Page 97 of Holiday Hostilities

I groan. “Please tell me you didn’t overhear that conversation.”

“What conversation?” She blinks innocently. “Oh, you mean the one where your dear, sweet grandmother sent you off to have a night of wild sex with me?”

I groan again. “Yes.”

“Nah. Didn’t hear a word.”

Our eyes meet, and we both laugh. “I’m sorry about them. They’re just so desperate for a couple of Aaron Juniors, they can’t think straight.”

“I think it’s very sweet.” She opens the door wide so her flannel pjs are on full display. She looks cute as all hell. “So, you coming in or are you planning on standing out there all night?”

I hold up the comforter I found at the back of the closet. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” I tell her, even as I peek past her into the bedroom. “Might just need to mooch a pillow or two.”

She bites her full lower lip. Which is more than a little distracting, let me tell you. “I’m okay with you staying here. You know, if you want to,” she says quietly, almost timidly. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Olivia’s gaze is angled down, away from me, in such a way that I have to reach out and gently tilt her chin back up so her eyes meet mine. “Me neither.”

Truth is, I’m still aching to hold her.

So, I do.

I climb into bed next to her and wrap my arm around her, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Instinctively, I draw her close so I can smell her shampoo and feel her soft breaths—first shallow, and then deeper, as she falls asleep in my arms.

And right there, in the darkness, I realize with startling clarity that I have, indeed, fallen head over heels in love with her.

38

OLIVIA

I was twelve when my dad got arrested on Christmas Eve.

That day, he drank so much that he got in a fight outside of a local church during a freaking Christmas Carol service.

Very classy, I must say.

Jake and I were meant to stay with him that entire Christmas period, but when he got hauled off to jail to dry out and clean his act up, the two of us ended up at my mom’s new place at the eleventh hour.

Mom had remarried, and this was her first official Christmas as Mrs. Jones. Her new husband, Mr. Jones, was a nice enough man, but he also had two kids and they were staying with them for the holiday.

Meaning that Jake and I were given air mattresses and assigned to sleep in the living room.

My mom hadn’t counted on us being there, so she hadn’t bought enough food to cook for six people. The house also wasn’t big enough for all of us to stay comfortably, so we were pretty much on top of each other the entire time Jake and I were there.

The situation put me on edge, and when I talked to Mom about it, she kept insisting that it was totally fine that Jake and I had crashed her Christmas.

Yup.Crashedher Christmas.

She was almost apologetic for our presence—like being around her kids from her first marriage would taint her new, happy family.

When Dad finally sobered up, got out of jail, and came to pick us up on Christmas evening, I felt…relieved. If I went back to his place, I wouldn’t be in the way anymore. Wouldn’t be taking up space somewhere I didn’t belong.

I hoped that, maybe, we could have a do-over Christmas. Have a second dinner, the three of us, and everything would be fine because we were following our original plan. And then, next year, when we were scheduled to go to Mom’s place, she’d be prepared to host us, and that would be fine, too.

Whatactuallyhappened was the opposite of fine:

Mom followed Dad out to the car, yelling at him for being selfish. He drove us home in silence, and the minute we got back, he went straight to the nearest bar.

Jake, who was fourteen at the time, was kind enough to watchElfwith me while we shared a box of Lindt truffles he’d swiped from Mom’s house. But I knew that he would’ve rather gone to see his friends, and the second the movie was over and I was getting ready for bed, he went out on his bike, pedaling off down our snow-covered cul-de-sac in the glow of the streetlights.

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