Page 29 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

“Hungry? For what?” Bea sat back on the bed, hoping her voice was a sultry purr.

“Albacore tuna in a pouch!” Neal said, whipping two thin silver baggies out from the back of his desk. “Protein, baby. Plus brain food! You want?”

“Uh. No, thanks. I’m pretty full.” Curtis had made homemade ravioli yesterday and shared his leftovers with her while they looked at the new texture mats and talked about building a life-sized gingerbread holiday maze with different scenes from fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Then, they scarfed down a bunch of misshapen ginger pizzelles that were too thick or too thin but still tasted like crispy heaven.

Neal’s eating tuna out of foil packets. I’m sitting on a sleeping bag.

I think I shaved my legs for nothing.

Curtis: Text me that you’re home safe. Or just text me. Any time.

Bea yawned and tried not to frown at the phone in her hand. It was almost three in the morning. Her romantic night had turned into a lot of arguing and planning. Her feelings about Neal were… changing.

They were shallow to begin with, weren’t they? You wanted a hunk to prove the short, fat chick could get one. Or because every other girl wants him, and you never get the prize.

Is he a prize, though?Ishe?

Because I don’t think guys that qualify as “prizes” would?—

“Beatrice!”

“I have mace!” Bea screeched and whipped around in the archway leading away from Neal’s dorm. He hadn’t asked her to spend the night and had declined to meet with her until Monday, claiming work responsibilities.

“Well, don’t use it on me!” Curtis was behind her, muffled up to the eyes with his beanie pulled over his ears. His collar-lengthhair stuck out from under it like a wayward bird’s nest. “It’s three in the morning!”

“I know that!”

“Then why are you up, you overgrown pine tree?”

“Leave my height out of this! Also, I’d be short for a pine tree!” Curtis protested, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “How would you like it if I called you my sweet, delectable plum pudding, huh? Or my gorgeous glossy snow globe?”

Bea froze, blinking up at her friend as snow settled on them both.

Fuck, I might like that alot. If Neal said those things.Neal.Not Curtis.

Right?

“Why are you out here at three in the morning?” Bea demanded.

“Well… You didn’t text me. I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to know if you were safe. Where’s Neal?”

“Asleep. With tuna breath.” Bea wrinkled her nose. There had been no kiss goodnight, but the way he leaned over her in the doorway, eyes smoldering at her… Her knees liquified.

“He didn’t walk you to your car?”

Bea looked around, rolling her eyes. “Not unless he got real tiny and invisible, Sherlock.”

“So… You want to spend the night with me? I mean, at my place? Or are you going back home?”

Bea blushed. She’d already texted her parents that she was working late on a big project and spending the night at Curtis’ place. They trusted him. She trusted him.

That should tell you something. You didn’t think they’d trust Neal.

“I’m beat.” Exhaustion hit her suddenly. “If I crash at your place, I’ll make you brunch.”

“Mmm. Saturday brunch with Bea. You know, that could be your show title one day. Brunch with Bea, exclusive to Foodie TV.”

“You think?”

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