Pining for Perfect

by Ki Brightly

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  By Ki Brightly

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Pining for Perfect

  By Ki Brightly

  Stokely leads a solitary life, trying to do all the right things. He has a solid, respectable job, a properly decorated, respectable apartment, and goes to work every single day, no matter what. But it’s Christmas, and he hates Christmas, especially since his one guilty pleasure, listening to Asher Banks on the radio, is ruined with upbeat, holiday garbage.

  Asher is the polar opposite—he loves Christmas to a fault and schedules himself into the ground with fundraisers to help the local community. When Asher and Stokely meet during one of the holiday spectacles Asher has thrown together, sparks fly, but neither one of them has ever had a real Christmas—or a real home. Will they be able to make one with each other?

  For my Sugar Plum, Paul. Ever and always, my love stories have part of you in them.

  Acknowledgments

  THANKS TO Holly Davis for once again giving me a great idea that I shamelessly used to actually finish a story.

  Chapter 1

  Stokely Zajmi

  FIGHTING A yawn, I snap on the radio near my computer. The tinny blare of the music from the early morning news show bounces around the career search room, which is a glorified computer lab at best. Beige walls, gray-tiled floors and ceiling. It’s bleak, and there’s not much I can do to make it better other than keep it clean and organized.

  I walk along the rows of computers, hunching down to wake them up, pushing in chairs to make them orderly like abandoned toy soldiers. I go back around to lay out piles of scrap paper, and I’m arranging the last sharpened pencil when I hear his voice. My skin prickles. Anticipation buoys my stomach, perking me up a little. The warm slide of his voice hits my ears like an audible ray of sunshine.

  “Good morning, Erie! This is Asher Banks.” He laughs, light and free. It’s the best sound—every good noise in existence condensed into one shining moment. It tingles through me. I close my eyes, smiling. “Everyone better have their Santa hats on because there aren’t many more shopping days left before Christmas!”

  “Oh hell no. I forgot,” I complain, even though it’s still too early for anyone to have wandered into the career center yet. Even running, I don’t make it in time. The joyful blast of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” fills the room. “All I want is to hear him talk. Why do they have to do this holiday garbage every year?” I blindly spin the dial until non-holiday music pours out of the speakers.

  There’s a laugh behind me, not nearly as nice as Asher’s. “Want to walk by the radio station on our break this morning? We can stop at the bakery after.”

  I swing around, hands up, ready for… I don’t know what. It’s stupid, really. I barely know how to throw a punch. My assistant, Iman, strolls in about twenty minutes late, as usual. His long, tan face nearly vibrates with his amusement. He has on one of those terrible Christmas sweaters with dancing reindeer and flashing lights sewn in, simply to torture me. He looks good despite the sweater, black hair brushed professionally to the side, black dress shoes shined to a high gloss. His smile turns cajoling. For someone who barely comes up to my nose, he has an impressive capacity to irritate.

  I huff a sigh at him. “One of these days, I’m going to report you for being late.”

  “You know I run on Middle Eastern time.” He sips his coffee, grinning.

  Forcing back a laugh, I run my hand down my face. “You’ve lived here for ten years,” I growl.

  He merely waves a hand at me and places my bribe coffee at my workstation on the large curved help counter that doubles as our desk area in the middle of the room. “Are you teaching one of those courses today? The… ah….” He closes his eyes for a second, then grins and snaps them open. “The résumé critiques.”

  I shake my head and wander over to the coffee, a cold boredom spreading through me that the burning-hot cup can’t even chase away. “I pray for ways to break up the day, but no. With the holiday, no one has been signing up.”

  “Christmas. You can say the word. It won’t burn your tongue.” Iman shrugs off his jacket, then tosses it onto the counter.

  My stomach twists. “You’ll get ‘Happy Holidays’ and like it.” While he snickers, I pick up his jacket and walk around to hang it on the back of his chair.

  “So what am I going to do today?”

  “Software updates on the computers?”

  He groans, but there’s always something to be done, even if it’s pure drudge. I’m not earning my paycheck if I twiddle my thumbs, no matter what type of slacker attitude some of the people who work in the building have. We clean keyboards and update random programs on the computers until eleven, with an easy-listening station on in the background. It ruins my entire morning not to hear Asher Banks telling me about his pet turtle, his weekend, how he spends his free time. Video games. Movies. Kayaking on the lake. I almost feel like I know him, and weirdly, I miss him.

  I’m wiping down the help desk counter with antibacterial wipes when Iman knocks me out of my thoughts with a hard elbow to the side. Frowning at him, I rub at the ache. “What was that for?”

  “So are we going to be stalkers or what?”

  “One of us should stay here.”

  “Stokes, sometimes you’re too straight and narrow.”

  I give him a hard glare. “That’s the only reason I still have this job.”

  Iman laughs and spins around in a circle, gesturing with a hand at the empty, spotlessly maintained room. His bad sweater glimmers and generally makes me want to gnash my teeth. “Not this again. It’s a state job. You’re not going to get fired unless you murder someone at your desk.”

