Page 8 of Mistle-Ho

When my shoulder bumps the adjoining wall, it moves. I peek that way, discovering the closet door.

Thank fucking god.

Silently, I ease it open and duck in just as Miss Miller hits her peak, coming loudly as Leo groans against her flesh.

As carefully as I can, I close the closet door. Digging into my pocket, I find my phone, pulling it out and switching on the flashlight. Hopefully the minor glow it offers won’t be noticeable through the gap at the bottom of the door. Working quickly and quietly, I flip through Leo’s dad’s shirts, choosing a T-shirt from the back that looks like it’s never been worn. After turning off the flashlight on my phone, I work the shirt over my head, settling it into place as the voices on the other side of the door indicate Leo and Miss Miller have finished up their meet-and-greet and are heading back to the party.

I wait for a few minutes, counting down the silence before cracking the door open and peering out to make sure the coast is clear. When it is, I follow the same path that brought me here, going back out onto the deck before letting myself in the door hidden beside the gigantic tree. The level of inebriation at this time of night works in my favor, and I’m able to easily blend back into the crowd as if I’d never left.

I probably shouldn’t have.Definitelyshouldn’t have. It was the worst thing I could have done.

Because now when I see Babs coming my way, I don’t bask in the warmth of her motherly glow. All I can think of is that I just defiled her daughter in her beloved she-shed.

“Gavin.” Babs stops in front of me, her hands coming to rest on my arms. “Tell me you’re coming over Christmas morning for breakfast. I just gave Dolly Start’n a nice feed, so I’ll have plenty of discard to make those sourdough cinnamon rolls you love so much.”

I manage a smile. “I’ll be here.”

And I’ll have to sit across the table from Alexis, eating those cinnamon rolls, acting like I didn’t just embarrass the fuck out of myself and leave her driving home in nothing but a crass Christmas T-shirt.

“I’ll make an extra pan to send home with you.” Her sharp gaze snaps to where Leo is tucked into the corner, talking quietly with Miss Miller. “None for my son though, since he doesn’t know how to listen.”

She has no idea.

“Is that one of my shirts?” Leo’s dad moves in at his wife’s side, tucking her much smaller body against his. “Looks better on you than it ever has on me.”

I smooth one hand down the front, shifting on my feet. “I spilled punch down mine.”

Leo’s dad slaps me on the shoulder. “It sounds like you need more punch then.” He grips me tight, using his hold to twist me toward the kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

My stomach drops, caught in a twisted net of dread. “Sure.”

Did he see me go into the treehouse? Worse, did he see the condition his daughter left it in?

My misery over the situation compounds as the full scope of what I’ve done settles around me. If Babs and Dan find out I pawed all over Alexis, everything will change. The way they see me. The way they treat me. The way they welcome me into their home and their lives.

And I can’t lose that. I can’t lose them.

They’re all I really have.

Dan leads me through the house, his hand staying on my shoulder. “I got a new tablet and I can’t get the darn thing to hook up to the internet. You think you can take a look at it before you go?”

A little of the tension collecting in my chest eases. “Sure thing.” I try to sound normal. Like I didn’t just have his daughter’s nipples in my mouth. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Dan gives me a wide smile and another shoulder slap as we reach the kitchen island. “I knew you could.” His eyes move around the room, like he’s looking for something.

Or someone.

Probably the daughter I just felt up and jizzed on.

Dan’s brows pinch together. “Have you seen—”

I brace to hear Al’s name, ready to keep my reaction from giving me away.

“Leo?” Dan steps back, craning his neck to peer out into the dining room. “I haven’t heard his big mouth in a while.”

I grab a cup and go to work filling it with the punch I rejected earlier. Puking pink no longer sounds like the worst thing that could happen to me. “He’s over by the Christmas tree.”

Normally I’d try to keep the heat off him and send Dan in a different direction, but if Leo’s parents are pissed at him, they won’t notice I’m drowning in guilt and regret.

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