Page 20 of Christmas With the Jerk

I feel my lips twitch into a smile. “A nightcap at 6:15?”

“Sure,” he says, grinning now. “And we can order some more of those lobster roll sliders. You were practically drooling over them earlier.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“It was cute, and they were good.”

“Okay, you got me. But only if we get the sliders. Non-negotiable.”

“Deal,” he says, waving over the bartender to order.

I settle back into my chair, watching him as he orders. There’s something different about this whole evening—the way we’ve been around each other. The tension, the irritation... it’s all faded into something else. Something easier, less confrontational.

“So,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “what’s your favorite part of the holidays? You can’t help but be happy around all of this, right?”

I blink, surprised by the casual question. “My favorite part?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “We’re surrounded by all this Christmas stuff. I figure it’s a fair question.”

I take a moment, thinking about it. What is my favorite part? For so long, I’ve distanced myself from all of this—the family, the celebrations. But deep down, there’s still something about the holidays that I love. Something I’ve never really let go of, even if I’ve been doing it alone for the last several years.

“I guess I like the music and the overall energy,” I say slowly, glancing around at the decorations. “The lights, the music. Everything feels warm and safe. Even if you’re not with family, it’s like there’s this universal feeling of connection.”

He nods, his eyes softening. “I get that. It’s the same for me. I also love the food. My mom puts on a big family dinner on Christmas Eve with extended family and friends that are family. I swear, I look forward to that single meal all year long.”

I look at him, somewhat enamored by his excitement for the season. I wouldn’t have pegged Thorne for such a sentimental guy. It’s pretty sweet, and redeeming.

The bartender arrives with our drinks and the sliders, setting them down with a smile before heading off. I pick up my glass, clinking it lightly against his. “To surviving The Winter Storm of 2023—and the pitch.”

He chuckles, raising his glass. “To surviving, in general.”

“Yes! To surviving!”

8:04pm

The laughterbetween us fades into something quieter, something heavier. The air around us feels different now, like it’s charged with an electricity that emanates from our connection.

Thorne leans back in his chair, his eyes lingering on me a little too long. Suddenly, it’s like the entire room fades away and it’s just the two of us, sitting close in the dim glow of the lobby bar,the sound of Christmas music and clinking glasses nothing more than a distant hum.

The current between us is unavoidable and unmistakable. There are no ancient broken thermostats to blame here. An invisible thread tightens with every passing second. His gaze drops to my lips, just for a moment, and my pulse kicks up faster than I want to admit.

I swallow hard, trying to shake off the feeling. “Maybe we should get going. Early morning tomorrow, right?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes meet mine, and there’s something dark and intense in them that sends a shiver down my spine. He leans in slightly, his voice low. “Yeah. We probably should. It’s so hard to leave this night, though. I’m really enjoying it.”

I nod but don’t respond. I don’t trust myself to not say something I might wish I could take back. Neither of us moves.

There’s this breathless moment where everything feels suspended in the air. I can’t look away from him, but I feel shy looking at him. I can feel the tension building, spiraling into something neither of us seem capable or willing to temper. I don’t want to control it.

Thorne’s hand brushes mine on the table, and even that small touch feels electric. I catch my breath, the air between us thick with unspoken need.

Without a word, he stands, offering his hand. I take it, my heart racing as I rise to my feet. We don’t need to say anything. We both know where this is going.

As we step into the elevator, the doors slide shut, enclosing us in the tight, private space. The instant the doors close, it’s like a switch flips. Thorne pulls me to him, his lips crashing down on mine with a fierceness that makes my knees weak. I gasp against his mouth, my hands gripping his shoulders as he presses me back against the cool elevator wall.

It’s fire—pure, unrestrained passion. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as if he can’t get enough. I’m lost in it, in him, the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine. It’s overwhelming, consuming, and I can’t get enough.

The elevator hums quietly as it ascends, but all I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the sound of our ragged breathing. His lips move from mine to my neck, trailing hot, urgent kisses along my skin. I arch into him, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

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