How the Grinch Stole My Heart

by Annabelle Costa

  On my part, I made an effort to be casually sexy. I know it sounds stupid, but I spent ages digging out these pajamas, which look comfy, but are actually quite sheer. I loved the way Jeremy’s eyes widened when he realized my top was slightly see-through. Then he looked away, pretending like he hadn’t noticed.

  I’m attempting to wash out the cotton candy machine when the doorbell rings. It’s Greg, ten minutes early to pick up Henry. My stomach tightens up against my will. Maybe someday I’ll be on good terms with my ex, but we’re definitely not there yet. Not even close.

  I glance over at Jeremy, who is sitting on the couch, helping Henry assemble this million-piece Lego set he got. I hate Legos, but Henry’s really into them. There’s nothing wrong with them exactly, aside from the fact that Henry leaves random pieces scattered around the floor, where I will definitely step on them in my bare feet. Stepping on a Lego is the worst pain known to man.

  Greg is looking down at his watch when I open the door for him. I don’t know what that’s all about considering he’s ten minutes early. When he lifts his eyes, I notice with a twinge of satisfaction that they briefly flit to my see-through top before returning to my face.

  “I swear, Noelle,” he says with a sigh. “It takes you longer and longer to open the door for me each week. Seventy-two seconds this time.”

  “We’re a little busy here,” I say through my teeth. “It’s Christmas Day, after all.”

  On my goddamn day with Henry.

  “I’m just a little sick of the passive-aggressive shit,” Greg says. “And anyway—”

  I don’t know what he was about to say, but he stops talking abruptly when he sees Jeremy sitting on the couch. Jeremy, who is a few years younger than he is, and also—if I’m being completely objective—a lot better looking.

  Yeah, suck on that.

  “Noelle,” Greg hisses at me. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a man into the apartment on Christmas!”

  I place my hands on my hips. “Oh, I didn’t realize I had to get your permission to have guests in my apartment.”

  “Guests?” he snorts. “This is hardly the same as having your mother spend the night.”

  “Gee,” I say in a voice I hope is too low for Jeremy or Henry to hear, “I don’t recall you getting my permission for your little sleepovers with Dina.”

  Greg’s face colors. “That’s different. I mean, you’re my…”

  I know what he was about to say. You’re my wife. He’d been saying it for ten years before Dina popped up in our lives. He’s looking at Jeremy, a vein pulsing in his temple, and for the first time in the last year, I see regret written all over my ex-husband’s face.

  “I mean,” Greg says in a low voice, “I had thought maybe I could stay here with the two of you for a little while. Like old times.”

  I doubt he had been thinking that before he saw another man horning in on his former territory.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve got plans.”

  Greg’s face falls. “Oh.”

  Six months ago, I would have given anything to hear those words coming out of Greg’s mouth, but I don’t care anymore. All I want is for him to leave so I can spend the day with Jeremy.

  “Dad!” Henry yelps, abandoning his Legos all over the coffee table, the couch, and the floor. Perfect. “I got Legos for Christmas! And also, Jeremy got me a cotton candy machine!”

  “Did he?” Greg mutters.

  At the mention of his name, Jeremy raises his left hand and gives a little half-wave. “Hey, man,” he says.

  “Hey,” Greg says back with equal enthusiasm.

  I don’t bother with introductions. Maybe another day.

  I do notice Jeremy doesn’t attempt to get off the couch. His crutch is on the floor, out of sight. And since he’s sitting with his left side facing the door, Greg almost certainly didn’t notice his bad right arm. While I’m not particularly excited to explain any of that to my ex, I’m perturbed by the fact that Jeremy seems to be intentionally concealing his disability.

  Does he think I care? Does he think I don’t want Greg to know?

  I hope he doesn’t really think that.

