Humbugged

by Pippa Grant

  He shakes his head and cuts me off. “Totally doomed. Which is good, because I couldn’t cancel brothers-only poker night to stay home for kissing lessons. And I can’t lobby to have you included.”

  My brows wrinkle. “That’s fine, I don’t even—”

  “I mean it, Cupcake,” he interrupts in that mock-serious frown. “I don’t want you at poker night. If you’re going to keep insisting on tagging along, then we’re going to have to call off the engagement.”

  I prop my hands on my hips with a sigh. “Fine. Point taken. Maybe I’m thinking a little too far ahead. But I don’t want a one-night stand, O’Dell.”

  “Neither do I, Cupcake,” he says in a husky voice that has the hairs on my arms standing on end even before he wraps a big arm around my waist. “I just want to give you a really bad kiss and hear you let me down easy.”

  And then he draws me against every delicious inch of him and presses his lips to mine. And—shocker of the century—it isn’t a bad kiss.

  In fact, it’s the most insanely lovely kiss I’ve ever had—bar none.

  It’s gentle, but assured, sweet, but sexy.

  And then he traces the seam of my mouth with his tongue and my lips part and this Really Excellent Kiss is promoted to Pure Magic status.

  I wrap my arms around his waist with a moan, fingers clawing into the muscles in his back as I press my front to his front and do my best to devour him whole. He tastes a little like the ocean and a little like the earth and a little like something irresistible that I can’t put a name to, but I know I’m going to crave it until I die.

  He’s fine Belgian chocolate. From the first bite, you know you’ve found something worth fighting for. Maybe even dying for.

  Compromising for it would be a no-brainer.

  And that’s when I realize I’ve been played. Played by a player whose erection is so long and thick against me that I’m torn between the urge to rub up against it like a cat in heat and poke him in the peen with my finger as punishment for being a delicious liar who has somehow managed to get me ten steps down the wrong path before I had time to ask, “Hey, where are we going again?”

  I rip my mouth from his with a gasp that sounds like I’m drowning.

  Because that’s how Clint O’Dell kisses. He’s like being sucked down into an enchanted sea, one that makes you forget you ever knew any other world before the dark, urgent, heart-pounding place he’s transported you to with his incredible lips.

  But I told him I didn’t want to visit his stupid sea, dammit!

  I told him!

  “Bad,” I say, pointing a trembling finger at his face. “You’re bad.”

  His eyes go wide, as if he sincerely has no idea what he’s done wrong.

  “No more kissing.” I circle around him, then back away, keeping him in my sights. “No more kissing, and no more tricks.”

  “It wasn’t a trick, Noelle.” Injury flashes in his eyes, and his tone is hurt. “I swear, I just wanted to—”

  “I know what you wanted. You wanted things your way, the way you always want things your way. But sometimes you don’t get your way, Clint. Sometimes you need more than big muscles and cleverness and confidence to solve a problem.” I swallow. “And sometimes a problem can’t be solved and you just have to leave it alone. Please don’t come in for cupcakes with Cassie and Hope. I would leave, but I caught a ride with Cassie and it’s too far to walk back to my place from here.”

  I turn and flee the barn.

  I expect him to call out for me to stop or to chase me down the softly lit path to the house, but he doesn’t.

  And that’s good. Or awful. I don’t know.

  All I know is, I can’t be friends with him. Not like this. And I need cupcakes. And girl time. And to re-straighten my priorities again—focusing on the holidays and my bakery.

  “Honk honk honk! Honk honk honk!”

  I squeal and leap fifty feet in the air.

  Noelle Alwyn leaps tall geese in a single bound.

  Dammit, now I’m meme-ing myself, and that’s Clint’s fault too. Especially since it’s a bad meme.

  “Go back to your pen, Nutquacker,” I order.

  “Hoooonk?”

  Oh, crap. Now I’ve hurt his feelings.

  “It’s not you. Sorry. I just—I had a bad—what are you doing?”

  He paws the ground with his webbed foot like he’s gearing up for a chase.

  I take two healthy steps back.

  He cranes his neck toward me, fluffs his wings, and lets out another ominous “Hoooooonk.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” I say. “What else can I—”

  “Honk honk honk! Honk honk honk!”

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll sing ‘Jingle Bells!’”

  I could call for Clint, but that’s not happening. I told him to leave me alone, and I want him to leave me alone.

  Which is how I end up running the last several yards to Hope’s house, feet going top speed, singing “Jingle Bells” as loudly as possible.

  The good news—Cassie and Hope hear me coming and fling the door open to aid my escape from the goose.

  The bad news—they immediately start looking for Clint.

  “Had to go take care of some Marine paperwork,” I pant.

  I have no idea if it’s true or not, but Cassie and Hope share an amused smile and don’t question me, so I guess it’s close enough.

  “Get Don Juan tucked in okay?” Hope asks slyly.

