“How come a girl who doesn’t care about Christmas is working in a Christmas-themed event space?” He sounds like he’s genuinely curious.
“A tale as old as time. I need the money.” I shrug.
“And if dressing as an elf isn’t your dream, what is?” He leans down on the counter to look at me. He’s ridiculously sexy and my heart starts to beat faster.
I need to remember my mantra. I’m supposed to hate all men. They want one thing, they lie and cheat. I’m on a total break from the male race. But my fickle body is betraying me, mirroring his posture as I angle myself so I’m facing him.
I try to stop my eyelashes fluttering as I gaze into his eyes. “Photography. I make a little money on the side with my Instagram account.”
“Oh, you’re an influencer?” He sounds impressed.
“Uh…I guess you could call it that! I’ve had free passes to a few festivals in return for taking pictures. And I’ve assisted on some fashion shoots. I’d love to do it full time, but there’s not a lot of call for festival or fashion photography in Snowflake Falls…” Argh. I’m depressing myself. Maybe it will scare off this handsome guy and my ‘no men’ vow will remain intact.
There’s a commotion as the doors to the escape room open. Darius has programmed them with some kind of timer system, so they slowly rotate outwards, releasing a cloud of dry ice. “Jingle Bell Rock” starts playing as the crowd of people outside, already tipsy on the free alcohol, start to peer inside.
“You better get inside. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. But there’s a three-minute timeframe and then the doors close again.”
Handsome guy shakes his head.Darius walks up to us and holds out his hand. His Santa costume is so big that he has to push the sleeves up his arms to stop them from flopping down.
“You must be Raff, Wyatt’s brother?” he says.
I stop leaning on the counter and stand up straight. I’m going to kill Darius for not warning me he was expected today. And not telling me what he looked like. Now I squint at his face. He does look like a much younger, infinitely more handsome version of Wyatt, minus the huge mustache and beer gut.
“Pleased to meet you, Darius. Wyatt has told me so much about you. And Billie’s been filling me in on how this place works.” He’s still grinning. I wonder if he’s going to fire me for admitting I don’t like Christmas.
“Has the group gone into the escape room? I usually keep an eye on them to make sure everyone’s okay in there. Do you want to come see?” Darius looks ecstatic. There’s nothing he likes more than showing off his latest tech accomplishment.
“Sure, I’d love to. Pleasure speaking to you, Billie. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the next few days.”
I plaster on a smile. “And you.”
As the men walk away, my smile fades. I surreptitiously unzip the side of this overly tight costume and my flesh spills out. I can finally take a deep breath.
I’ve just made a fool of myself in front of my new boss. I should be devastated. But instead I have butterflies dancing around my stomach and a weird, building excitement.
Maybe Christmas won’t be such a washout after all?
CHAPTER2
RAFF
As Dariusexcitedly walks me through the technical details of the escape room, I have to keep myself from glancing back at Billie. I’ve seen a lot of pretty girls all around the world, but this particular girl is something special. Even in a skimpy elf costume, she exudes a kind of punky attitude. Almost like she’s wearing it on purpose, daring you to say anything about it. And I’d have plenty to say about those eye-popping curves.
“And this, Raff, this is built on a collection of single-board computers called a Raspberry Pi…”
I try to concentrate, but Darius has taken a deep dive into the code behind the complicated locking mechanism underpinning the room. He doesn’t appear to expect a response, happy to chatter on, so I sneak a glance at Billie. She’s stacking glasses and our eyes meet. A zap of electricity shoots down my spine. That same zap I’ve spent the last two years avoiding.
In rehab, I learned I was using alcohol, drugs, and sex to avoid dealing with my feelings. My frustration at being farmed out for DJ sets, like a pampered pooch who has to perform tricks on demand. What I really wanted to do was write my own music and perform it on stage, instead of constantly playing other people’s stuff.
I think Dave expected me to get out of rehab and go back to DJing, except this time with a glass of water in my hand instead of champagne. Maybe he thought I’d go back to being his party buddy and everything would return seamlessly to the way it was before.
But I’ve changed. I’m a different person now. I haven’t performed a DJ set since I got out of rehab. I’ve concentrated on making my own music, keeping a low profile and getting healthy. I substituted hours on the dance floor with chemical assistance, for training in the gym and healthy food. I cut off my signature long hair and got a tan from hours spent hiking in the hills. But LA just didn’t have the same appeal anymore. I wanted to get back to my roots, so I invested in small town businesses, including my brother Wyatt’s place in Snowflake Falls.
I came back last year for Christmas, staying with Wyatt and his family for a couple of days. I enjoyed it so much that when he asked if he could trade houses with me for Christmas, I jumped at the chance. I said I’d help out by managing the event space for him, so he could relax and not have to worry about work. Christmas parties and big events aren’t a temptation for me anymore. I like my head to be clear, my body to feel healthy and not to bury how I feel.
Billie is the first woman I’ve been around who’s woken something in me. She intrigues me, and that’s exciting and sets off alarm bells. Am I ready for something to happen? Does she even like me? I’ve said maybe twenty words to her, and yet it feels like the connection is there.
Darius is still talking, gesticulating at a screen on the wall. I sneak another look at Billie, who is standing on tiptoe to put the glasses back on a high shelf. The lines of her body are so beautiful, her curves barely contained by that ridiculous costume that I can’t turn my eyes away. My dick hardens, chafing against the seam of my jeans, as I imagine that skimpy dress splitting open from neck to hem, and Billie stepping out of it like Botticelli’s Venus.
