“Jules.” He walks out on the porch, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
“Am I interrupting?” I point to the door. “Were you going somewhere?”
He shakes his head before pinning me in place with his ocean blue stare. “No. I mean, yes. I was on my way to see you. I didn’t like how I left. I thought we should talk. I’m surprised to see you here. Does Bash know?”
I take a step closer to him and lay a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. Sebastian knows. He actually suggested it. I think your super sweet present won him over.”
Nash closes his eyes and relaxes his shoulders before his lids slowly raise. “What about you?”
“I don’t know, Nash. We agreed to one night.”
“I know.”
“You never do more than one night.”
“I know.” The anguish in his voice rests heavy in my heart. “But I want to, with you.”
Nash reaches out, framing the sides of my face with his hands, and peers into my eyes as if he were silently begging me to admit the same thing. I feel like I’m the last one at the party. I don’t know what took me so long to see this different side to Nash. To realize we always gravitated toward each other. To see how he would do anything for me, including changing his lifestyle.
“I want more than one night, too.”
He strokes a hand along my jaw, running his thumb over my bottom lip. “What did you say?”
I take a deep breath. If he can lay everything on the line, so can I. It didn’t take long after I opened his gift for me to come to my senses. The reason Nash affects me so much is because I love him, too. Always have. I held on to all the hatred, shrouded myself in it so I didn’t have to face the truth.
But he’s not the man I thought he was, he’s better.
“Since you’re obviously hard of hearing, I said I want more than one night with you.”
He brings his forehead down to mine, framing my face with his hands, his breath caressing my lips. “I want everything with you.”
We stand there staring into each other’s eyes with goofy smiles on our faces until Nash breaks the silence. “What should we do now?”
“Well.” I point up to the mistletoe pinned above our heads. “I think it’s tradition if two people are under the mistletoe, they kiss. I could be wrong, but I don’t feel like I am.”
“Is it now?” A smile stretches across his face as he slides his hand down my back and pulls me against him. “I can’t argue with tradition.”
His mouth smashes down to mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck. This feels right. He feels right. I open up to him and his tongue sweeps in my mouth, gliding along the length of mine. His kiss is greedy, like he can’t get enough, and I meet him stroke for stroke. His tongue is warm and tastes like hot chocolate. And I know, I just know, I’ll never be able to get enough of him.
Nash pulls back, placing kisses along my jaw. “Come on. Let’s go back home. We’ve got a holiday to celebrate, and as much as I want you to myself, we can’t leave Bash alone.”
I nod before raising up and giving him a quick peck. “And maybe later I’ll let you unwrap your Christmas present.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?”
I raise my brows and pull him to the car. “Me.”
“That’s perfect, because all I want for Christmas is you, sweets,” he sings the last bit doing his best—maybe his worst—Mariah Carey impression. He slips his arms around my waist, presses my back to his chest and kisses my cheek with several loud kisses. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I wiggle my ass against his denim covered cock and throw him a look over my shoulder. “Now get your ass in the car. You can unwrap me later. I’m also going to hide mistletoe all over the house. I think it would give us a treat all year round.”
The smirk says it all. Looks like Christmas miracles do come true. And my Christmas miracle has a low, terrible singing voice that follows me all the way to the car as he belts out All I Want For Christmas Is You.
Epilogue
Nash
One Year Later
“How are we doing over there, cupcake?” Sebastian grins at me, and I want to punch him. Right in his smug little face.
He knows exactly how I’m doing. I’m fucking nervous as hell, and if I were the kind of guy to have panic attacks, I’d be breathing into a paper bag at an alarming rate. I can’t believe guys willingly do this. He’s been here all day helping me turn Jules’ living room—well, our living room after I moved in last month—into her very own winter wonderland. We’ve got trees set up on either side of the fireplace, twinkle lights and poinsettias everywhere, and more mistletoe than I’ve ever seen hanging from every square inch of the ceiling. I think it’s romantic, but then again, I’m not my audience. Jules has to love it. She will love it.
“You should see yourself right now.” He points at me and laughs, which is super helpful. “You’ve got these crazy eyes and I think you're twitching. Are you twitching?”
“I’m trying not to punch you,” I ground out.
Sebastian throws his head back and his shoulders shake with laughter. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. In fact, I should take a picture.” He digs out his phone and shakes it in front of my face, tempting me to charge him. “The great Nashton Wyatt without all his perceived unshakable confidence.”
“I have plenty of confidence.” I cast him a sideways glance before I round the Christmas trees, adjusting and fluffing the branches as I go. “You’re an asshole. I hope you know that.”
He holds up his phone and snaps a few pictures of the room, including me, his face reflecting pure delight. “I know, and I’m enjoying every minute of it. This is great for me.”