  As soon as Greg and Henry have shuffled out the door, I settle down next to Jeremy on the sofa. He puts his left arm around me, our eyes meeting, and he pretty much dives onto me, kissing me. No, not kissing—we’re making out. I don’t think we’re capable of those chaste little kisses I used to exchange with Greg at the end of our marriage. Not possible. And every time his lips touch mine, a shock of electricity goes down my body.

  “Your shirt is see-through,” Jeremy breathes in my ear. “Were you aware of that?”

  “No!” I gasp. “You’re kidding me!”

  “You almost gave me a hard-on in front of your kid.”

  I grin at him. “Self-restraint is a very admirable quality.”

  “Well, too bad I don’t have any left…”

  He goes back to kissing me, his breath hot, his lips soft. His clean-shaven jaw feels so nice against my skin. But his right arm is between our bodies, keeping me from being as close to him as I want to be. He tries to shove it aside, but it goes right back between us. The second time he tries, I can see him getting frustrated.

  “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. “I hate my goddamn arm.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I tell him.

  “It’s in the way.”

  “Not that much.”

  He tries to move it again, but it’s clear this is an exercise in futility. His right hand is clenched into a fist so tight, I can see the tendons standing out.

  “Can you feel your arm?” I ask him.

  He grits his teeth. “Yeah, I feel it. But I can’t move it. At all.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Let me try.”

  While he sits up on the couch and watches me, I gently caress his right arm. He’s not joking—it’s really tight. I get his right hand in mine, sliding my fingers into his fist, gently prying it open as I put pressure on his elbow to straighten it out.

  His brows knit together. “It really doesn’t bother you that my arm…”

  “No.”

  He glances down at it, frowning like he doesn’t quite believe me.

  “I promise you,” I murmur. And then I lean forward and kiss his hand and his fingers and every part of his arm. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches me. It takes a minute for him to relax into it.

  And then our lips meet again. Every time we kiss, it’s like fireworks exploding in my brain. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this. His warm, strong fingers are on the small of my back, pulling me closer to him like he can’t get enough of me either. If there’s one thing I could never doubt, it’s Jeremy’s desire for me. He wants me as bad as I want him.

  When I was younger, I had all sorts of crazy rules about when I could or couldn’t have sex. Now? I’ve been deprived of pleasure for so long. I want this. I want him. I want him now. ASAP. Pronto.

  I pull away from him long enough to lift my pajama top over my head. Yes, the top was sheer. But there’s a difference between that and no top at all. Jeremy’s eyes fly open, taking in my bare chest. I’m not sure if that loud sound is his heart thudding or mine.

  “Jesus,” he breathes. “Noelle…”

  “You like?”

  “Hell yes.” His fingers trace the line between my cleavage and my belly button. “Very, very much. You have no idea…”

  I slide my fingers under his own shirt as he sucks in a breath. “Oh, I have some idea…”

  If Jeremy and I were two other adults, we might have taken it slower. We might have gone on a few dates before ripping each other’s clothes off. But right now, I don’t think either of us can wait. It’s been a long time for me, and from what I can tell, it’s been a long time for him too. We’re two adults. I mean, why should we wait?

  We shouldn’t.

  Chapter 47: Jeremy

  Six years.

  It’s been six years since
I’ve had sex. To the day.

  Taylor wasn’t attracted to me after my stroke. Every time I brought up the idea of sex, I could see the distaste in her eyes. There was always an excuse, but I knew the truth. I didn’t want to admit it to myself though—I thought it was a temporary thing and eventually, we’d get back to the way we were.

  Noelle is the first woman since that awful night who’s looked at me with hunger in her eyes. She’s not faking anything. And I really, really don’t want to disappoint her.

  When she took off her shirt, my heart nearly stopped in my chest. Christ, those tits. A few weeks ago, I was convinced I’d never get to touch a pair of breasts again for the rest of my life. And now the most perfect, curviest, sexiest bare breasts I’ve ever seen are within my reach.

  And then she takes off her bra, and it’s about all I can handle.

