The 25 Men of Christmas

by Cassie James

  “That’s just a fucking appetizer,” he promises her before leaning back in for another demanding kiss. No one outside of the immediate circle of guys around us bats an eye.

  Andre starts to pull away again, but he can’t seem to help himself. He leans in for one more short kiss before Cyrus has finally had enough. Our captain raises the arm that’s been trapped between the two of them and shoves Andre back with a grunt and a laugh.

  Gemma shoots him her best glare as Andre trots around to the other side of the table, back to the bar as he smirks at her. He shoots her a big, overdone wink, and her glare for Cyrus eventually gives way to a tight grin that falls into open laughter. Soon she’s clutching her side and leaning against me.

  It’s not that funny, but our girl needs the laugh, and none of us say anything to her. I know I’m content to sit here and just watch her, listening as she lets go of the worries that held her shoulders in a tense line for the past couple of years.

  The night goes on in much the same manner. The team rotates around our chairs to show Gemma affection, her occasionally catching the glance of some asshole who doesn’t matter, and me and Cyrus fucking fight to keep our seats. I’m a few beers into the evening when I finally get straight-up manhandled out of my seat by Lee of all guys.

  I glare at the stocky little fucker, but Gemma’s giggling again, so the only payback I offer is snatching his beer and taking a long pull as I situate myself another table over.

  “Aw, poor, Dilly-Bear, did you lose your seat?” Hunter asks with a mock pout. I jam my shoulder against his before flipping him the bird.

  The lightheartedness of the moment is lost, though, when I notice that Gemma’s looking over at the bar again. The look on her face is way fucking darker this time, though, and her shoulders have stiffened considerably. It’s then that I notice her peeking toward the door, like shit’s finally gotten so bad that she needs a solid escape route to calm herself.

  I tense immediately, trying and failing to catch Cyrus’ attention. I toss a coaster at him, and once he’s finished being a total fucking knob about it, I nod in Gemma’s direction. He’s not the only one who notices that something’s off, though. There’s a general hush falling over the team, and several of the guys are turning their attention toward the bar, too.

  Kellin appears out of thin fucking air, pushing himself between her chair and Lee, almost topping the shorter, stockier man to the floor. He grabs her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles in what I’m sure is meant to be a comforting manner.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks slowly, and she drags her attention away from the front of the bar and looks down at him with a tight frown pulling the corners of her lips down. “Where’s your smile disappeared to, sweetheart?”

  “It’s nothing. I was just thinking that it might be time we call it a night. We’ve got early practice.” It’s almost a convincing line. But she glances back toward the bar, and I turn around in time to see that gaggle of shitty girls are back and are throwing some major shade in our direction.

  “What happened?” Cyrus asks, pulling her attention away from the bar for a half second at most.

  Kellin catches her chin in a strong grip, though, dragging her face back around to see the serious look in his eyes. She sighs, deflating in an instant, and my stomach drops to what feels like somewhere behind my nuts.

  “I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but a ton of people have spent a lot of time tonight staring at us,” she starts quietly. We all seem to sit a little straighter then, our attention on our girl and nothing fucking else. “It just feels very judgemental. And truth be told, I hate that their stares are making me feel any type of way at all.”

  “You know what? Fuck them.” It’s Edric who offers the first bit of resistance. His usual cool demeanor has given way to something darker, a burning anger behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Who cares what they think? We definitely don’t, and you shouldn’t either. There’s nothing wrong with any of this, and if those prudes can’t handle it, that’s their problem. Not ours.”

  Gemma offers him a tight smile before turning to Ben to ask about how his leg feels. Like she actually thinks that talking about work will make us forget that she’s struggling tonight. I’d give anything to make her feel better.

  Any of us would if she’d let go and give us the chance.

  I make a vow then to talk to the guys. We’ve got to do better. Try harder. Because I know there’s no way I can go back to life without her once these twenty-five days are said and done.

  We have to make it to where she can’t stand the thought of going back to life without us, either.