  I shrug but can’t help feeling uneasy when my life is going so smoothly, so well. Something usually comes along to screw stuff up, and it’s hard for me to enjoy the good when it’s here. I take a deep breath. Asher. It always gives me a little thrill to see him grinning in the big window at his radio station, where the hosts are on display like puppies someone could take home. If only…. Sometimes he waves. He probably waves at everyone, but it makes my stomach shivery.

  I flip off the light to the room on the way out, then twist the sign on our door to Back in 15 Minutes. “We shouldn’t do this,” I grumble as I pull my winter coat tight around myself and button up.

  Iman laughs as he leads the way out of the building, his shoes cracking smartly on the floor.

  Chapter 2

  Asher Banks

  I SLIP on the thin sheet of glimmering ice coating the sidewalk, going down hard on my left side. Pain, bright and clear, seizes up my thoughts for a few seconds. A horrible burst of red light flares behind my eyelids, causing my toes to curl. I open my eyes and force a laugh instead of whining like I want to.

  The afternoon sun blinds me for a moment as I blink up past the tall buildings toward the crisp blue sky—the kind of blue you only see when it’s below freezing, like it is today. I check to make sure my mic is still in place as I carefully sit up, moving around cautiously. None of my parts seem permanently done for. Sure enough, my intern, Alicia, has her hand-held camera pointed at me for our social media accounts, her grin a bright-pink slash on her face, matching the streaks in her hair.

  “Sidewalk ice skating is a success!” I croak wi
th a wink and grin. Alicia gives me a thumbs-up along with a wrap-up signal. “Now back to some sweet holiday sounds to get you through the workday!”

  Her shoulders slump, but she smiles warmly my direction as she snaps off the camera and turns, crimson trench coat billowing, to fiddle with her workstation behind her, cutting my mic feed. She pushes her curly hair over her shoulder as she works.

  The studio manager raps on the window with a big smile. I wave my fingers at him as he laughs his ass off.

  About half the sizable crowd gathered along the blue velvet rope nearby looks amused, a few bewildered, and several pissed off, probably because I have most of a block of the sidewalk iced over on purpose.

  “Sign a waiver and come out! The ice is fine!”

  A laughing group of teenagers surround Alicia, ready to sneak under the rope to get by her, but she diligently steps in the way, handing out paper and pens with a smile.

  I breathe deep, working my left arm, my shoulder giving a twinge.

  One man in the crowd stands out, taller than everyone else, something that always gets my heart pounding. Familiar. Handsome. He’s also the only one with skin glinting a rich golden copper in the late morning sun. I make an idiot of myself at least once a week, waving at him like he might give a shit about some guy whose biggest achievement is not getting kicked off the air yet. My skin prickles with embarrassed heat. Of course he saw me duff it. He clearly has judgment written all over his face. Oh well. I didn’t impress a hot guy. What’s new? Cheeks scorching, I laugh it off and get to my feet, aches and pains be damned.

  “I think the idea of this was better than the execution,” Alicia hisses as the gaggle of teens trundles off, slipping and sliding down the sidewalk toward the other end of our impromptu rink.

  On slick sneakers I glide my way carefully over to the gathered group of people. Deep breath. Smile. Nod. Shake hands. Answer inane questions. Nothing new here. All the while I’m hyperaware of an intense gaze looking right through me. By the time I stop in front of him, there’s a smile on his lips, and his brows are low over curious eyes.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “My name is Stokely. I want to thank you,” he says stiltedly.

  I blink, surprised. Strong name. Does he have a strong grip? My brain fizzles for a second like a bad audio connection. “Oh?” I force myself to recover and hold out my hand for a quick shake. Please take it.

  He shakes my hand, totally in control of the moment. Warm skin, a little dry. My stomach goes hot in a way it hasn’t in a long time—bedroom heat. I laugh, a nervous reaction, but he doesn’t seem put off by it. On the contrary, he steps a little closer.

  “Hearing your stories gives me hope. Hearing about someone who is out….” He leans forward like he doesn’t want to be overheard, and the smell of him—clean, crisp cologne—fires awareness through me. “Just hope for the future… that maybe someday everyone can be proud. Live a good, secure life.” He shakes his head and glances away, eyebrows diving lower.

  My chest squeezes. For a second it’s a shock. Sometimes I forget people can hear the stupid crap I babble over the airways to fill time. “No, thank you for listening to me.” I laugh, and he darts his gaze back to me, something about that look warming me all the way through, tingling to the tips of my fingers. My heart gives an odd squeeze, and I freeze for a moment. “Are you here to try for the gold?”

  “Excuse me?” Stokely straightens up, and it steals my breath to have to look up so far.

  Alicia clears her throat beside me, and I drop his hand with a pang of loss. She butts into our conversation. “The best skater wins a five-hundred-dollar gift card to the bakery at the end of the block.”

  “Go!” the short man beside him hisses. “I want it.”

  My heart drops. He’s a-do-able, with a cute pointed chin and plump mouth. They look good together, a nice couple. Of course they are.

  I fight off a stab of loss for something that wasn’t ever quite mine to begin with, and smirk. “You never know. You could win.”

  “Who does the judging?” the short man demands.

  I buff my fingernails on my jacket. “Moi.”