  Except for once, Christmas is my lucky day, because after the bra comes the pajama pants and then the panties. And then she’s naked. Noelle is naked on top of me, her warm body pressed against mine, the taste of cotton candy still on her lips as she kisses me. We fumble together to get my own pants off. Usually I don’t struggle so much with undressing, but my hands are shaking like crazy.

  Get a grip, Grieder. Don’t you dare disappoint this woman.

  And then holy shit, I’m having sex again. My abstinence wasn’t permanent after all. And not just sex, but sex with the most incredible woman.

  I’m thankful she’s on top because I know my arm won’t support me, but I make good use of my one arm that works. I stroke every soft curve of her skin. I close my eyes as her hips rock against mine and soak in every ounce of pleasure.

  I run my hand down the small of her back and lock my eyes to hers. Christ, she’s beautiful. I can’t believe this is happening—it feels like I’m going to wake up any second from the most intense dream of my life. The feel of her body against mine and the emotion swelling in my chest is so intense. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to hold off as long as I can.

  I need this to be great for her. I want her to want it again, because God knows I do. It’s been a long time, but I still remember how to please a woman. I know how to touch her. And I love the way she starts to writhe and squirm as I hit that sweet spot. When she squeezes her eyes shut, throws back her head and screams, it’s about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  The second her jaw goes slack, I let go. It’s like releasing a breath I’ve been holding far too long—it feels so good, I can barely stand it.

  The thought in the back of my mind is that the last time I did this, an aneurysm burst in my brain. It’s not a great thought. But at the same time, I don’t even care. I need this. Let my brain bleed. It’d be worth it. If I die, this is how I want it to end—with Noelle’s sweaty naked body pressed against mine.

  “That was amazing,” she breathes in my ear. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Meh, it was all right,” I say. She smacks me in the chest and I grin at her. “Okay, fine. It was incredible. You are incredible.” I run my fingers along the smooth skin of her abdomen and she shivers. “Are you happy?”

  She snuggles her soft hair into my shoulder. “Really happy.”

  So am I.

  We lie on the sofa for the next hour, talking quietly while I run my left hand through her hair. I’m embarrassed to say what we talk about. I want to say we talk about something sexy, but mostly, we talk about Christmas. I mean, it is Christmas. She tells me about how she and her mother always used to bake gingerbread men for Santa, because she figured it would give her a leg up on all the kids who just left cookies. I told her about the time I ran away to go find Santa and actually made it pretty far on the bus before a police officer found me and returned me to my very unhappy parents.

  “Hey,” I murmur into her hair. “I have a Christmas present for you.”

  She pulls away from me, her eyes wide. “No fair! I didn’t have time to get you anything.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess you’re not as thoughtful as me.”

  “Up until yesterday afternoon, we hated each other, remember?” She clucks her tongue. “And then you were playing catch with Henry for like two hours. So how did you have time?”

  “You want to see it or what?”

  Even though I’m excited about the present, I feel a twinge of regret when Noelle climbs off me. I could have lain there with her for another several hours, but I need to show her this. I don’t get good ideas too often, but this was a really good idea.

  Noelle is dressed again in seconds, but it takes me longer since I’m doing it all with one arm. I get my pants on first, then the AFO for my right ankle, followed by my sneakers. I tackle my shirt last. My arm has loosened up a bit thanks to the morning’s activities, but it’s still tight as hell. I know I’m going to need that surgery in the next year or so, but I’ve made peace with it.

  Noelle doesn’t make me feel rushed at all. Whenever I was with Taylor, she would tap her foot or look at her watch or something else that always made me feel like I was being too slow. That’s my pace these days—slow. It drives me crazy that I can’t go any faster, and it makes me feel even worse if the person I’m with can’t deal with it either.

  But Noelle just jokes around with me as I get ready, and when I’ve finally got my shirt on, she straightens out the collar for me, then lifts her lips for me to kiss her. This girl is really something.

  “All right,” she says, “let’s see that present.”

