No replaying the way his breath ghosted over my skin. No remembering the tension in his jaw or the way his scent—warm, rich, infuriating—wrapped around me and settled as though it belonged there all along. Definitely no thinking about the way my pulse betrayed me, fluttering against him like some kind of goddamn secret handshake.
Shut it down, Holly. You’ve got bigger things to focus on.
Like my drink.
It’s a good drink.
“Tradition’s tradition,” he’d said.
More like a kiss stolen straight from the movies—clit-activating, life-ruining perfection you lean in for more of—hungry and desperate for just a little more.
Someone needs to punch him in the pouch and knock him down a peg.
Another sip.
Hic.
Between my clit and Nick’s fingerbang from Christmases past—two things that should never share a sentence—I’m working up a case-study-worthy brand of PTSD.
But for now, my therapy comes with an octane rating. Way more affordable. The bargain-price for this perfect little blur of reality... Let’s just check the damage, shall we?
I drag out my own little Love Potion #9 repellent, squinting at the sticker. There’s an “S”… I think, actually, give me a minute, it’s still moving.
Nope, it’s…a goat?
That can’t be right.
Focus. Numbers. Okay, $20.99! Wait, no—50% off! Jackpot. That’s a grand total of…two goes into nine four times, carry the one but the one is sooooo heavy… Holly’s had too much to math.
The sleigh shifts, or maybe that’s me, and Everett flops down beside me, his face the picture of innocence. “Well, that was unexpected.”
Yup. Unexpected.
I catch sight of Chance, the muscle jumping in his cheek as he watches us.
Who the hell does he think he is dropping an Oscar-winning kiss like that on me?
And after two nights of falling asleep curled in his arms while he cracked his stupid, stubborn heart wide open about Noelle and his disaster of a marriage—answering every question I have without hesitation.
Now everything between us is… raw.
Like sushi.
Probably gonna get worms.
His fault. Completely.
But at least he’s waaaaayyyyyy over there, stuck sharing a bench with Blake and Sierra.
Right in the middle. Nice and cozy.
Well, isn’t Karma just a bitch wearing jingle bells.
I kinda like her.
Karma that is.
Sierra… I’m still on the fence about. Because she’sdifferent.