  Thirty-Six

  Raf

  December 19

  “I cannot believe you got us kicked out of there.”

  Her tone is accusing, but her eyes are dancing with laughter. I lean back in my chair, leg crossed over my knee as I bring my coffee to my lips with a smirk.

  “I’m certain the final straw was you wanting to make out in the tunnel.”

  Her cheeks, still pink from the cold, darken a shade and she splutters around the drink she was taking. “There wasn’t anyone around! Besides, you were the one who decided to cop a feel in Santa’s cabin!”

  I shrug and take another sip of my coffee, content to watch Gemma roll her eyes and tuck a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. I almost lean forward to do it for her, hating the way the hair hides her face from me as she leans forward.

  I’ve had two years of being able to see her face, being able to take in her breathtaking features, and I hate that this is the one time that I can’t. It’s our first date together—she looks amazing in her tight jeans and too-big sweater—but I wish she would’ve piled her hair on top of her head like she usually does.

  It’s a goddamn travesty that she hasn’t gotten frustrated enough by it yet to pull it back.

  Her eyes narrow as I quietly drink my coffee. Gemma doesn’t hate silence, but she doesn’t love it, either. She’s always laughing or chatting or humming to herself. Sitting quietly and drinking coffee? Not an ideal first date for her.

  Which is why I took her to a walk-through Christmas lights display. I smirk over the lip of my cup, though, at the memory of a very perturbed older gentleman asking us to leave before we scarred the children for life. Gemma was horrified. I was quietly amused.

  She squirms in her seat as we sit together quietly, and I can tell she’s itching to fill the silence. “Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?” she eventually asks.

  “You’re perfect, and you deserve to have hands all over you all the time. It’s not my fault Santa can’t hang. What’s there to say?”

  Gemma harrumphs and drops her coffee on the table with a loud clack before sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. I’m not purposefully being a pain in the ass, I’m just not sure how to tell her about all the feelings battering around inside me without sounding like an absolute madman.

  But how are you supposed to tell the woman you’re half in love with that you’d go to the ends of the earth for her on your first date?

  “Anything else,” she mutters, and my stomach drops all the way down past my balls.

  I run a hand down my face, scratching my fingers through my beard as I groan. It’s not that I’m bad with women—trust me, I’m not. It’s just that I’ve never been as good in English as I am in Spanish. It’s been easier to keep things short and to the point for the eight years I’ve been in America than it is to explain what I’m feeling in such a choppy and ugly language.

  “I’m really making a mess, aren’t I?”

  Gemma’s eyes go wide, and I see the apology before she can even start to utter it. It’s like she was already prepared to make an excuse for me. I shift in my seat, feet hitting the floor with a thud as I lean forward. She shouldn’t have to make excuses for my shitty behavior, and I hate that she feels like she needs to.

  “Learning English wasn’t easy for me. I
started later than the rest of the kids my age.”

  “But…” she trails off as she bites her lip, not giving me the chance to tell her why I started later than the other kids.

  It’s okay—childhood trauma probably isn’t the best subject for a first date anyway. And it’s not like I need her to know how fucking shrimpy and sick I was as a kid. I offer her a warm smile, even though I hate what’s going through her head right now.

  But your English is so good.

  I never have a problem understanding you!

  You have that sexy Antonio Banderas thing going on.

  I’ve heard it all before, and I’m sure I’ll keep hearing it until the day I die.

  “My English is good now, but it wasn’t always,” I explain, and her eyebrows tip toward her hairline. I add as an afterthought, “But Isaac helped a lot. Eli, too, I guess.”

  “What’d they do?” she asks, and my lips tip upward at the snicker she’s suddenly barely able to keep down as her eyes dance at me from across the table. “Wait, wait, wait—let me guess! They take you out to bars and teach you how to pick up women.”

  “I only ever wanted to pick up you,” I tell her truthfully. It’s a cheesy line, sure, but it’s so fucking true it hurts.