“Shouldn’t you be leaving?”
He glances at his phone and frowns. “Yeah, you’re right. Damn. I should get going. I was hoping to have more time to harass you. I’ll just have to do it tomorrow. Maybe get us some beer you can cry into when my sister rejects you.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” Ignoring him, I go back to manipulating the tree branches until I hear the door closing behind him.
I hang my head and blow out a long sigh as I move across the room and throw myself down on the couch. She could definitely reject me, that’s a real possibility. And it scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been close to a moment like this. Never lived with a girl before either. There’s a first time for everything and Jules took a lot of my firsts. Not the sexual ones, but the important ones. And if tonight works out, she’ll be my last too.
She should be home any minute now.
I push up from the couch and cross the room, turning out the lights so everything is illuminated by the iridescent glow of the pale, white twinkling lights. The small velvet box sits heavy in my pocket, and I trace its outline through the black slacks.
The doorknob jostles as it turns, and I move to stand between the two sparkling trees. Coming into the entryway, she closes the door behind her, takes off her jacket, tosses it on the back of the couch, and freezes. She looks around the room with widened eyes, taking in the glimmering lights, the poinsettias, and the dangling mistletoe before her gaze settles on me.
“What is all this?” She gestures to the room, her voice tinged with awe. “Are we starting a new Christmas Eve tradition?”
“Not exactly.” I shift on my feet and my hand goes back to tracing the ring box.
Jules eyes me curiously and moves toward me. “Then what is it.”
I take a step forward and grab her hands, holding them between us. “Jules, you are the light of my life. You make me do ridiculous things like string lights and hang mistletoe. You make me love you more every single day. You make me be a better man. Your man.”
I pull out the small velvet box before bending down to get on one knee. Jules’ eyes gleam with unshed tears and she presses a hand over her heart. “Nash.”
“Julia Lauren Rowe, I love you more th
an life itself. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” I open the ring box and Jules gasps.
It took me months to find the perfect ring. It’s a princess cut set in a platinum band with antique swirls. The diamond is a bit on the larger side as I don’t do anything half-assed, but the look on her face tells me I picked a good one.
Jules kneels down in front of me, a tear running down her cheek, and I reach out with my thumb to wipe it away. It hasn’t escaped my notice I haven’t gotten an answer yet but hope she’s just overwhelmed and not about to rip my heart out.
“Nash.” Jules reaches out to stroke a hand down the side of my face. “I love you. Of course, I’ll be your wife.”
“I know I can be difficult. I know—wait, did you say yes?” Her words finally sink into my man brain and a smile spreads across my face.
She nods.
With a shaky hand, I pluck the ring from the box and slide it on Jules’ ring finger. It looks perfect. And in the glow of the lights, surrounded by mistletoe, and my love, she looks perfect. I take her face between my hands, and bring my mouth to hers, kissing her softly with light caresses of my lips.
I pull back slightly and look into her bright amber eyes. “I’m going to make you so happy, future Mrs. Wyatt.”
“You already make me happy.”
I bring my mouth back down to hers, sliding my tongue past the seam of her lips, pushing her to the floor and covering her with my body. Her hands stroke my face and I can feel the band of the ring sitting on her finger. She already makes me happy, too. Happier than I ever thought possible. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
But I’ll never let her go.
About the Author
Lover of all things romance and hockey, she also loves to bake extra delicious treats. Melissa Ivers loves to write steamy stories with all those hot, alpha men and women who can bring them to their knees literally and figurately. Melissa lives in Kentucky with her eye rolling teenage son and two of the laziest dogs known to man. She has numerous fictional boyfriends, but-shhhh-they don’t know about each other.
When she isn’t writing or working, you’ll find her under a blanket on the couch reading a book on her Kindle. She also likes baking yummy treats for family and friends, binge watching shows off Netflix such as the Office and Vampire Diaries, and being an all-around joy.
* * *
To keep current with what Melissa is doing stalk her on Facebook and Instagram, or check out her website.
Merry Little Hookup
Sibylla Matilde
© 2020, Sibylla Matilde
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from Sibylla Matilde.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. With the exception of the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About Siby
Other books by Siby
Stalk Siby…
Chapter One
“Calm your tits, Frank. I’m coming,” I laughed as I loaded the drinks on my tray. He acted as if he was my only customer. Granted, tonight these three old fellas were my only customers, but patience was a virtue, dammit.
The magic of Christmas could be depressing as fuck for some people. I guess that’s why I offered to work Christmas Eve when my boss had to go out of town.
Not that I really had any place better to be. Single as the day is long. An only child who was now an adult orphan. No family to make cookies with or tease about presents. My small circle of friends were all with their husbands, likely tucking their kids in bed to toss, turn, and anxiously wait for Santa.
