by Amy Sparling
I click on the text box for my geometry class and stare at the blinking cursor. I let out a sigh. It’s math class. Not writing class. Shouldn’t I be able to demonstrate my skills in the subject by answering some freaking math problems?
The bells on the front door jingle and I glance up out of habit, but it was just the sound of the lady leaving. Keanna tips her head back and finishes the rest of her coffee before chucking the paper cup in the trash.
“How’s the homeschool life going?” she asks, leaning over and looking at my screen. She smells like some kind of summer angel even though it’s the middle of December. Her hand lotion smells like coconut and hibiscus flowers. Even in a plain black T-shirt with The Track’s logo on the front, she’s beautiful. Her lips are red and sparkly, and she’s wearing black leggings with those fuzzy boots she saw at the mall and had to have, swearing one day it’ll be cold enough to wear them. I guess that day is today.
I frown and push the side of my laptop, sliding it at an angle so she can see it better. “I have to write an essay about my skills in math.”
“Blah,” she says, making a gagging sound. “Want me to write it for you?”
I lift any eyebrow. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Sure you can. It’ll be a trade.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“A trade for what?” I ask, reaching out and poking her in the stomach.
“You see that key over there?” she nods toward the edge of the counter where one of Becca’s colorful keys with a matching girly key fob sits.
“What about it?” I ask.
“It goes to one of the bike storage stalls. There’s a bunch of plastic bins in there . . . can you bring them all in here?”
“The Christmas decorations,” I say, nodding. A couple years ago, my mom and Becca went to some massive Christmas shopping convention in downtown Houston and came home with enough crap to decorate the North Pole about fifty times over. The stuff they didn’t keep for their houses went into bins in storage. We’ve never taken them out since. I cross my arms. “How do you know about that?”
Her eyes light up. “Becca told me about it and I thought it’d be fun to decorate the front office.”
I know Keanna’s past life wasn’t especially joyful around the holidays and she’s been trying to make up for things she’s missed out on ever since she became an official member of the Park family.
“I’d love to,” I say, grabbing the key. “But seriously, you don’t have to write the essay for me. It’s only three hundred words so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
She slides my laptop over to her side of the desk and begins typing. “I don’t mind. Really.”
When the decorations are all in the front office, Keanna has already finished all four of my introductory essays. I feel a little—okay, a lot—guilty for it because it quickly becomes apparent that she’s done an awesome job on it. It even sounds like something I would have written, like she somehow managed to harness my personality and use it to write four boring essays.
“How are you so freaking smart?” I say, looking up from the assignment after she gives me back my computer.
She makes this little grin and lifts her shoulders. “I can’t help it. I was born awesome.”
I slide my arm around her back and hug her close. “How can I pay you back?”
She tilts her lips up to mine and the eager look in her eyes right before we kiss gives me a massive hard on. “No need to pay me back. We’re a team.”
I brush her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to marry you one day.”
Her lips twist upward and then she shimmies away, eagerly taking off lids from the bins of decorations. I attempt to go back to my work, but I keep getting distracted by her perfect, perfect ass in those leggings. That kind of sexiness should be outlawed. How on earth can I ever get any work done when every dirty thought in the world keeps my sex drive alive and well?
I take a deep breath and glance up. Keanna bends over, taking strands of garland out of the bin. Then she climbs up a stepladder to hang it along the window and now her ass is eye level. I sigh and look back at the computer. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
Eventually, Keanna makes the front office look like a Winter Wonderland and even though I’m a guy who doesn’t really care about this stuff, I think she’s done a great job.
I head back to the breakroom to brew another pot of coffee for my dad who just got into his office after working with clients all morning.
I fix a cup of coffee for Keanna and me, adding extra hazelnut creamer to mine because it’s so good. A few days ago, this would have been school time for me. I’d be stuck in third period, listening to some stupid lecture and daydreaming about lunch, which was the only twenty minutes of semi-freedom I got each day. Now I’m free all day, every day.
Why do people even go to normal school when they could be homeschooled?
I stop in the hallway when I hear my name said by a girly yet unfamiliar voice. Keanna’s voice fills the air next.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you know,” the voice says, sounding awfully suspicious. I don’t know why I stand here hidden in the hallway, other than because my intuition won’t let me take another step. “Does he really have a girlfriend or is that just some rumor?”
Keanna snorts. “Does it really matter? I mean you clearly don’t know him so I don’t see why it matters.”
“True, but my brother is about to start taking lessons here so I figure I’ll have plenty of time to get to know him.”
Keanna’s stunned silence is my cue to move.
“Did I hear my name?” I ask, flashing my charming smile. I hand Keanna a coffee and then kiss her on the cheek. I watch her for a beat longer than necessary, making my feelings for her known. Her cheeks flush a deep red.
“Hi,” I say to the girl. She looks to be in her late twenties, which is kind of hilarious. I’m not even seventeen yet, so what the hell? “Can I help you?”
She swallows and clears her throat. “Um, nope.” She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and then smiles. “Have a good day.”
