A Crazy Christmas

by B. Cranford

  “I’m the luckiest bastard, I swear. Look at you. Look at those perfect tits bouncing.” He reached up and ran a gentle finger across them, careful not to squeeze because one breastmilk incident per sexual escapade was enough, thank you very much. Then, he began to whisper his finger lower, moving along the underside of her breasts, down the center of her belly, slowing to run small circles around her belly button, before he began to trace her stretchmarks.

  “Seb,” she began, wanting him to stop but wanting him to never stop at the same time. It tickled and it felt so good. But it also made her worry in a way that she knew she shouldn’t but couldn’t seem to help.

  “No, don’t want to hear it. I love these. These are here because I love you. Because you love me. Because we made a beautiful, angelic little baby together.” He stilled her hips with one hand, continuing to use his one finger to explore the white streaks that marred her skin. “I wouldn’t wish these away. I want to look at them and remember what they mean.”

  “And what do they mean?”

  “They mean forever, Bright Star.”

  Brighton couldn’t contain her emotions at those words. She grabbed his face with both hands and practically mauled his mouth. Her tongue battled with his, all the feeling that was ricocheting between them concentrated into this one moment. She slid her hand between them, wrapping a fist around him and pumping swiftly—three times, four times—until she guided him to her entrance.

  She didn’t wait. She couldn’t.

  She needed to be connected with him.

  Lowering herself in one fluid movement, they each moaned or groaned or maybe even yelled at the sensation of being together. And as Brighton raised and lowered her body, fucking herself on his dick until they came together in an explosion so intense she’d later swear she saw stars, she truly believed she’d never again worry about her body.

  Not with him.

  Not when he made her feel like the brightest, shiniest, most perfect star of all.

  Four Weeks Before Christmas

  “I have no idea what to get her for Christmas,” Declan mused, as he and Sebastian headed for a used bookshop that Brighton loved. “I mean, I was going to propose and I guess . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t really consider beyond that.”

  Sebastian shifted in the passenger seat of Declan’s Mustang and cleared his throat. Whatever he was going to say couldn’t be that good, in Declan’s humble estimation. “Dude. Please tell me you weren’t just going to give that girl an engagement ring for Christmas and call it a day.”

  “Is that—was I not . . . ? Is it wrong if I say yes?”

  “Well, not exactly but for fuck’s sake, man. What if you proposed in mid-January, huh? Would you have not given her a Christmas present because you planned on giving her a ring a few weeks later? It’s not like you don’t have the money.”

  “Yeah, but Jay isn’t big on gifts.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ah, she told me?”

  “It’s a trap.”

  Declan laughed at the serious way his friend spoke but the more he thought about it, the more he worried.

  “You’re laughing now,” Sebastian said ominously, “but I’m not actually joking. The first Christmas after Bright and I moved in together, we bought a TV a few weeks beforehand and agreed that would be our present to one another.”

  “And?”

  “And then, on Christmas morning, she handed me a beautifully wrapped box and frowned when I handed her nothing.”

  Oh shit. Was it a trap? He hadn’t been in a long-term relationship for a lot of years before Jade. And he’d never be in another—his fiancée was the only woman he wanted. Needed.

  Could handle.

  “Shit. What do I do then?” he asked, hoping that marriage had made Sebastian some kind of woman-whisperer and that he could point him in the right direction.

  “I like Jade, but she’s going to be your wife. Don’t you know the kind of stuff she likes?”

  “Shoes.”

  “Aside from that?”

  “Brighton.”

  “Awesome. So, Brighton in a new pair of shoes then? That should go over well.” Sebastian’s laugh trailed off. “I shouldn’t be picturing that, should I?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Are they naked?” Declan carefully threaded his car through the traffic building up around them as they got closer to Madison, the nearest city to where they each lived—and the location of Declan’s office. “Because if they’re not, your imagination is terrible but you’re a better human being than me. Also, don’t think of my girl naked. What the fuck?”

  “You just admitted to thinking of my wife naked. I think the ‘what the fuck?’ here should be mine to ask.” Sebastian fired back. “Maybe we should move on and never discuss this again.”

  “Agreed.” Declan happily removed Brighton from his imagination, leaving behind the image of a naked Jade in her yellow heels that would torment him for the remainder of the drive. Then, he tried to steer the conversation back to safe ground. “So, gifts?”

  “You’re on your own. But I have faith in you.”

  “Thank fuck for that, because I suddenly don’t.”

  Declan: I need your help.

  Brighton: Pardon?

  Declan: I need your help, *please*.

  Brighton: Better. Continue.

  Declan: You’re rather imperial today, aren’t you?

  Brighton: I’m imperial every day.

  Brighton: And don’t you forget it.

  Brighton: But anyway, peasant, what do you need help with?

  Declan: Christmas.

  Declan: Specifically, what the hell I should give Jade for Christmas.

  Brighton: You don’t know???

  Brighton: You know you’re getting married to her, right?

  Declan: And therein lies my problem. I was so focused on the ring and proposal, I didn’t plan anything for Christmas.

  Brighton: FFS, Declan.

