Page 213 of My Rules

“The flash drive I found in my pocket. It’s yours?”

“What are you talking about?” I screw up my face.

“Did you write it?”

“Write what?”

“The two-cocked green alien stories?”

“Blake. What the hell?” I hold up my hands. “Speak English!”

“I found a flash drive in the pocket of my jeans the next morning after Carol’s, and it’s a backup for someone who writes raunchy shit.”

“What kind of raunchy shit?”

“Like two-cocked, tit-sucking hucows.”

“What?” I scoff. “Have you gone insane? I never wrote any two-cocked stories. Is that why you wanted to borrow my books?”

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “So it was you who gave me the giant-ass hickey that I had to hide from you for weeks?”

“Guilty for that one.” I smile. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”

“You old dog.” Fully dressed, he steps in under the water and takes me in his arms. “Thank god for that. I thought I fucked it. Sleeping with your girl’s best friend cannot be good.”

I giggle. “Well, in truth ... I didn’t actually remember for a few weeks.”

“What?”

“But then I checked the security camera and saw us kissing on my front porch, and it all came back to me.”

“What?” His eyes widen. “Was I good in bed?” he whispers.

“You fell asleep, so I’d say not.”

“Ugh ... we shall never speak of that night again.”

I giggle. “You idiot.”

His lips drop to my neck. “Now ... let’s get to business. I’m sober tonight.”

“Put my favorite song on again,” I call as I fuss in the kitchen.

Blake hits play on Spotify, and “Carol of the Bells” rings out. His house is a Christmas wonderland.

We’ve gone all out decorating.

The tree is twinkling, and the fairy lights are strung up above.

I wanted to host his family this year on Christmas Day, and I’ve been cooking all week in preparation.

For some reason, this year family has a stronger meaning.

Blake’s family has welcomed me with open arms, and I want them to know how much I appreciate them and their son.

He passes me a glass of eggnog, with a kiss on the cheek from behind. He’s wearing navy pajama pants and a Santa hat.

His stomach muscles are rippled, and I never saw a Santa look so hot.

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