Keanna and I watch the woman disappear in a cloud of dust—okay maybe it wasn’t that fast, but clearly she hoped it would be.
“I’m sick of being a heartthrob,” I say, sipping my coffee.
“I’m sick of being the heartthrob’s girlfriend.” Keanna peers up at me over the top of her cup. “Maybe we should make you ugly so girls will stay away.”
I pretend to be offended. “Never! This handsome face will stay handsome, thank you very much.”
She laughs and turns her attention back to untangling a strand of mini Christmas lights.
“Having fun?” I ask, taking another strand to help her out. “Your decorations look really good, by the way.”
“Yeah and I’m just getting started. Tonight will be even more magical.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Tonight,” she says, watching me like I should know what she’s talking about.
I lift an eyebrow. “We’re decorating your family’s Christmas tree tonight,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Duh.”
“No one told me this.” I laugh. “How come no one tells me things?
She shrugs and drapes the lights over the back of the work computer. “Maybe your mom likes me more than she likes you.”
She leans over the counter, lifting up on her toes to reach the monitor. It puts her ass on display and I can’t help but give it a friendly smack.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, admiring the view. “Maybe you’re right.”
Chapter 13
Christmas is only two weeks away and I still have no idea what to get Jett. Times two. Why does his birthday have to be the day before Christmas? That’s twice the pressure to get him something he’ll love. Ugh.
Bayleigh has a small list he wrote for her, but I can tell the items are just things he put to make her happy. ITunes gift cards, new motocross goggles, variou
s superhero movies on Blu-ray . . . none of those are quality gifts. I need a gift that will blow him away. Times two.
When I get home from work, our house is like a magical elf gingerbread cookie house. Becca must have spent the entire day decorating. And here I thought my efforts at The Track’s front office were grand.
The kitchen has Christmas themed chair covers, a candy cane tablecloth, Christmas dishes set out on display. There are lights hung over every window, every ceiling arch, and every door. The salt and pepper shakers have been replaced with Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers. The cookie jar, kitchen towels, floor mats—everything has been removed and replaced with something that shouts Christmas.
“Holy crap,” I say, jaw open wide as I take in the new kitchen. The decorations extend into the living room and Christmas carols play softly on our house-wide surround sound music system. Becca pokes her head out from the hallway.
“How do you like it?” she says, her expression nervous like maybe I won’t be impressed. There’s red and silver garland strung around her neck and she’s wearing rolls of ribbon on her wrists, a pair of scissors in her hand.
“It looks amazing. I wish I was five years old again so I could really enjoy it.”
She steps into the living room and does a little dance. “Woohoo! I’m glad you like it.”
She pulls off a piece of garland, cuts it with her scissors, then ties the loose ends together with a red ribbon. “Next year when the baby is here, it’ll be even more magical.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, smiling as she leans over and puts the garland necklace over my head.
“I’m sorry you’re too old for the real magic of it,” she says, her hand touching my cheek for a second. From this close, I can see glitter in her hair, probably from hanging all the glittery wreaths that are now everywhere. “But hopefully all of these Christmas cockles will brighten your holiday anyway.”
“Christmas cockles?” I say, lifting a brow. “I’m not sure that’s a word.”
“Sure it is!” She spins around, holding the garland around her neck like a feather boa. “These are the cockles!”
She winks at me and then disappears back down the hallway. She might be a little crazy, but it’s the good kind of crazy.
I follow the trail of cockles down the hall and into the den, which is our formal living room that has wide bay windows that look out into the back yard.
This is where Becca has set up the Christmas tree, and it’s a spectacular sight. Probably ten feet tall since the roof is extra high in this room. The tree is huge and green and covered in clear lights. All the ornaments are in boxes next to the tree, waiting to be hung.
Becca drops down to the floor and rolls out a tube of green and red metallic wrapping paper. “So what do you think?” she says, holding up a box to me.
I take it and examine it carefully. It’s a fancy men’s razor, electric and with its own charging/cleaning base. It looks top of the line, but it’s not exactly like I’m fluent in men’s shaving accessories.
“I love it,” I say sarcastically, putting a hand to my chest. “Mom, you really shouldn’t have . . . it’s the best present ever.”
She rolls her eyes and takes the box. “Obviously it’s for Park, you big dork.”
She positions it on the wrapping paper, then begins to wrap it up.
“I think he’ll like it,” I say, sitting down next to her. On the fireplace mantle across the room, three stockings are hung and one has my name on it, written in silver sequins.
“Although I am disappointed that I don’t get a fancy man’s razor,” I say, rubbing my chin as if there were facial hair there.
She laughs. “Hopefully those will make up for it.” She gestures across the room to the leather armchair that I notice is full of wrapped presents. “Whoa,” I say. How many family members do you get gifts for?”
“All of them,” Becca says, ripping off a piece of tape and pressing it to the package. “But those are just yours.”
My jaw drops. There’s at least twenty wrapped gifts of various shapes and sizes. “You’re kidding? You can’t get me that many presents.”
Becca gives me a look that dares me to question her. “I’ll get you whatever I want to, missy, and you’ll like it.”
