by Deena Bright
“Santa Juice?” I ask Rick.
“Don’t fucking ask. Just another God damn thing we do to keep up with the rest of the fucking overly zealous parents of today,” Rick grumbles, slumping his shoulders. “I’m just happy as fuck that our fucking elf goes back to wherever Satan—I mean Santa—created him tonight, and I don’t have to see that creepy bastard again—until next year.”
“And they say people have lost their Christmas spirit,” Nelle jokes again, grabbing Marcus’ coat, before getting her own. “Char, hurry up, we’re leaving,” she calls from the bottom of the stairs.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, hoping Marcus and Janelle leave. “The roads are getting bad. I’ll go up and check on her—she’s blocking me in anyway.”
“WHAT TOOK YOU so long?” Char says, sitting on the bathroom counter. “Get your ass over here.”
As I walk over to her, she hikes her red dress up, revealing that she isn’t wearing any panties. I slide my hands up her smooth, silky thighs, grabbing on to her ass. “I take it you liked your gift,” I prompt.
“Like it? I want to fuck it,” she growls, biting on my neck and sucking her earlobe into her mouth.
“Jesus, yes you did like it,” I groan, slipping my finger into her. “You’re so wet… so ready.”
“Nobody, I mean nobody, has ever given me a gift like that,” Char states, taking my head in her hands, looking me directly in the eyes. “Jasper, I… I… love… I love it… the painting… and that… My God, don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping—ever,” I admit, watching her. Taking my time, I watch her face as she lets me touch her, feel her, and hold her against me. I love how physical she is and how she wants to show me how much she appreciates the canvas. But truthfully, I’d like to talk about it, about us.
“Look at me Char. Open your eyes back up.”
“I can’t,” she moans, rocking against my hand, holding it in place. “It’s so good.”
“Baby,” I say, slipping my fingers away from her. “Look at me.”
Opening her eyes, she stares at me, a look of fear on her face, not of pleasure and desire. “Jasper… don’t… don’t do this now. I can’t.”
“Do what?” I ask, taking a step back.
“Say anything… just don’t say anything. Please? I can’t do talking right now.”
“You can’t do ‘talking’ right now? What the Hell does that even mean, Char?” I ask, sitting down on the tub. “At some point, we are going to have to talk about this… whatever this is.”
“Oh stop,” she says, jumping off the counter and pulling her dress down. “What? So now you’re not having fun? You’re the one who said we were going to take this slow—have some fun. Aren’t we just ‘having fun’ here?”
“Having fun? No Char, I’m not just ‘having fun’ anymore as you continually call it and remind me,” I say, losing my patience. “You know damn well what I’m doing—what we’re doing. Like or not, you… me… us… this is what falling in—”
“Don’t!” she says, covering my mouth. “You promised Jasper. You promised!” Her eyes begin to water, she shakes her head and whispers, “Just forget it. Forget everything. I’m out. Merry Christmas, Jasper.” She wipes her eyes, straightens her back, and puts a giant, fake smile on her face. Then, Char opens the door and closes it behind her. I’m standing there like an asshole, not having a fucking clue of what just went on. One second I’m finger-fucking her to the palm, and the next, she’s running out on me like she’s one fire.
Son of a bitch.
Opening the door, I run down the steps after her. “Char wait!” I call, before Donovan stops me.
“Uncle Jasper, watch this video,” he says, holding the iPad in front of me. I hear the front door slam before I can say anything. Defeated, I stop and watch a video of some dumbass parents who let their three-year-old daughter play with a dead squirrel.
A dead squirrel.
Really? My whole Christmas Eve can be wrapped up with idiot parents and a dead squirrel. Merry-fucking-Christmas.
Grabbing my coat, I open the front door. Jocelyn hugs me and says, “Merry Christmas, little brother.”
“You too,” I say, stepping out, onto the porch.
“Don’t worry, she’ll come around,” Joz says, following me out, shivering in the cold. “Just give her some time. Remember J., she doesn’t usually let people in. She will though. Just be patient.”