  The benefit to dating my neighbor is it’s only a short walk back to my apartment, and I don’t even have to deal with all the snow that got dumped on the city last night. Noelle walks alongside me, a dopey smile on her face that probably looks a lot like my own.

  My left hand is steady as I put my key in the lock. I turn the key, and as the door swings open, she sees it.

  And her mouth falls open.

  “The tree,” she gasps.

  Yes. The ostentatious Christmas tree from the lobby with the blinking lights and the twenty billion ornaments is smack in the middle of my living room.

  Noelle blinks at the tree, as if she can’t quite believe her eyes. “How did you…?”

  “Slipped Joe a fifty.” I grin and shrug. “It was just sitting in a storeroom, so why not? He’s got to take it back tomorrow, but I figured… well, it’s my fault they took it out of the lobby. I wanted to make sure you got to enjoy it. You told me how much it meant to you.”

  “It does.” She’s blinking faster now, her eyes filling with tears. “It means a lot to me. It’s really beautiful.” She crosses the room to get closer to the tree. She reaches out to touch a bright red ornament hanging from one of the branches. She smiles in my direction. “Thank you.”

  I limp across the room to join her. I let go of my crutch just as she reaches out to take my hand in hers. And somehow at that moment, I know this won’t be my only Christmas with Noelle. We’re going to have many more Christmases and New Years and Easters and Martin Luther King Days together.

  And someday I’ll tell people that it was on Christmas Day, six years after my stroke, that my life came together again.

  THE END

  Dear readers,

  There’s something you should know about me:

  I love presents. Yes, it’s true. I pretend I don’t. I pretend like I couldn’t care less, but the truth is, whenever someone hands me one of those little gift bags, I get a little skip of excitement in my chest. It’s like I’m five all over again.

  I also love giving presents. I love coming up with the perfect gift. I love seeing the expression on my friend or family member’s face when they see it. It’s one of my favorite things.

  This year, the one gift I would like most of all would be reviews on this book. It’s the perfect gift, right? It doesn’t cost you a dime. It’s environment-friendly. And it will make me very happy. I’ll even make it very easy: just click on https://www.amazon.com/How-Grinch-Stole-My-Heart-ebook/dp/B07JJTFT5B .

  And now like one pe
rcent of your holiday shopping is done! Whew! Isn’t that great?

  Also, I would always love to hear from readers. My email address is razberripie@gmail.com. I know other authors would have a more professional email address, but what can I say—I love me some raspberry pie!

  Happy holidays!

  Annabelle Costa

  P.S. After the acknowledgements, there’s an excerpt from my book, My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend. Please keep reading!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you so much to the Molly Mirren, J. Saman, and Gerilyn Corcillo for telling me my book doesn’t suck, and also by helping me make the parts that sucked suck less. The suckage ratio is way lower thanks to you guys. Thank you so much to Avery Kingston for not only reducing the suckage ratio but also for help and advice on the cover. And thank you to everyone at PD for your continued support for so many years.

  Now turn the page for an excerpt from my other Christmas book, Santa Crush…

  My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend

  Lily is in rare form on the Amtrak train down to Maryland.

  It’s like she read a magazine article before the trip on how best to annoy your parents during a long train ride. First she’s hungry. That’s an easy one—we feed her. Then she’s sick to her stomach from the food she just ate and wants me to fix it somehow. Then she’s bored. So bored. Soooo boooooored. I brought a stack of activity books for the train, but none of them hold the slightest interest for her. She starts kicking the seat in front of her, oblivious to the glares from the passenger unfortunate enough to be sitting there.

  Now, with twenty minutes left until we arrive at the Baltimore station, Lily has gotten stuck in an endless loop. For the last hour, every five minutes, she has asked, “Are we there yet?”

  I thought kids saying “are we there yet” was one of those stereotypes about kids that doesn’t really happen. But I assure you, it does really happen. Over and over and over. And there’s no way to stop it. No way for me to say “not yet” or give her a sense of the arrival time that will keep her from asking.