  Yep. Tucked in, packed up, walls rebuilt, and all of my insecurities tossed firmly inside before I padlocked the box holding my heart. “Uh-huh. But I worked up an appetite. Which flavors should we try first?”

  My two new friends share another meaningful look, and I don’t think it’s because there are already two empty cupcake wrappers on Cassie’s plate.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Happy as a sugar plum! Oh, coffee. I love coffee. Decaf, right? So, Cassie. What do you usually do for the holidays?”

  Cassie and Hope exchange a final glance before Cassie indulges me with stories about her holidays growing up. I pay attention.

  I swear I do.

  But I still hear Clint’s truck pull away while we’re talking, and I’m fairly certain he’s driving off with a piece of my heart that I couldn’t fully stuff back into that padded lockbox.

  What we shared in the barn wasn’t just a kiss.

  Though I wish that’s all it had been.

  I could walk away from just a kiss a lot easier than I can walk away from a man who makes me want to be so much more than his friend.

  Ten

  From the texts of Clint O’Dell

  and Ryan O’Dell

  Ryan: Hey, Mr. Famous, Cassie said you bailed on eating cupcakes with them tonight without saying goodbye. She wanted me to call and check up on you, but I know better than to call anyone in his early twenties. You’d have me arrested and charged with a war crime for violating your right to use your thumbs to communicate. *thumb emoji*

  Clint: *middle finger emoji* Don’t box me in. Age is just a number.

  Ryan: Okay…

  So your Marine period came early this month? Is that what you’re saying?

  Clint: Tell that joke in front of any of the women we know and watch how fast they slap the smile from your face.

  Ryan: Easy there, baby brother. I was just kidding. And I would never tease a woman about her period. First, because women accomplish more while having their periods—and babies—than I do on my best day. And also because the woman in question would kill me.

  Clint: And any jury would acquit her.

  Period jokes are dumb.

  And no, I’m not having my Marine period.

  I’m just…pissed off. *angry emoji*

  Ryan: Who pissed you off?

  Clint: *raises hand emoji*

  Ryan: You pissed YOURSELF off?

  Clint: Yes. I think. I’m so fucking confused right now, I’m not sure which end of myself to stuff this sandwich in.
*sandwich emoji* *angry emoji* *fork emoji* Also, I’m eating Second Dinner if you want to come over. I went ahead and got the three-foot sub so I’d have some leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

  Ryan: A three foot sub night, huh? This must be serious. *gif of woman being petted with a broom while the words THERE THERE flash on the screen*

  Clint: *middle finger emoji* *sandwich emoji*

  Ryan: Seriously though - you haven’t had a three-foot sub since Jace refused to talk to you for a week after that night you locked him in the tack room, drunk on moonshine and wanting to go skinny dipping with the Wilson sisters.

  Clint: He was too drunk. He could have drowned.

  Ryan: But the Wilson sisters were easy on the eyes.

  Clint: And that butthead cost me a night with them. AND I felt bad for locking him up. I’m complicated, man. COMPLICATED.

  Ryan: I still see Steph Wilson around town, but Amanda disappeared not long after high school. Wonder whatever happened to her? Better question—why are you eating your feelings? Because I know you had stew at Hope’s tonight. Cassie told me.

  Clint: I’m not eating my feelings. I lifted for an hour before I left for work today and took a run during my lunch break. I’m fueling the machine. *weight-lifting emoji* *superman emoji*

  Ryan: Well, whatever you’re feeling guilty about—stop it. Every time you’ve done this to yourself, you’ve been doing the right thing. Not to give you any more of a big head than you have already, but when it counts, you make solid, well-informed decisions. *meme of Clint, captioned “Clint O’Dell doesn’t ask his mom what to do. His mom asks Clint O’Dell what to do.”*

  Clint: Not this time. I thought we were just flirting and messing around, but then she said I’d tricked her and… I don’t know. Maybe I did trick her. Maybe I am bad.

  Ryan: You’re the furthest thing from bad, bro. Sometimes you rush in without thinking things through first, but your intentions are always good.

  I assume Noelle is the “she” in question.

  Clint: She hates me. *heart emoji* *knife emoji*

  Ryan: She doesn’t hate you. I saw her looking at you the other night after the fire. She’s definitely interested. Even if she’s not ready to admit it yet.

  Clint: No, she hates me.

  Ryan: You just need to call her, talk it out, and clear the air.

  Clint: Nope. I fucked it up, Ryan. She told me to eat *poop emoji* and go jump in a *gravestone emoji*

  Ryan: NOELLE said that?

  Clint: I’m paraphrasing. She should’ve. I fucked this up and…

  Ryan: And?

  Clint: And it was the best kiss of my life. Better than best. It was whole next fucking level shit.

  Ryan: Wow.

  Clint: Yeah. And then she pushed me away and told me to get lost.

  Ryan: Women don’t tell you to get lost very often, do they?

  Clint: Never. That’s why I have to eat this entire sandwich.

