“I think it was Luci.” I shrug, and Luci’s hand smacks my stomach as she passes us to follow Jack to the next tree.
Lena’s teeth dig into her perfect bottom lip. “You liked it, didn’t you? Admit it.”
“It’s atrocious.”It’s not.
“It’s delicious.”
Maybe. It’s decent.
She lifts the cup and plants her mouth right where mine was, watching me as she takes a sip. “It’s growing on you. Pretty soon you’ll be begging for it.”
My knees falter as a sudden rush of heat spreads through my veins.
You’ll be begging for it.
It feels like I already am.
8
LENA
Twisting into a new position on the couch, I squeeze my thighs together, attempting to snuff out the throbbing ache between them. My body has been on pins and needles since the audiobook this morning, and as the clock on the mantel ticks toward midnight, the arousal refuses to dissipate.
I’malmostashamed of how much I loved watching Gavin fidget in his seat, but there was something satisfying about being the one to make him squirm.
Flipping onto my side with a dramatic huff, I scan our perfectly imperfect Christmas tree. The thirty-seventh tree Jack ran into is lopsided and missing quite a few branches from one angle, but I love it.
The flawed trees are my favorites. You can tell they’ve been through some shit, but they’re still trying and growing and putting themselves out there, just begging someone to love them.
And isn’t that a little like all of us?
We brought it home, filled the house with Christmas music and laughter, and passed ornaments around as we decorated.
Gavin spent most of the time in the corner of the couch, watching everyone move around the living room. But when it was time to put the star on top, Mama pulled him up and forced him to do it.
His cheeks had turned scarlet, but he stood and set his whiskey down. Even as the tallest man in the house, he had to lift onto his tiptoes to reach the top of the tree. But as he positioned the star, the entire house erupted in cheers, and a huge smile broke out over his face.
Remembering that smile makes me restless again.
I kick the covers off in frustration and tiptoe to my luggage in the guest bathroom. My strappy maroon swimsuit sits at the top, and I slip it on before grabbing a towel and sneaking out the back door.
The cold air burns my skin as the steam escaping the hot tub lures me closer. I fold over the cover and slide it to the side, leaving only half of it open.
My muscles immediately relax as I lower into the water, like I’m releasing all the pent-up tension from today into the bubbles. I tuck my fingers under my thighs, lean my head back, and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing deep breaths through my lungs.
Today has been mentally exhausting. If someone could see my brain’s search history, they’d be confused by what they found. It would be a blend ofhow to stifle a crush on the man I shouldn’t be thinking aboutandhow to make him look at me like I want him towith a sprinkle ofhow to convince him to tell me why he left.
For the record, all of those searches turned up no results. I still don’t have the answers.
A softsnickfrom the door has my eyelids popping open, and Gavin’s wide gaze lands on me.
I can’t deny the tiny thrill that shoots up my spine at the sight of him, his sturdy shoulders cloaked in shadows and the dim light from the kitchen illuminating the sharp lines of his face.
“Sorry. I didn’t know … I’ll go back upstairs,” he mumbles as he ducks back toward the door.
If I were a responsible person—a good sister andfriend— I would let him leave.
But instead, I say, “No,” probably too brightly. “You don’t have to go.”