  Stokely laughs, high, almost like he’s surprised to be doing it. “I’ll give it a go, but what if I fall?”

  “He’ll help you,” Alicia says quickly with a shoulder pat that ends with a tight squeeze.

  She thrusts waivers at Stokely and his boyfriend. I glare at her. The boyfriend declines with a quirky grin, and Stokely gives him a look as he signs his life away.

  He carefully navigates under the rope, then steps his way out onto the poor man’s rink. I’m not too sure what I can do to stop him if he does go down. He takes a rough push across the ice, but his shoes catch on a bump where the sidewalk is slightly raised, and he gasps, eyes going wide.

  I snicker behind my hand.

  “This is helping?”

  I shrug and clap like an asshole. “I’m testing your skills.”

  “I’m very talented,” he says brusquely. “Take my word for it.”

  The short man guffaws as Stokely glowers. “Triple Lutz!” he manages to force out around cackles and snorts of laughter.

  I can’t stop my eyes from rounding as Stokely takes another slippery step and slides a few feet, arms outstretched. He does sort of make it look graceful, long legs, long arms, focus on his face. Does he always look like that when he’s concentrating?

  “I bet you are,” I gasp out around a laugh. Our eyes meet, and the corner of his mouth turns up into a sexy smile.

  I see something out of the corner of my eye and groan. His bold eyebrows fly up, and he looks too. The absolute last thing I want to see rolls by on the street. One of the city black-and-whites slows, the built man behind the wheel looking cuffs-and-citations irritated.

  Stokely tenses as he watches the cop car pull into a parking spot across the street.

  “My name’s Asher.” I stick out my hand. When he grabs it, I use my grip to pull myself closer, and he grunts with the concentration of keeping us both upright. My entire body hums with his proximity.

  “I know.” He manages to work some sarcasm into his tight response.

  I huff out a breathless laugh. “Think I’m about to get shut down, which isn’t really fair. Would you like to come back out? Try another one of our Christmas contests?”

  Stokely glances away, frowning, then back at me. “I don’t like the holidays.”

  I gasp, my stomach diving down to my toes. “How is that possible?”

  He rolls his eyes, and I’m fighting off a round of giggles when a police officer I’m unfortunately acquainted with stops nearby.

  “Mr. Banks! We need to talk! Again. This is the third time you’ve done something disruptive this week.”

  “Alicia, take Stokely’s number!” I call, struggling to channel confidence.

  “Did you win with that?” I hear his boyfriend jeer from the sidelines.

  “And turn on my mic!” I glance her way.

  She nods quickly, pink-and-brown hair glittering in the sun, even as the officer grimaces. I want to stay, have fun, enjoy my few stolen minutes with Stokely, boyfriend or no, but I do this on purpose every year—schedule myself until I can’t think, so now I get to pay the piper.

  With a sad little wave, I pivot toward the policeman, penguin-waddling to not fall. “So you’re here to shut down our holiday fun? What’s your name, Officer?”

  Chapter 3

  Stokely Zajmi

  I’M EMBARRASSED, but I walk away from the little circus Asher created, fast enough that some people might call it running.

  Iman wheezes. “Something on fire?”

  “We’re late back from our break.”

  “So?”

  “Keep up.”

  When we get back, a man mills in front of the door with that desperate, pinched look of the newly unemployed. I send Iman a glare, but he ignores me, smiling at our new client instead.

  The afternoon crawls by. With s
omeone using the computers, Iman and I don’t chat. I spend the time purging old files while fighting off an unreasonable panic. I’m a halfwit. I was talking to Asher, the man behind that honey voice, and he was absurdly handsome. He would have fit in my arms just so. Brown eyes with just enough green to make me want to stare longer, to pinpoint where one color stops and the other starts. Cute blond curls to tug on.

  And I ran away because of the police.

  Because of old fears.

  I shake my head hard, furious and irritated with myself. I thought I’d gotten over some of that baggage, but apparently not. Do we ever really let go of our childhoods?

  “I’m going.”

  I look up from my computer, startled. It’s past five and Iman’s already on his way out the door. I wave. The man who was working is gone. Everything is shut down. There’s nothing for me to do here, so I get my coat on, power down my computer, and leave.

  It’s a short trip to my apartment downtown, and I walk by the radio station to get there, but instead of the guilty pleasure it usually is, this evening I want to go a different way. I almost do, but the chance to catch a peek of Asher has me sticking to my usual route.

  I forgot about the rink. The police must have decided it was a hazard because it has been chipped off the walk, salt strewn everywhere in big clumps. Instead of getting to see him tucked away, cute and cozy behind the glass, Asher’s outside with his microphone strapped on, shivering next to a big box marked Donations under a struggling yellow streetlamp. As I stride toward him, he helps an older lady drop a bag of wrapped packages into the box. He laughs and gives her a hug. Smiling, she shuffles off to her car carefully. My chest swells, warm and fuzzy, as Asher paces over to her vehicle with her, then opens her door.

  I’m to him by the time he notices me. He gives a start before beaming his happy grin at me. It makes me want to tug him closer by one of his bouncy curls.