“But… how could… what?”
“Seriously, like you think I only keep tabs on Janelle. What kind of big sister would I be if I weren’t looking out for both of you?”
New Year’s Eve
IT HAS BEEN seven of the longest days of my life—and that’s saying a lot. Let’s be honest here, I’ve had some long ass damn days in my life. The days after my mom overdosed seemed endless. The days after my grandmother passed were interminable. However, they were quick in comparison to what I’ve been feeling these last eternally painful and agonizing days.
I want to bitch-slap myself in the damn face. I know this is all my own irrational and fucked up fault. I’m a basket case bitch. I have always hated chicks who cry and freak out and break up with their boyfriends, knowing damn well that they’re just going to take them back 12 seconds later. Dumb-dame drama is not my thing—which is why I’ve always avoided it. I don’t get close enough to men to start worrying about whether or not they’re going to hurt me.
However, with Jasper, I broke my own rule. I got too close. Now, I’m a crazy, fickle, losing-my-mind nut-job. I’m the girl I hate—the girl I roll my eyes at and make fun of under my breath. Here’s the thing, maybe all girls are like that, I just didn’t know it, because I’ve just recently for the first time ever let my heart take over. Apparently, when you give someone your heart, it’s a package deal with your rational thought, and you evidently become a mindless nutcase. That’s me.
“Char, are you okay?” Janelle asks, leaning across the table. “Peter asked if you’re having fun.”
“Oh Peter did, did he?” I ask dripping with fake syrupy sweetness. “Well, tell Peter if I feel like answering him, then I’ll fucking answer him.”
“Jesus Char, what’s up your cunt?” Marcus asks.
“What’s up my cunt? What’s up my cunt?” I shriek as all the nearby heads in the restaurant turn to gape at us. “I’ll tell you what’s up my cunt. You and your arrogant loser friend. That’s what’s up my cunt.”
Pulling on my coat, I stand, and add, “Actually, that’s what’s NEVER going to be up my cunt. I’m sorry Janelle, but I’d rather ring in the new year with Ryan Seacrest on my couch in my Snuggie than spend one more second faking interest in Marcus’ friend.” Hugging Janelle, I add, “I love you, hon; I just can’t do it. Don’t be mad. Happy New Year.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, worriedly.
“I actually have somewhere else I should be tonight.”
STOPPING AT HOME, I change clothes and grab his gift, the gift I never gave him on Christmas Eve or Christmas day, or any day thereafter, because I’ve been avoiding him like the plague. I know what he was going to say; I could actually feel what he was going to say. I could feel it with every ounce of who I am, through my veins, my heart, my head—all the way down to my toes. I could feel it, feel us, feel the electricity, the heat, the fire, damn near everything.
Everything.
That is what Jasper Garrity has become to me. I have never allowed myself to feel like this—ever—about anyone, especially not my best friend’s older brother.
On Christmas Eve, I panicked. I full-out bailed like a crook with a wad of cash from a convenient store heist. I couldn’t deal. Here I am Charlene Palmer, party-girl extraordinaire, 29-year-old professional woman with her own condo, Volvo, and a time share in Miami, and I can’t handle a guy giving me a heartfelt, thoughtful, perfect Christmas gift. How could I have conquered so many demons and overcome so many obstacles, but the one that is the most important, the one that matters the mos
t, is the one that I’m terrified of facing? I’m fighting more than my fears. I’m fighting my past—and losing.
My dad bailed.
My mom overdosed.
My grandma died.
My best friend married a douche and threatened to box me out if I couldn’t accept him. She chose him.
The people I love leave.
The people who are supposed to be there for me are gone.
I am terrified to add Jasper to the list. Because the way I feel about him means that if he leaves, if he’s gone, I’m going to lose every single one of the Garrities too. I can’t bear to be with them, around them, if I can’t have Jasper now.
But the bottom line is I can’t breathe without him. I can’t think without him. I can’t eat without him. I can’t sleep without him. I can’t be without him. Not now. Not ever. So, here’s me swallowing my pride, rushing in at the final bell to beg him to forgive me and take me back.
