I had thought about kissing my sexy Santa for months now, but in all of my dreams and fantasies—and there were a lot to choose from—none had included an audience. Well, maybe one, but that was a very,verydifferent kind of fantasy, one that had come on the tail end of reading one of Leighton’s spicy romances that took place in a sex club.
Our kiss in my apartment wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned, and yet, I wouldn’t take it back for all the presents in Santa’s . . . sack. That was another new development—I had somewhat of a Santa kink. Though, was it really a kink if I only wanted to fuck one particular Santa?
Inquiring minds need to know.
The sudden waft of some nutty, sweet concoction had me spinning in my heels. Well,heel, since I was still rocking the Aircast. “Something smells incredible,” Riley said.
Bowie pointed to a small cart just beyond the photo booth. “Chestnuts.”
“Roasted on an open fire, I presume?”
He shrugged. “In West Hollywood? Doubtful. More like toasted in a microwave oven.”
Nora and I both giggled at his Jonathan Bailey-esque pronunciation ofmick-ro-wave. For someone who had never been to the U.K., I had somehow surrounded myself with British transplants. Then again, that wasn’t difficult to do in Los Angeles. There was a Tom Holland hopeful lurking in every Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf.
“Where are Leighton and Killian tonight?” Riley asked.
“Oh, she’s hard at work preparing for thatSnow Place Like L.A.thing. There was a beret emergency.”
“The worst kind of emergency, if you ask me.” Devin rested their hands on Riley’s pregnant belly. After a grueling in vitro process, the couple were expecting their first baby this spring. “Babe, whatever happened to that beret I got on our honeymoon?”
While the two of them regaled us with some adorable story about matching raspberry berets that would make Prince proud, my thoughts wandered to my sister.
I really should call her.
Leighton had been tinsel deep in final fittings and whatever else it took to put together a capsule collection as of late. Between that and my sudden influx of needy clients, we hadn’t exchanged so much as a text message in days—not since the photo shoot and subsequent decorating party at my place.
Nonetheless, Leighton would have her own cheering section at her upcoming runway show if I had it my way, and let’s face it, Iusually did. I knew she was nervous—hell, I was nervous for her—but that was to be expected. The best things in life were usually the scariest, too.
Big jobs, big adventures, big love. I should know. They all terrified the shit out of me.
“Nellie, you coming?”
“Hm?” My cheeks warmed when I found four sets of eyes staring back at me. How long had I tuned them out for?
“It’s our turn to take a picture,” Riley said, smiling.
“Oh, you guys can do one without me.”
“What?” Nora protested. “You have to be in it.”
“Seriously, it’s fine. I don’t want to get in the way of your . . . cute couples’ shit.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I live with a British gentleman who paints my nails while feeding me sconeshebaked. I’ve had my fill of cute couple shit.”
Bowie’s hand coasted lower over her back. “Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining this morning when I filled you with my—”
“Wow, look at all the snow.” Nora jumped forward, evading his hand—and the end of that sentence. “It’s like we’re in . . . Utah or something.”
Before we so much as set foot inside the giant plastic orb, a familiar voice rasped, “Of all the gin joints.”
My lips parted on a gasp. It wasn’t enough that we lived next door to each other or that he had knocked me flat on Thanksgiving. I could even come up with some veiled excuse for bumping into him at the pet store photo shoot, but come on now—this was getting ridiculous.
Maybe I really had stumbled intoIt’s a Wonderful Lifeafter all, because it seemed like Clarence, my guardian angel, had intervened yet again. That or Austin was the only photographer in the greater Los Angeles area.
I twisted to find him leaning against his tripod, scratching his beard. It had only been a few days since I’d seen him, yet his beard looked bushier than ever.
All the better to scrape my thighs with.