  Ryan: Don’t eat the entire sandwich.

  Clint: It’s going to make me feel better. From the inside.

  Ryan: Sure it will. Indigestion makes everything better.

  Clint: I don’t get indigestion. Indigestion gets me. Haven’t you seen the meme?

  Ryan: Maybe that’s part of the problem, buddy. You’ve bought into your own hype and are having trouble dealing with the fact that you’re as human as the rest of us.

  Clint: *gif of man saying LIES, ALL LIES!*

  Ryan: *eyeroll emoji*

  Clint: I know I’m human, Ryan. I was just kidding.

  But…maybe I kid around too much.

  Like I said, I thought we were just flirting, but Noelle felt manipulated. I never meant to do that. You know I wouldn’t intentionally manipulate anyone. Unless it was a douchebucket who needed his head manipulated into his butthole.

  Ryan: Always a worthwhile justification for manipulation.

  Clint: I just wanted to help her lighten up and enjoy herself. She’s got this idea that she’s got to wait for some perfect guy who meets all her criteria to show up before she can even START dating again.

  But perfect doesn’t exist. And even if it does, it’s not perfect in the beginning. In the beginning you’re just two strangers bumping up against each other’s rough edges, seeing if you can find enough smooth places to snuggle up and stay awhile.

  Ryan: Perceptive. But also the point of view of a man who’s been very lucky in love.

  Clint: WTF are you talking about? *headscratch emoji* I haven’t dated anyone seriously in years and Marta broke up with ME. I was the wronged party. The broken-hearted.

  Ryan: I remember. You ate a cheesecake that time.

  Clint: I was going to get one tonight, too, but the bakery was already closed by the time I pulled into town. And frozen cheesecake isn’t the same. I need my Pain Cheesecake fresh. That’s the only way it soaks up all the suck.

  Ryan: Wow. So a three foot sub and a Pain Cheesecake. You’ve got it bad for this girl.

  Clint: I do. I just…don’t want this to be the end, you know?

  But I don’t want to stick my nose—or anything else—where it’s not wanted, either.

  Ryan: Like I said, you’ve been lucky. Sure, you’ve had a taste of heartbreak, but no one’s ever ripped your heart out of your chest with a rusty fork. I don’t know Noelle very well, but I SHOULD, you know? In a town this size, you get to know everyone’s business pretty quick. But not her. Noelle’s guarded, man. I get the feeling she’s been hurt at rusty fork levels. So it makes sense that she’s more cautious when it comes to starting something new.

  Clint: Her boyfriend of two years walked out on her right before they were supposed to go on a super romantic vacation. No warning. Just up and decided he wanted a new flavor of woman and ghosted.

  Ryan: Ouch. That’s rough.

  Clint: Yeah, I’d like to *fist emoji* his *face emoji*. But I wouldn’t hurt her like that. I wouldn’t hurt anyone like that.

  Ryan: Did you tell her that?

  Clint: No. She was too busy explaining why she can’t date a Marine to get a word in edgewise.

  Ryan: Hey, it’s a hard job, being with a man in the military. It’s like being married to a man who runs into burning buildings for a living—not for everyone. Some people just can’t handle the risk.

  Clint: What’s life without risk? That’s not living, that’s hiding out in a cave, hoping the monsters won’t find you. But the monsters are everywhere—in the cave, in the places where I’m deployed, in perfect-looking homes where kids are afraid to leave their doors unlocked at night for fear of what Mom or Dad might do when they’re drunk.

  But you have to live free anyway, Ryan. Hiding is for the weak and Noelle’s not weak.

  Ryan: Maybe you can still convince her of that. Just give her some time. Hold off on the rushing in and solving shit for a while. Give her a chance to think about that kiss. If she liked it as much as you did, then she’s going to come back around. And if she didn’t…

  Clint: She did. I could tell. I can tell when a woman’s turned on. *flame emoji* And man, those sounds she makes when I’m kissing her…

  Ryan: Ah ah ah! Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

  Clint: Dude. I have some limits.

  Ryan: I know, but I don’t even want to hear any kissing stories right now. Cassie hasn’t been in the mood to kiss very much lately.

  Clint: Could be that giant O’Dell baby you impregnated her with. That poor little woman looks like she’s about to burst at the seams. She’s really going to hate you when she learns that O’Dell babies always come late.

  Ryan: Not this one. He has to come on time or Cassie will kill me.

  Clint: So you think it’s a boy?

  Ryan: I think so. I just get a feeling when I talk to him. Like he’s dying to get out here and cause trouble like his uncles. And protect Clover, too. I told him his cousin is being raised by a hot head and a hippie so she might end up being a little weird and I need him to watch out for her ar
ound school. Keep her safe from bullies who don’t understand her moonbeam and smack-talking ways.

  Clint: It’s so cool that they’re going to be close in age. And live in the same town. I always wished our Wisconsin cousins lived closer when we were growing up.