  The blush rises in her cheeks again, and my smile spreads wider. A rush of blood floods to my dick, and I do my best to ignore the intense throbbing hanging around in my pants. Goddamn, she’s amazing. She’s bathed in the dim lights of the coffee shop, and honestly? I’m losing my breath all over again.

  She’s every dirty dream I’ve ever had come to life right before my eyes.

  “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

  “Actually, they taught me how to play Dungeons & Dragons.”

  “No!” she shrieks, her eyes lighting up with surprised delight as she giggles. “You and Eli are the other two D&D nerds Isaac told me about?”

  “We play every Saturday,” I tell her proudly. There are so many questions dancing behind her eyes, but I’m quick to barrel on, “Yes, even if there’s a game. They made me Dungeon Master a few months into playing to force me to talk and practice my English more. I’ve been DM ever since.”

  “Because you’re so good at it?”

  “No,” I say with a laugh of my own, reaching for my coffee again as she snickers along with me. “I’ve been DM ever since because they’re a pair of lazy fuckers.”

  Gemma laughs out loud, throwing her head back as the laughter overtakes her completely. Warmth spreads through my body, centering in my chest as I watch her full-belly laugh at something I said. I don’t think I realized before that moment how much I was missing that in my life.

  She swipes her fingers at the corners of her eyes, and she shakes her head at me as her laughter dies down. The light is still shining in her eyes, though, and she’s leaning over the table, fingers stretching to tap the top of my hand.

  The same uncomfortable warmth flares to life in my chest at the earnest smile on her face, and I turn my hand over for her to lace our fingers together.

  “So, Dungeons & Dragons?” I nod as she rubs her thumb over mine. It’s a sweet gesture, not meant to be erotic in the slightest, but my cock is heavy and aching in my pants. “Are you secretly a huge Lord of the Rings fan, too, or is Harry Potter more your style?”

  “Gemma…”

  “Or does Game of Thrones do it for you? Khaleesi’s a babe, for sure, but I think I’m allowed to say I’m more into Arya, right? I love my little murder-daughter. But goddamn, that Khal Drogo, though…”

  “Gemma…”

  “Oh! Are you more of a Marvel guy? There’s definitely a special place in my heart for all the super sexy dudes in tight pants in that universe. Listen, what’s your stance on wearing tights? Like if I got you a pair for Christmas, would you squeeze into them for me?”

  See? She’s totally a talker.

  “Gemma!”

  She finally stops babbling, her mouth hanging open on some comment about Mbaku that is definitely not polite to repeat in children’s company.

  My eyes are wide, but I’m laughing as I ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “What the fuck is that thing?”

  I spin the paddle in my hand, fingers gliding over the cheetah print faux-fur easily. I peek down at the paddle and grimace before glancing back up at Gemma.

  Her brown eyes are wide as she takes in the terribly patterned eyesore in my hand. “Seriously, is that supposed to be a fucking paddle? Are you going to hi—spank me with that?”

  I drop the paddle like it’s on fucking fire, and it hits the hardwood floor with a heavy thunk before skittering across the floor. There’s no accusation in her tone, but the words still fucking sting.

  “I didn’t pick it, Gemma!” I say as I raise my hands and take a few steps away from her. Holy shit, this is so fucking awkward. How many times in one night can I ruin a date? “It was just what was in the box for the day I drew! I’ve never even used a paddle before.”

  There’s an edge of hysteria in my tone as I glare down at the offending item peeking out from where it’s slid halfway under my bed. I knew I should’ve just fucking ditched it and gone to a sex shop to get something a little… less.

  I glance back up at her to see her crossing her arms over her chest, hiding the satiny red material of her bra from my hungry eyes. The muscles in my arms twitch, and I have to actively fight the urge to cross them over my own bare chest. This shit is awkward and weird enough as it is. The last thing I need to do is to be a closed-off asshole and scare her off before we can even really get started.