  Brighton: You weren’t going to be one of those dudes that thinks the ring is the gift, were you?

  Declan: Well, no. Not exactly.

  Declan: Also, I just had this same conversation with your husband, more or less.

  Declan: It didn’t end well.

  Brighton: Did you fight? All manly fists flying and grunting?

  Brighton: Maybe a little oil thrown in for good measure?

  Declan: Do I have the wrong number?

  Declan: Who are you, and what have you done with my sweet, innocent Brighton?

  Brighton: She got laid, got married, had a baby and started reading romance novels.

  Brighton: Though not necessarily in that order. But I did just finish one where the two guys were best friends all their lives until one of them fell in love with the other.

  Declan: Well, good for them and all, but I’m engaged, my best friend is married—to you, I might add—and also, straight. *points at self*

  Brighton: Doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream though.

  Brighton: Why you wanna kill my dreams, Young?

  Brighton: It’s no wonder she calls you Jackass.

  Declan: How did we get here? I’m so confused.

  Declan: I just wanted some advice on what to get the love of my life for Christmas.

  Declan: To clarify, just in case you’re still lost in fantasyland over there, the love of my life is Jade. Not Sebastian.

  Declan: Though . . . those dimples *wink wink* *nudge nudge*

  Brighton: All I’m saying is, you and Sebastian for Christmas wouldn’t be a gift that *I’d* reject.

  Declan: You know what, I think I’m just going to figure this one out on my own.

  Brighton: Probably a good idea.

  Declan moved through the bookshop, glancing left and right at the shelves of bound titles, but finding nothing inspiring. Sebastian was elsewhere in the store, no doubt having found out exactly what Brighton wanted before making an itemized, alphabetized list to bring
along.

  Showoff.

  In his pocket, his phone began to ring, the lyrical notes of Songbird telling him it was Jade calling. It was her favorite song—something she’d shared with him on their first date—and she’d added it to his phone not long after they started seeing each other.

  He’d never again hear the song without thinking of her.

  “You miss me already, Freckles?” he asked instead of a traditional greeting. “Because I definitely miss you.”

  “My mama wants there to be space at the wedding for friends and family,” came the reply, the pitch of Jade’s voice telling him that, though she was reasonably calm, she wasn’t exactly thrilled by her mother’s request.

  “Oh-kay? I thought you were inviting your sisters already.” He ran his fingers over the spine of a book that looked newer that those that surrounded it. “So I don’t get the problem?”

  “She’s not talking about my sisters. Apparently, now that we’re getting married, I have seven hundred cousins and uncles and neighbor’s dog-groomer’s ex-husbands that require invitation.”

  “Then say no,” he advised, sliding the book out and staring at the black shoes with a long, pointed heel and red sole. Killer Heels.

  “You don’t think I tried that?” she grunted—and, not that he would ever admit it, it was the cutest fucking noise she’d ever made—before continuing, “I swear, I don’t know these people. They didn’t come to my sisters’ weddings. They aren’t my friends. I don’t know what the hell Mama is up to, but—”

  “Freckles.” He had to interrupt her because her voice was getting dangerously shrill, with an edge of panic finally setting in. “Hey, I’ll talk to your mom, okay?” And he’d make her listen.

  No matter what.

  Not that he anticipated any problems with that. Through Sebastian, he’d known Mrs. Miller for several years. And she’d made it perfectly clear the first time they all got together after he and Jade started their relationship that she liked him, respected him.

  “Mama, this is Declan Young.” Jade’s words were on the borderline of shy and it made Declan’s chest clench. “Dec, this is my mom.”

  Declan took a small step forward, awkwardly extending his hand for a handshake. He might have met Mrs. Miller before, but never as her daughter’s boyfriend. He wanted to make a good impression.

  “I don’t shake hands,” was all the warning he got before she laid a kiss on his cheek and threw her arms around his neck in a hug that doubled as a headlock.

  The woman was surprisingly strong for someone so small.

  “It’s nice to”—he cleared his throat and tried to pull back from the aggressive embrace—“see you again, Mrs. Miller.”

  “It’s Mama to you. Now. Sit.”

  He’d never before felt more immediately welcome—with the exception of the first time he had dinner at Sebastian’s house when he was a kid—and more like a dog being trained to act on command.

  “Drink,” was the next command. He wasn’t asked what he wanted, a glass of ice water placed in front of him by an apologetic looking Jade.

  “Talk,” was command number three. It was all he could do to not bark, then beg for a treat for being a good boy. Instead, he reined in his inner trouble-maker and made conversation with his future mother-in-law—not that she knew yet that that’s what she’d be.

  Declan knew though. He’d known for longer than he and Jade had been official and when the time was right, he planned ask the small, fierce woman in front of him for permission to marry the pink-haired spitfire that had insinuated herself in his heart without even meaning to.

  When the night was coming to an end, Jade disappeared into the back of the house and he was left alone with her mother for the first time all evening.

  “Declan.” Her voice was toned down, soft and urgent. “I’m trusting you with my girl. She’s . . . she’s not always had it easy and she needs someone who recognizes that—”

  He nodded as he opened his mouth to reassure her that his intentions were good, that he loved her daughter because of her flaws, not in spite of them, but she held up a hand to stop him before he had the chance.

