Page 63 of Holiday Hostilities

Not a dream, but a nightmare, really.

“What is wrongwith you?” I hiss at myself as I hurriedly shake away the remnants of Dream Aaron. Usually, my nightmares are more along the lines of going to work naked and everyone laughing at me. Or being in a room full of people whoall know each other and I’m the only person who knows nobody, sticking out like a sore thumb.

This nightmare was a brand new one, and I freaking caused it by putting myself in the firing line of that insane physique of his.

I also blame the damn thousand-thread-count sheets. Even crisp and clean, they have the lingering, delicious smell ofhim.

Rolling out of the massive bed before I can focus too much on said scent, I notice the clock on the nightstand. It’s11am?

Holy. I’ve had a 6am alarm clock for months now in the form of Gregory’s bagpipes. Apparently, I’ve been needing to catch up on sleep.

I plod to the ensuite bathroom, which is stocked better than a Sephora, surprisingly. At first, I thought that the fancy lotions and shampoos must be remnants of some of Aaron’s former, ahem,companions. But upon further examination (i.e. relentless snooping), I discovered that all the bottles and jars are unopened. Well, apart from that really nice conditioner in the shower that I may have accidentally on purpose used last night.

I brush my teeth and examine myself in the mirror. I’m running a brush through my hair and reaching for my moisturizer when I remember that I don’t care what he thinks about how I look.

But as much as I try to tell my brain that, my body only wants to recall the heat in his eyes last night when I came downstairs. It was unmistakable as he took in my freshly-showered self, standing there in what I made sure were my least sexy pjs.

And then, he fed me soup.

Delicious, but favored by sick people and the elderly. Ergo, universally recognized as the world’s least sexy food.

Unless you’re Aaron Marino, of course. Because while I was wallowing in soupy, pajamaed unsexiness, he managed to turn the moment into something more exciting than aMagic Mikeshow.

I put down my brush and make my way downstairs in search of caffeine. The house is dead quiet, aside from the sound of my bare feet padding across the gorgeous oak floors.

In the kitchen, I’m surprised to find a note on the island, accompanied by what looks like a handful of darts. Which is weird.

O—

I left early for practice, hope I didn’t wake you. Will be gone for most of the day so you have the place to yourself. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or cupboards, and make yourself at home.

—A

P.S. I’ve made some changes to the Christmas tree, if you need some entertainment for your day ahead.

What on earth did he do to the tree?

And do I really care?

Your resting Grinch face is showing,I can almost hear Aaron taunting me, and against my better judgment, it makes me smile.

I pad around the kitchen, grabbing myself a coffee and feeling mildly relieved that he won’t be around today.

I can hardly believe that I blurted out all my family woes about Christmas to him last night. All that bare chest vicinity clearly short-circuited my brain for a minute.

Although honestly, he was really nice about the whole thing.

Afterwards, we hung out for a couple of hours, watching two slasher movies back-to-back and playing dirty word scrabble—basically just scrabble, but you can swear. Aaron is apparently amaster at this game, and took the W with the word “douche” on a triple word score.

And he never did put a shirt on. Which was… distracting, to say the least.

But all in all, it wasn’t the worst night ever. By a long shot.

Aaron’s note in hand, I make my way to the living room.

And there, in the middle of his huge, gorgeous tree decorated with a million gold and red Christmas decorations, is a dartboard.

It’s hanging off a large branch, and upon closer examination, I have to laugh, because he’s taped pictures of random Christmassy things—and pictures of himself—to the board.

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