drink my coffee to moisten my suddenly dry throat. “I don’t think we’re there yet—to deal with the heavy weight from my past when we’re still trying to manage his.”

  Before we left Montana, Connor firmly told Emily that things were over, that he’d moved on and that he wanted to be left alone, but I have a feeling it’s not the last we’ll hear from her.

  “If you see this thing getting serious with him—and Con’s a great guy, so I approve—then you need to tell him everything,” Cami says.

  “I will. I’m just waiting for the right time.” I pick at a thread
of my sleep shirt.

  Cami starts to say something, but my phone dinging a couple of text messages stops her.

  “Shit. Connor’s coming over.” I leap from the couch and run toward my bedroom to get dressed.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and I hear Cami’s and Connor’s mumbled voices. When I enter the living room, I find Cami’s absent, and Connor’s in the kitchen, making coffee.

  My heart flutters at the sight of him. He’s absolutely stunning with his dark hair, broad and muscular back, a trim waist, and a firm rear that’s hugged by a nice pair of dark jeans. The smell of roasting beans mixed with Connor’s peppermint and clean soap scent causes my knees to liquefy.

  When he glances over his shoulder, he gives me a smile that almost melts my panties.

  “Hey.” Connor lifts two mugs and hands me one.

  “Hey yourself.” I can’t control my huge grin.

  We hold our steaming cups between us, staring at each other with jubilant expressions.

  “How’d you sleep?” Connor trails a finger down the side of my cheek to trace the outline of my lips.

  I shrug, not wanting to admit that I didn’t sleep well because I missed his warm body next to me. I had grown used to lying with him in Montana.

  “I didn’t sleep well either. I missed you.” The fact that he admits that so freely steals the breath from my lungs.

  Flashing him a warm and dreamy grin, I lift up onto my toes and plant a kiss on his lips. When I lower myself, Connor’s free hand wraps around the nape of my neck and pulls me back into him.

  The kiss starts slow until it transitions into needy, hungry, and impatient.

  “Blech. Can the two of you not suck face in front of me?” Cami says from behind me.

  Connor and I slowly pull apart, staring into each other’s eyes. His expression promises this isn’t over.

  “Prude,” I jokingly toss over my shoulder.

  “Not even close.” Cami flips me off, and I laugh.

  “I know what it’s like to kiss you both, and it kind of makes my stomach turn to watch you go at it.” Cami gags dramatically.

  Connor lifts a skeptical brow at Cami’s comment about kissing us both.

  “Don’t ask.” I shudder dramatically.

  That’s not a story I want to remember, let alone tell to the guy I’m dating.

  Damn high school Truth or Dare.

  There’s a gleam in Connor’s eyes as he follows Cami and me into the living room. I fall onto the couch and cradle my warm cup in my hands.

  “Did you decide about the interview?” Cami shuts my laptop and moves it onto the table.

  “Interview?” Connor’s brows draw together.

  “You didn’t tell him?” Cami blinks at me.

  “He just got here.” I slouch back into the cushions.

  “And sucking face was more important,” she grumbles.

  “Yes.” I smile wickedly.

  Connor’s head swivels back and forth between Cami and me.

  “He is a good kisser.” Cami’s eyes sparkle.

  “Indeed.” I nod.

  “Has he used the move where he does this thing with his tongue and—”

  “Okay,” Connor cuts Cami off. “Can you both stop talking about kissing me while I’m right here? It freaks me out and feels slightly … incestuous for some reason.”

  I look at Cami, and we both bust out laughing.

  “We’re not related, playboy. We’re best friends.” I pat his knee.

  “That’s not the point.” Connor gives us a stern glare.

  “What is the point?” Cami chuckles.

  Connor runs a hand through his hair. “It’s weird.”

  “Then, maybe you shouldn’t chase best friends.” I arch a brow as he glowers at me.

  “Con does like a challenge.” Cami winks, and I swear, Connor’s face pales.

  “Has anyone ever told the two of you that you’re a handful?” Connor addresses both of us.

  Cami and I proudly grin at each other.

  “All the time,” I answer. “Welcome to our circus act.”

  “Lord, give me strength,” Connor grumbles. “So, what’s this about an interview?”

  A smile pushes up my cheeks. “Remember the article I wrote a couple of weeks ago? The one about the holidays?”

  “The one you struggled with.” Connor stretches his arm along the back of the couch toward me. His finger draws soft circles against my shoulder.

  “Well, it attracted attention from several popular online magazines,” I start to explain.

  “She’s downplaying it. The article blew up in a freaking fantastic way,” Cami says excitedly.

  I nod. “A local radio station wants to interview me.”