She pulls off another piece of tape and sticks it to my nose. “You will allow me to spoil you, kiddo.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, drawing it out like I’m a kid in trouble. But I can’t stop grinning. Presents. For me. The kind Santa could never afford in my childhood.
So far I’ve bought her some fancy art supplies from the expensive part of the art store that she always avoids because she doesn’t like to splurge on herself. But now I’m going to get her a few more things, just so she knows how much I appreciate all that she’s done for me.
“It even smells like Christmas in here,” I say, rocking back on my heels as I gaze about the decorated room. “I’m excited.”
Becca’s smile is genuine and I wonder how many years she shared Christmases in his house with Park and wished there were kids to share it with. I’m not really a kid anymore but next year the baby will be here.
“So are you coming to the Adams’ house tonight to decorate the tree?”
“Oh no, honey, that’s your thing.”
“Why not? I don’t mind.”
Becca reaches for another roll of wrapping paper and I slide it to her. “Keanna, that’s not what I mean. Decorating the tree is a big deal to Bayleigh.” Becca’s eyes glimmer as she thinks about her best friend. “It’s tradition and it’s for her family, which until now has been Jace and Jett. But now she’s including you, and that’s a big deal.
My eyes widen and Becca nods. “In Bayleigh’s mind, having you help decorate the tree is her way of welcoming you to the family, officially.”
“Wow,” I say, biting my bottom lip as I gaze up at our own tree.
Becca nods. “And I can tell you this much: no other teenage girl has been invited over to do that at Jett’s house.”
My cheeks flush and Becca tosses an empty tape dispenser toward me. “Will you throw this away, hun? And then maybe do me a huge favor and get me another roll from my studio?”
“Sure thing,” I say, rising and making my way up to the third floor. The entire third floor is just a small room that’s Becca’s art studio. It’s really awesome up here, with a huge window that looks out into the yard.
I quickly find the stash of clear tape and then gaze around the room, admiring my new mother’s creations. There are easels and canvasses and half-finished masterpieces set up. As I turn to go back to the narrow staircase, I get an idea. As quickly as if a wave of inspiration just crashed over me, I know.
I have the perfect gift idea for Jett’s birthday.
Relief hits me hard and I feel like half a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. All of these weeks of worrying what to get him and the answer was right here above my head. Of course, the other half of the weight is my lack of a Christmas present for him, but at least half my problems are solved.
I breathe a sigh of relief and practically skip down the stairs, nearly forgetting to give Becca her tape.
One present down, one more to go.
Chapter 14
“It’s here,” Dad says, peering out of the front window. He’s as eager as a kid on Christmas morning, and yet he’s a thirty-six-year-old man and it’s still a while until the big day. Every year, Dad has a Christmas tree delivered from Mr. Brown, an older guy who owns a Christmas tree farm on the other side of town. My parents took me there when I was a kid and we’d pick out trees and then bring them home, so it’s a tradition. However, a few years ago, we were all so busy we couldn’t go get one and when Mr. Brown offered to deliver one that he hand picked out for us, a new tradition was born.
“Come on, son,” Dad says, waving for me to follow him outside.
It’s already dark even though it’s not quite seven yet, and the air is finally getting cold. I wi
sh I would have put on a jacket, but it’s a short walk so I suffer through it.
Dad small talks with Mr. Brown and I help unload the tree. It seems even taller than usual, no doubt because Mom wants to make our first Christmas with Keanna even more special. I swear, if we still lived in the old days where families married off their children, Mom and Becca would have made us get married by now.
Which is funny, because all of my friend’s parents are constantly telling them not to settle down in high school because it’s not realistic. You know what else isn’t realistic? Getting knocked up in high school, marrying your first love and still being together seventeen years later. Yet my parents pulled that off pretty well, so realistic situations can kiss my ass.
Who’s to say I can’t be just like them? Except maybe the teen pregnancy part.
Keanna and I still haven’t had sex yet. I mean, we’ve done just about everything else, but yeah. I shake my head and focus on the task at hand. The last thing I need to do is think about sex while moving a cold-ass tree with my dad holding onto the other end of it.
We get it set up in the living room, right in front of the window. I crawl under the bottom branches and pour water into the tree stand, making sure the bolts are extra tight.
“Nice butt!”
Keanna smirks at me when I emerge, backwards and on my hands and knees. I grin up at her and then rise to my feet. “You liked the view?”
She nods. “Mmhmm . . . very sexy.”
I grab her hips and place a soft kiss on her pink-glossed lips. My parents aren’t in here right now, but they will be any second, so it’s best not to get too heated.
“You look beautiful,” I say, stepping back to admire her red strapless dress that stops just above her knees. She’s wearing a black crocheted cardigan on top of it and a strand of blinking Christmas lights around her neck.
“Nice lights,” I say, touching the strand with my finger.
She grins. “Becca gave them to me. Said it was my Christmas cockles.”
We share a laugh at Becca’s overenthusiastic holiday spirit. “Did I mention how pretty you are?” I say, taking her hand and twirling her around.