Matt scowled and turned me around to face him. “You haven’t been bathing?”
“Sponge baths, my friend.”
He swore.
I locked him out of the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, then lay on the floor of the shower, letting the warm water cascade over me.
“This is the life,” I said dreamily.
Too bad it was Matt’s condo and not…
What, some other hot billionaire’s?
Matt hated Christmas, and that was a nonstarter for me.
As if there is any universe where he would ever date you.
Matt had changed into gray sweatpants and a gray T-shirt and was typing on his laptop when I padded back into the open kitchen and living area.
He looked soft and fuckable.
Not fuckable!I screamed to myself.
Shower aside, it had probably been a bad idea to just…agree to stay in his house. This was way too complicated.
You should have gone to Mom’s house.
I went to the kitchen and opened his fridge. Inside were hard-boiled eggs, protein shakes, and celery.
“Kitchens are wasted on men,” I said aloud and pulled out the takeout boxes from lunch earlier. I turned on the oven. While the food heated up, I stole a bottle of wine from the literal wine fridge Matt had in addition to his real, nearly empty fridge and his whole entire separate freezer. Completely empty.
“Seriously wasted,” I muttered, opening the bottle of wine. I took the bottle and two mugs into the living room area, where Matt was wrestling with Kringle.
Once both the crab cake dinners were piping hot, I took them—because fuck Matt, I needed this food—and a quarter of the ten-layer chocolate cake and went into the living room.
I had my Charlie Brown Christmas pajamas and fuzzy slippers on. With the snow falling outside, this could almost be a perfect Hallmark Christmas scene. Almost.
“You need some decoration in here,” I told Matt as I ate a big bite of the cake. “Wait! Hold on a moment.”
I ran over to my bag and pulled out two emergency Christmas candles.
“Don’t burn those.”
I ignored him and struck a match. The scents of Christmas filled the condo.
“Now for some Christmas movies!”
Kringle handed me a slightly slobbery remote.
“What a smart dog.” I patted the cushion to signal him to come up next to me on the couch and turned on the TV.
“He’s not supposed to be on the furniture,” Matt said from his spot on the floor. He took the fork from me and cut off a bite of the crab cake.
“Hey!” I picked up a french fry and slapped at his hand with it. “You were the one complaining about this food.”
“I never complained,” he said, stealing the fry from me.
Kringle put his big head in my lap, and I rested my mug of wine on it while I navigated to HGTV, where a Christmas decorating show was on.