Yes, I’m going to beg Jasper to love me—love me as much as I love him. If I have to fall on my knees and grovel at his feet, then so be it. I owe him that much after the way I left him on Christmas Eve.
Checking my phone, I see that I have 20 minutes to midnight, to a new year. New Year, new Char. New beginnings. Pulling into his driveway, I notice how dark the house is; just a bluish flickering light from the TV illuminates a small part of the living room. There are some things in life that surprise you about yourself. This is definitely one of those things. Nearly midnight on New Year’s Eve and the only man who has ever stolen my heart, captured it for his own, is watching television in his giant house on New Year’s Eve all alone. Gone are the days that the beer-guzzling frat boy or country-clubbing, ladder-climbing socialite catches my attention. I want the man who dismisses it all for a quiet night at home, watching TV. Sure, I’ll take the big house, fancy car, and deep pockets too; that’s just a bonus.
After knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell for nearly three and a half minutes, I’m starting to lose my God-given gumption. Why the fuck won’t he answer the door? I know he’s in there.
The chime from my phone alerts me to a text message:
JASPER: It’s open.
Ohhh, this is what pissed must look like. He’s pissed and isn’t going to make this easy for me.
CHAR: Then come open the door for me.
JASPER: Can’t
CHAR: Of course you can. Get up off that cute ass of yours and open up.
JASPER: This isn’t my grand gesture. It’s all yours.
Grand gesture?
Grand gesture?
God, he knows me better than I ever even realized. Taking a deep breath, I walk through the front door. Jasper’s sitting on the stairs, leaning back on the steps like the cocky bastard that he is. Sporting low-hung flannel pajamas pants, a tight thermal long-sleeved shirt, barefoot with his hair the perfect amount of mussed, he looks like one of those J. Crew catalogue models. Damn, I’d buy those pj bottoms just to rip them right off—with my teeth.
Staring at me grinning, he starts a typical romantic comedy slow clap, circa the John Hughes era. Standing, he mocks, “Now Char, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Walking toward me, he adds, “Longest week of my life.”
Walking into his outspread arms, I agree, “I know, right? They must’ve added a few extra days or something.”
“Don’t walk out on me again,” he whispers into the top of my hair.
“Jasper, I don’t know if I can promise—”
“Char, come on, yes you can,” he soothes. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you. Just admit it.”
“I’m just so… so…”
Cutting me off, he finishes my sentence, “Scared. I know, Char. But you have to trust me… and believe me… I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then why? Why didn’t you—”
“Call you? Text? Stop by?” he asks. I nod, shocked that he can read my thoughts and know what I’m going to say. “Char, how many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t make a move until I was completely sure? I knew what I was getting into and what I wanted—what I’ve always wanted. Once I made that move, I was never turning back. You’re it for me,” he says, staring into my eyes. “I had to wait to see if you felt the same way.”
“I do Jasper, but I’m terrified of losing you and losing—”
“My whole family. I know. I get it,” Jasper states, sitting down on the steps, pulling me onto his lap. “I’ve got a plan. Let’s just do this… for as long as you want.”
“What do you mean?”
“I won’t pressure you to tell her. Jocelyn doesn’t think she needs to know yet anyway,” he explains.
“Jocelyn? Jocelyn knows. Oh fuck, Janelle is going to kill me… like fucking destroy me,” I groan, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“Joz and I talked. Here’s the new game plan: we are going to tell Janelle all about Marcus in June, as soon as she gets out of school. Joz is keeping tabs on Marcus, making a file of all of his indiscretions,” Jasper explains, running his fingers through my hair. “Knowing Janelle, she’s going to want hardcore proof that Marcus is an adulterer. Sadly, we’re going to have it—all of it.”
“Are you sure we have to wait to tell her?”
“Yeah, we want to gather more evidence, so she can’t possibly forgive him. Plus, I’m thinking about giving her the pool house out back to—”
“Oh my God, you’re going to give her the pool house? Jasper, that’s perfect! She won’t have to worry about finding a place to live or how much it costs,” I squeal, feeling so excited for my best friend, excited that she’s finally going to be rid of that mother-fucker and living in the coolest place ever.