  “I just want to say this—I like you. I always have. Peter and Delaney always spoke well of you, and I couldn’t be happier that my Jade found you. She doesn’t have a father around to threaten bodily harm, so this is me doing my best. I know you’re going to be good to her, but on the off chance you’re not . . .”

  She didn’t need to finish. Declan knew the threat had been sent into the air between them and he didn’t mind.

  “I love her.” And he did. More than anything.

  Her response was a swift nod and a smile. And then two sentences that told him that he and Mrs. Miller were on the same page.

  “I know. And I love you for it.”

  By the time he snapped out of his jaunt down memory lane, Jade was thanking him and likely telling him all the things her mother had said, but his mind had already wandered off once again.

  He had a phone call to make. And, as he stared at the book in his hand, the one that reminded him so much of the woman he loved, he knew he’d found the first piece of her Christmas present.

  Three Weeks Before Christmas

  “Right. And you think it will be ready in time?” Declan asked the question with his fingers crossed. He wasn’t typically a superstitious man—or prone to hopeful gestures like finger crossing—except he really needed this to work.

  “Yes.” The simple response resulted in a fist pump and a “thank you” as he finalized the phone call and cradled the phone. Fingers tapping on his desk, he imagined the look on Jade’s face when she opened her presents come Christmas morning. Which then got him thinking about the look on her face at other times, a rabbit hole that would have been impossible to escape but for the knock on his office door, signaling the arrival of Mel, his assistant.

  “Mr. Young, you asked me to remind you to RSVP for the Christmas party that—” she began, only to be cut off by the ringing of his phone.

  “Thanks, Mel.” He nodded, letting her know that her reminder was successfully delivered and that she could head back to her desk. Grabbing his phone, he smiled at the image of Jade kissing his cheek, her beautiful eyes closed as if she was enjoying the moment. It was the background of his screen, one he always admired before swiping to connect his calls. “Freckles.”

  “Jackass. Thank you for calling my mama.” Her voice was soft, husky and, despite the fact she was talking about her mother, gave him the beginning of a hard-on.

  His typical response to her.

  “I take it she cancelled invitations to the Queen, Tom Brady and the Rockettes, then?” The conversation he’d had with his future mother-in-law was brief—he’d asked her to let Jade have it her way, she’d apologized for getting over-excited, then she promised to make him his favorite dessert next time they visited her for dinner.

  Needless to say, they made plans for that weekend. Desserts were not to be trifled with.

  Trifled with. He snickered at his own pun.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I’m funny, you know that.”

  “Practicing your stand-up routine in your head again, babe?” she asked, letting him know that she was on to him. She knew him, better than anyone. And it was the best feeling in the world.

  “Of course. Hey, your mom invited us for dinner this weekend.”

  “She promised you dessert again, didn’t she?” Her words were said in such a way that he could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him.

  There was a possibility that he was easily bought with sweets.

  “Yes, as an apology for getting a little too guest-happy with the list. I accepted on your behalf.” Because he was nice like that. “Oh, and since we are talking about weekend plans, we have a Christmas party to attend next weekend. One of the sponsors has sent an invitation and I kind of feel like I should go.”

  “And that means I have to go? You know I don’t like to
people.” She made “people” a verb, earning a laugh from him before using a noise from the back of her throat—which sounded a little bit like she was gagging—to express her displeasure. “Why am I just now hearing about this, by the way?”

  Declan cleared his throat, the temptation to tell her he had told her about the party high. But no, lying was never a good idea. “I forgot.”

  “Forgot?”

  “In my defense, I planned to tell you and then I got distracted.” He nodded, knowing that it was the God’s honest truth. He had gotten distracted. By her.

  “By?” she asked, skepticism sharp in the one word question.

  “You. I came home and you were in the shower.” Memories filled his mind, in much the same way he’d filled her body that day. But not before putting the detachable showerhead to good use.

  “So it’s my fault, then?” Her question marked the entrance to dangerous territory, though they were still playing. Mostly.

  “No. But please come with me. I’ll be your best friend.”

  “I have a best friend.”

  Declan inclined his head, sure of his answer. “Right. Me.”

  “Brighton.”

  Point to Jade. “Right, so, anyway, you’ll come with me, won’t you? I don’t want to be left alone with all those people.” He actually didn’t mind going alone. He loved his job, and schmoozing was just one of those things that needed to be done. But he’d rather have his fiancée by his side, to show off, to talk to, to admire.

  Jade in formal wear would be a sight to behold.

  She sighed, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders and she was resigned to bear it, but her gentle tone and the clear smile in her voice told him she was happy enough to be by his side. “You know I will.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “Dress code?” She had a closet full of office appropriate clothes, workout gear, party dresses, but he didn’t think she had much in the way of formal wear. “Do I have to go shopping for this?”

  “Why do I feel like you’re asking if you get to buy new shoes for this?” he teased, knowing she didn’t need permission to spend her money and being well acquainted with her love of shoes. The book, now neatly wrapped up complete with a silky bow, was sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk.