Page 19 of The Bad Boy's Secret Santa

“Merry fucking Christmas Eve, Pipes.”

“MaybeeveryChristmas Eve could be like this,” she says as I pull out of her and roll onto my back on the floor. I gather her into my arms.

“Is that what you want?”

“Of course it is.” I can hear the hint of fear in her admission, as though she expects me to disagree. Iwasgoing to wait until tomorrow morning to ask her to run away with me, but this moment feels right. But first, I owe her an explanation.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Everything okay?” she asks, lifting her head from my chest and meeting my gaze.

“It’s about the night I left—without you.”

“My grandma told me that she stopped you.”

“It was the hardest thing I ever did, leaving you behind without saying goodbye. But I knew you’d try to go with me. Andbecause I selfishly wanted you to come, I wouldn’t have stopped you. I had to leave.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” I hear the hurt in her voice, and it makes my heart clench.

“I thought about it. A lot. In fact, I almost did.”

“But?”

“But I was afraid you’d hate me. That you were better off without me in your life. What your grandma said to me really shook me to the core. She didn’t want me to ruin your life. And Pipes, the life I was living those first few years before I decided to get my shit together weren’t great. I almost went to jail.”

“Jail?”

“Turns out casinos don’t like guys who are good with numbers.” It was an exciting time in my life, until it wasn’t. “I never felt like I was good enough for you. Like I could give you everything you deserved. But now…”

“Now?”

“Now I can.” I sit up, bringing her with me, and cup her cheek so I can look deep into those blue eyes. Eyes I plan to get lost in every day for the rest of my life. “Now I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted and more.”

“What are you saying?”

“Run away with me, Pipes.”

The sparkle in her eyes extinguishes in an instant, and in its place is pure anger. “Are youkiddingme?”

“What, I thought?—”

Piper yanks the t-shirt off the floor and hops to her feet. She throws it on and points to the front door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?”

“I don’t understand?—”

She folds both arms over her chest, eyes shiny with unshed tears and righteous anger. “Getout.”

I pull on my sweatpants and search the living room for my coat. I don’t dare ask for my t-shirt back. When a Stanton woman’s temper flares, the stupidest thing a man can do is fan the flames. Still, I have to try. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. In fact, why don’t you just go ahead and skip town. By yourself. You’re good at that.”

“I thought we had something here?—”

“You thought wrong.” She shoves my shoes against my chest and pushes me out the front door, slamming it behind me.

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