  “Holy shit.” Connor sits forward and squeezes my knee, his green eyes swirling with glee. “That’s fucking awesome, Journal Girl.”

  “She’s not sure she’s going to do it,” Cami tattles.

  I scowl.

  “What? Why the hell not?” Connor’s forehead wrinkles.

  “Because …” I wring my hands together. “Because of my sister … and other reasons.” The last part comes out so low, I’m not sure Connor or Cami heard it.

  “Screw your sister.” Connor shakes his head.

  “That’s what I said!” Cami raises her arms, and then her palms slap against her thighs.

  But what about Nicholas? It affects him, too.

  “You should do it. It’s an awesome opportunity,” Connor interjects.

  “I agree.” Cami stands and kisses the top of my head. “I’ve gotta jet. Need to help Mom with Dad today. You kids have fun.” Flashing a salacious smile, Cami grabs her coat and closes the door behind her.

  A cold gust of air washes over me, and I shiver.

  “When do you need to let them know?” Connor wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.

  “They want to interview me this week since Christmas is getting so close.”

  “You’ll make the right decision.” He hugs me closer.

  After a long stretch of silence, he whispers, “I wanted to see you, but I need to get going.”

  I raise my chin. “You just got here.”

  “I’ve been here for a couple of hours.” The corner of his lip twitches.

  Seeking out the clock, I notice that a few hours have indeed ticked by.

  “Huh.” I snuggle back into him, hoping my nearness persuades him to stay. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m volunteering for Toys for Tots. We’re delivering presents to the Children’s Hospital today.” Connor sits forward. “I’m playing Santa.”

  “Imagine that.” I grin.

  When he leans in, his lips cover mine as he murmurs against them, “I could use an elf.”

  “Mmm,” I hum as his mouth moves over mine.

  I open up, and his tongue slips in without hesitation. We get lost in each other until Connor breaks our kiss.

  “If I don’t go now, I’ll never leave.” His breath puffs against my skin.

  “Sounds perfect to me.” I seek him again, but he evades my advance.

  “I’m serious about needing help.” His eyes search mine. “You interested?”

  “You just want to see me in an elf costume.” I smirk.

  “Damn straight.” He nods.

  “How long will it take?” I have an article due.

  “Four or five hours, max.”

  I glance at the clock, and it’s still early enough. And I would do anything for sick children.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I pat his cheek and stand.

  Connor swats my rear.

  “Whatever getup they give you to wear today, you know you’re sneaking it home, right?” He wiggles his brows.

  I shake my head and turn away, so he can’t see me smile.

  Men.

  Sound and Silence

  “Gooooood morning, Detroit!” Motown Mark bellows into the large microphone. He’s si
tting behind a panel of computer screens, and large headphones cover his ears.

  There isn’t enough coffee in the world to justify the type of energy he has this early in the morning.

  “We have a special guest joining us in the studio today. She’s a local Detroiter and writer who’s making a name for herself in the internet world. Her recently penned article entitled, ‘Overcoming Loneliness in a Season of Togetherness,’ went viral in less than two weeks. Please help me welcome N.E. North—otherwise known as Noel—to Detroit’s number one Christmas station!”

  He cues some cheesy clapping sound bite.

  “Welcome to the show, Noel. It’s great to have you with us,” Motown Mark says.

  Motown Mark is everything I expect a disc jockey to be. He’s tall, his nice-sized belly tests the strength of the buttons on his plaid shirt, and his salt-and-pepper hair is thinning. But his smile is bright and infectious.

  “Thanks. It’s great to be here,” I say into the microphone that’s as big as my face.

  Lies. My words are complete lies.

  My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears, I can’t hear myself think, let alone hear anything the disc jockeys at 100.9 WCID say. I wipe my sweaty palms down my jean-clad legs and take a deep, steady breath.

  There’s no way I could have turned down an opportunity to do a radio interview, but truth be told, I don’t want to be here. I don’t like to be the center of attention. I’m much better understood through writing, not speaking.

  “So, you’re a writer,” Uptown Uri states the obvious.

  “Yes.” I nod, bobbling the headphones on my head.

  “Have you always wanted to be a writer?” Uptown Uri asks.

  Unlike Motown Mark, Uri’s not anything like I expected her to be. She’s stunning. Uri’s tall and slender yet curvy. She has the most beautiful chocolaty skin with smooth and satiny dark hair, and her soulful eyes are a vibrant light hazel. I wonder what made her go into radio and not broadcasting.

  “I’ve always been a writer.” I adjust myself in the chair. “This type of career chooses you; you don’t choose it.”

  “Interesting.” Motown types something on the keyboard in front of him. “So, tell us about your article.”

  “What would you like to know?” I rest my elbows on the desk. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.