Page 17 of Back Home For Christmas

“What makes you think I have a problem?” He asked.

“Well, first of all, everyone has a problem. Some people are just better at hiding it.”

“How very wise of you.” I didn’t have to look at him to know there was a smirk on his face.

“You, specifically, have a problem because you are miserable and hate everyone. We talked about this,” I said. “I just want to know why.”

He was silent, as if he was actually contemplating what I had said.

“I’m sure I have lots of problems,” he said. It was the most introspective and thoughtful I had ever heard him. Maybe he had one too many beers, too.

“Maybe you just need to get laid,” I said, then immediately clapped my hand over my mouth, which had detached itself from my brain and was taking my hands lead, apparently.

“Are you offering?” He asked with that stupid smirk.

“Ewww,” I said, pulling away again, before he pulled me forcefully back to his side. I felt the length of my body from hip to shoulder pressed perfectly against his warmth, and before I could stop myself, I snuggled in closer away from the biting wind and into the crook in his shoulder. I heard his heart beat and the sharp intake of breath with my ear pressed against the side of his ribs.

I fell into a comfortable silence, listening to his heart and enjoying his body heat, forgetting who I clung to. I followed along through the streets as the Christmas sting lights fuzzed in my vision and the overall vibe left me warm and fuzzy. Before making it onto our quiet road, my eyes felt heavy when some delicious scent hit my nose.

“Is that you?” I asked, tilting my chin up and taking in a big breath through my nose. The pine and eucalyptus smelled intoxicating this close. I wrapped my fingers around his cable knit Christmas sweater and pulled him down toward me so my nose pressed into his neck. I felt his quick pulse against my skin as I breathed him in. We had stopped walking so we could stand on the glowing sidewalk with my body molded against his as he leaned down closer to me.

I felt as he swallowed hard. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“It smells so good.” I pulled away, my fingers still curled in his sweater, regretting the loss of his warmth. When I looked up, he was staring at me from only an inch away. Without permission, my eyes darted to his lips, full and parted slightly. I looked away quickly and stepped back, pushing him away. My foot caught on a bump in the raised side walk, that or I was just drunk, and I tipped precariously before Jay pulled me upright, back into his arms. I have to get away from this man, I thought to myself.

“I’ve gotta get home,” I said, shaking my head, somehow back in his arms. I hate this man, remember? I chided myself. And more importantly, he hated me. We were sworn enemies. He had made my life a living hell and just because he was walking me home, didn’t absolve him of his past sins. I pulled away again, made sure I was steady and started walking up the path to the house.

“We are going to the same place. It is dark, and you have had too much to drink,” he said.

“You aren’t my brother. I don’t need you telling me what to do.” I turned and pointed my finger into his chest, which didn’t give in the slightest. I spread out my fingers and let them move lightly along his chest. “Hmmm,” I said.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing me around the waist again and moving us forward. I made a quiet promise to never drink around Jay again. I clung to him as we stumbled up the stairs, well I stumbled, and he practically carried me. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. It must have been killing him just a little inside having to help me. I wanted to pull away, but I had done that enough times to know I would end up on my ass on the frozen ground, so I let him drag me up the stairs.

The warm air hit like a welcome hug as we stepped inside, but didn’t do much for my Bailey’s induced sleepiness. I wanted to sink into the comfy feeling of home, but the sound of Darren’s voice in the kitchen made my eyes wide. I wanted to talk to Darren before Jay got to him. I wanted a raw version of events rather than one edited to be more palatable. But I was in no condition to have a confrontation with him. I grabbed Jay’s sweater again and made shifty eyes that I hope conveyed “let’s get upstairs.” But probably just made me look insane. He either got the hint or felt the same way about seeing Darren right then, and picked up our pace. The stairs loomed ahead of me and I giggled. This was going to be fun as I lifted my foot and missed the first step. I would have face planted if Jay didn’t have a hold of me.

“Alright,” he whispered before grabbing me roughly around the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.

I let out a squeal before remembering we were trying to get through the house undetected. The last thing I wanted was Darren to find Jay hauling me off to my bedroom in a fireman’s carry. Speaking of which, what the fuck? Jay was carrying me up to my bedroom. I could feel his cheek pressed into my ass, and while the sane part of my brain thought it was the most mortifying moment of my entire life, the drunken part thought it was hilarious. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to prevent the laughter from drifting to the kitchen.

Jay walked up the stairs like I weighed nothing at all, and we were in my bedroom with the door closed before I had composed myself. He dropped me onto the bed, and I bounced a little, reigniting my laughter.

“Why are you being so nice?” I asked once my laughter had settled. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as if he didn’t want to touch anything. He looked around like an explorer who had discovered some lost wonder of the world. It occurred to me through my stupid drunken haze that Jay Crowely was in my bedroom with the tiny twin bed and all the accoutrements of my teen years that he would likely ridicule me endlessly about, like my knitting, paintings and poems scrawled on loose leaf paper. That was embarrassing.

“I’m not being nice,” he said. “I’m just being decent.”

“Oh, that’s right. Cause you can’t possibly be nice to me,” I said.

“I guess not,” he said. I sat up and reached for my boots, but before I could get the laces undone, Jay kneeled in front of me. Suddenly, the humor in the situation vanished, replaced with the vision of this hulking, muscular man unlacing my boots with carefully placed fingers. I studied him, able to watch him without being noticed for the first time. I had the overwhelming urge to rake my fingers through his dark shaggy hair, and before I could stop myself, I was. He looked up at me, startled. He had pulled off my first boot and paused midway through the second one.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“You have nice hair.”

“Glad you like it.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to meet them, instead focusing my attention on my fingers in his hair. He got the second boot off and lifted up high enough on his knees that I could no longer reach his hair.

“I don’t hate you.”

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