Continuing, I add, “I have the best idea! She loves crafting and shit like that. Why don’t you tell her that you want her to decorate it—anyway she wants, give her carte blanche with the interior design, furniture, everything—”
“Whoa whoa, easy girl,” he says, laughing. “You’re talking a ton of money.”
“A ton of money you have, probably in your top drawer,” I remark, rolling my eyes.
“How do you know about the money in my top drawer?”
“Really? I snoop through everything every time you leave me alone for two seconds… drawers, phone, cupboards, anything.”
“Char! How could you—”
“I’ve done it since I’ve met you. I’m a compulsive snoop. You better just accept it,” I say, shrugging. “Speaking of which, I found some ratty old blanket on the top shelf of your closet. What’s that about?”
“Ging? You found my Ging?” he asks, surprised. “I thought I’d hidden him pretty good.”
“Ging? Your old blankie’s name is ‘Ging,’ as in rhymes with ‘king?’ God, Jasper can you get any more perfect—and adorable?” I ask, kissing his neck. “Now that I know the plan for Janelle and that dickhead, you still need to tell me the rest of our plan, before you take me back to your room and make up for the past excruciatingly long week.”
Picking me up, he carries me to his room, lying me down on his bed. “The plan is simple. Joz came up with it. By the way, she’s happy as Hell that we are… that this is… happening.”
“We are happening,” I laugh, sitting up on the bed. “So spill.”
“Like I said, ‘simple.’ We continue doing what we’re doing… until we don’t want to do it anymore,” Jasper explains, nonchalantly.
“Uhhh… just like that? So, you keep fucking me until you’re done fucking me?” I say, feeling my anger starting to rise. “That’s your big plan? So what, Joz thinks that’s all this is?”
“Calm down—”
“No, I won’t calm down. I told you that this is—”
Jasper leaps across the bed and pins me down, covering my mouth with his hands. “Woman, you are going to be the death of me. Listen to me, until you and I are both ready to change… ummm… our living situation or… or… our marital status, we’re just going to keep doing what we’re doing… it’s so much
better without all those outside influences anyway.”
Struggling out from under him, I squirm out of his reach. “What the fuck did you just say?” Jumping up, I start pacing the bedroom. “I know I couldn’t have heard you right.”
Jasper lies back on the bed, covering his head with this arms, and yells, “Agggghhhh, why can’t women just listen?”
“Listen? Listen to your convoluted plan to bang and bail?” I question, crossing my hands over my chest, resisting the urge to throw a lamp at him.
“I already told you, I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere,” he screams from under his hands. “Char, I’m not letting you back out of this. I won’t let you. This is it for me. Can you please listen to me?”
Slumping back down on the bed, I sigh in exasperation. “You’re confusing the fuck out of me.”
“If you’d just let me explain and… wait… I’ve got an idea,” Jasper states, jumping up and running over to his closet. Taking out one of his ties, he smirks and winks at me.
“You are not about to—”
“Just trust me,” he says, rolling his eyes at me. Going back into the closet, he grabs a second tie. Looping one tie around my wrists, he ties me to his bed, sitting up and fully clothed. I still haven’t taken off my coat—haven’t decided if I’m actually staying or not. “Open your mouth,” he instructs, chuckling. “Hell, I should’ve done this years ago.
“You’re gagging me? Like seriously?”
“Like seriously,” he mimics in full Valley girl fashion before wrapping the tie around my head and slipping the silky material into my mouth. Tying the material around the back of my head, he asks, “Too tight?”
I glare at him and reluctantly shake my head.
“Ahhh, much better he says, sitting down facing me with his legs curled under him like a schoolboy during story hour.
Is it strange that I’m wildly turned on and extremely attracted to him as I’m lying here bound and gagged on his bed? Well, I guess that’s stupid. Most people are probably pretty ready if they’re in this position.