Not me.
Not Virginia Bennett.
I didn’t even have a fucking pet.
After setting Frank’s beer on the table, I handed Phil his bourbon on the rocks. However, I gave Larry a glass of water. He’d been the first one in tonight, and I was keeping close tabs on their intake. These guys had become my mission over the last decade or so.
He looked at me, his gray caterpillar-like eyebrows knit together as he tipped his head. “Uh, honey, looks like you forgot my whiskey.”
“Nope, I’ve got it right here on my tray, but you’re drinking that water before you get more whiskey. I also have a frozen pizza in the oven for you guys. After this round, nobody gets another drink until you’ve eaten something.”
The old fella rolled his eyes like a teenage girl, but dutifully downed the water and handed me the glass with a gap-toothed grin. “Always looking out for us, aren’t ya, Gin?”
“Always.” I flashed him a wink and gave him the glass of whiskey.
The bell on the front door of Breck’s chimed. As I turned to welcome the newcomer, my greeting lodged in my throat.
Holy fuck.
Ty Sievers.
Adrenaline poured through me, raising me to full-on flight mode. It took everything I had not to duck behind the bar and hide until he left.
High school seemed like a lifetime ago, but I’d crushed on him so hard, always from afar knowing a geeky goth chick like me didn’t stand a chance. He ran with the preppy, snow-bunny-chasing crowd. Thus, we’d been on opposite ends of the social scale. Not that he grew up in one of the countless multi-million-dollar mansions around Aspen, but his family at least seemed to have their shit together.
Unlike mine.
So what the fuck was he doing wandering into Breck’s on Christmas Eve?
He looked like he’d been through hell. A deep frown marred his face. His broad shoulders slumped forward as he stared down at his hands. Taking my place behind the counter, I could almost see the dejection pour off him in waves, like a thick, gray aura of gloom.
Yet, somehow, he looked more amazing than ever. His short, deep umber hair was cut high and tight, longer on top and swept back. Dark scruff of an almost beard covered his strong jaw, enhancing his rugged masculinity. My fingertips itched to feel it. Was it smooth or coarse? I wanted to press my lips against his throat and breathe him in.
He was simply beautiful.
Once upon a time, I’d been a college student studying to become a psychologist. Growing up with a father as detached and messed up as mine filled me with the need to help others. Sadly, life got in the way and I only made it through one semester, but the little knowledge I did gain was invaluable in my current line of work.
After all, what was a bartender if not a therapist as well?
So, in spite of the whirling pandemonium in my gut, I attempted an easy-going, cheery tone. Something to coax him to vent and clear that cloud of despair.
“You look like you could use a drink. What can I get ya?”
“How about a pink raspberry Cosmo?” His reply sounded as despondent as his posture appeared, dismal and low. Weary.
I frowned at his request for the girliest drink ever. “You want an extra shot of estrogen with that?” Okay, maybe I should have stayed in school a bit longer, but the snarky retort was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“It’s my fiancée’s favorite drink,” he shrugged with a wry twist to his lips, his gaze still locked on his hands.
Bummer, he was
engaged. Not that I had any more of a shot now than I did way back when. I’d never really been snow bunny material.
Giving him a moment to mope, I turned around and whipped up his drink, coating the rim of the martini glass with pink sugar crystals before I strained in the shaken cocktail and slid it over on a napkin. I leaned my hip against the back bar and studied him as he took a tentative sip. Immediately, he screwed his lips into a grimace and looked past me at the bottles filling the glass shelves of the bar.
“Okay, that’s disgusting. Do you have anything that doesn't taste like a lollipop wrapped in cotton candy and dipped in melted marshmallow creme? One more sip of this shit is likely to turn me into a raging diabetic.”
I chuckled, a bit relieved he didn’t like it. I’d always thought he was the studliest guy on the planet, definitely not the type to finish off a sweet little frilly drink like that. Nice to know I had him pegged.
Turning back to the liquor on display, I pulled down a bottle of Glenfiddich and poured a generous amount into a snifter. “This’ll wipe that nasty taste out of your mouth. Scotch is nectar of the gods.”
“Fuck, yeah,” he agreed and took a sip. “Much better, thank you.” His eyes rose to meet mine, widening momentarily before narrowing in a squint. My heart pounded and my chest tightened under his scrutiny. For a split second, I wondered if he recognized me, but immediately felt foolish. He hadn’t known me from Adam fifteen-some years ago. Like he’d know me now.
His eyes were the most amazing blue-green, the color of lush spruce trees on a rainy spring morning. Framed with thick, dark lashes. He’d always looked right through me before, but tonight, for the first time I could remember, his focus was directly on me. A high school daydream realized. I felt a hot quiver deep inside and had to look away for a second to compose myself.
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