  Not even a second later Gemma sighs and drops her arms. Her shoulders slump as she glances toward the half-hidden paddle. She surprises the fuck out of me when she sighs and ducks down to snatch up the paddle.

  I can’t read the emotion in her eyes when she turns back toward me, but it has my heart slamming against my ribcage like an angry bull. Gemma twirls the paddle between her fingers experimentally before another heavy sigh escapes her lips in a loud, frustrated huff.

  “Listen, Rafael.” A shiver explodes down my spine at the sound of my full name on her tongue. “I’ve never done anything like this either, and I don’t love the idea of it. However, I’ve tried every other item despite some serious misgivings, and I trust you just as much as I trust the others.”

  “Gemma, I…” I trail off as I search her eyes for the slightest hint of hesitation.

  I don’t give a shit about the Christmas box or her deal with the team. What matters is the woman I love standing in front of me telling me she trusts me when just minutes before she was horrified, asking if I was planning on hi—

  Wait. My brain careens to a full stop. Love? Where the fuck did that come from?

  I can feel my eyes go wide at the sight of Gemma standing before me in her bra and panties, biting her lip and twirling the paddle while I stand over here in the middle of an apparent mental break.

  “But I’d definitely prefer we Google it,” she starts when I don’t say anything. “Maybe look up a couple of pointers for first timers. I don’t want this to get out of hand. I do have to spend some time sitting behind my desk doing paperwork.”

  I nod, mutely, before kneeling to dig my phone out from my hastily discarded jeans.

  I have the paddle in my hand once again, hands resting on my hips as I watch Gemma scroll through my phone. I smile as she mumbles to herself, occasionally shaking her head at something that surprises or shocks her.

  “Aim for the meaty parts of the body… Fucking gross. Meaty?”

  The paddle slips in my hands, and I scramble to keep from dropping it again. What the hell happened to just putting your energy and body into making your partner feel good? I do not understand the need for all the props.

  “Avoid paddling the genitals—wait, that’s something they actually have to tell people?”

  “People are fucking dumb,” I pipe up helpfully, and Gemma snorts before going back to the article.


  I shift from foot to foot feeling awkward as hell standing here with a half hard dick in a pair of ugly Christmas boxers. I’m not sure if this could actually get any less sexy.

  “Paddle and then gently massage the affected area to alleviate some of the sting.”

  There goes my stupid dick again.

  “We suggest testing the paddle on yourself first. You don’t want to paddle too hard because you don’t actually know how it feels—”

  In hindsight, pulling back and hitting the shit out of my thigh with the paddle was a really bad fucking idea. At the moment though, it feels like the right move. Because yeah, testing the paddle on yourself actually makes sense. I don’t want to hurt Gemma just because my dumb ass got a little too excited.

  “Motherfucker!” I yelp after the hit lands.

  I toss the paddle away from me, onto the bed. Yeah, that hit was definitely too fucking intense.

  “Raf!” Gemma exclaims, alarm clear in her wild eyes. She tosses my phone onto the bed and rushes to my side, fingers prying my hands from my thigh as she bends down to examine the red, raised skin. I hiss between clenched teeth as she makes quick work of poking and prodding the muscle, apparently to make sure my stupid ass didn’t do any serious damage.

  I can’t even imagine how I would begin to try to explain this whole thing to Coach.

  When she’s satisfied that I haven’t caused any lasting damage to anything other than my pride, Gemma smacks me on the chest with the back of her hand. There’s fire in her eyes, and my dick twitches, hard again from all the attention and the feel of her hands on my body.

  “What the fuck, Raf? It said to test it on the meaty parts of your body!”

  “Muscles are meat…”

  Her look screams are you fucking kidding me, so I don’t bother to keep on trying to justify my poor logic and shitty decision-making skills. Truth be told, now that the sting’s wearing away, it’s really not all that bad. But maybe I’ll milk it for a couple more minutes since she’s brought her warm hands back to my thigh to massage the smarting muscle.