Page 38 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

I hesitate, but there’s something in his eyes that draws me in, something that makes it impossible to say no. “Sure,” I say, forcing a smile. “But only if you promise not to get on my nerves.”

Ethan chuckles, pushing off from the car and opening the passenger door for me. “I promise. It’s just a drive.”

I slide into the seat, and he closes the door behind me before walking around to the driver’s side. As he starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway, I find myself stealing glances at him, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The way his hands grip the steering wheel, the focused look in his eyes as he navigates the dark streets—there’s something so effortlessly attractive about him that it’s almost maddening.

The silence between us is thick with unspoken words, the kind that makes you hyper-aware of every little movement, every breath. I try to keep my eyes on the road ahead, but they keep drifting back to him, to the way the dim light from the dashboard casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

Just when I think I might actually go crazy from the tension, Ethan’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, and I see the name “Cousin” flash before he declines the call. A moment later, it buzzes again. And again, he declines it.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to break the silence.

Ethan lets out a long breath, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Yeah. It’s just ... my cousin. He’s been calling a lot lately.”

“Is it something important?” I press, sensing that there’s more to it than he’s letting on.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he says, but his tone is clipped, almost defensive.

I nod, deciding not to push any further. But the atmosphere in the car has shifted, the air thick with something unspoken, something that feels a lot like frustration.

A few minutes later, Ethan pulls into the garage and cuts the engine. But instead of getting out, he turns to me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Holly,” he begins, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “I need to tell you something.”

I hold my breath, waiting.

“I’m attracted to you,” he says, the words falling between us like a confession. “But ... I’ve never had a serious relationship before. I don’t know how to do this.”

His honesty catches me off guard, and I feel a rush of warmth at the vulnerability in his voice. It’s not something I’m used to seeing from him, and it makes me want to reach out, to reassure him that he doesn’t have to have it all figured out.

I smile softly, leaning slightly closer. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now, Ethan. We can take things lightly, see where it goes.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “How do we do that?”

I think for a moment, then an idea strikes me. “How about we go for a stroll? Clear our heads a bit.”

Ethan hesitates for only a second before nodding. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

We step out of the car and start walking down the street, the cool night air nipping at our skin. The city is alive with the festive spirit, twinkling lights strung across every lamppost, wreaths hanging on doors, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingering in the air. It’s the kind of night that feels almost magical, like anything could happen.

As we walk, I take in the holiday decorations around us. There’s a massive Christmas tree in the center of the park we pass, its branches heavy with ornaments, garlands, and twinkling lights. The sight of it fills me with a sudden warmth, a reminder of the Christmases I used to spend with my family.

“Should we get a tree for the house?” I suggest, glancing up at him.

Ethan’s face darkens slightly, and he shakes his head. “No. I’m not really into that kind of thing.”

I pause, wondering if I’ve touched on something sensitive. Mustering up some courage, I decide to ask the question that’s been lingering in my mind since I met him. “Is it because of David?”

He stiffens at the mention of his brother, his eyes hardening as he looks away. For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer, that I’ve overstepped. But then he sighs, the tension in his shoulders softening slightly.

“I don’t really like talking about it,” he says finally, his voice low. “Especially not around this time of year.”

I nod, understanding the weight of his words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a finality to his tone that tells me the subject is closed.

We walk in silence for a while longer, the only sounds the crunch of our footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of the city. As we turn back toward the house, I reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looks down at our intertwined fingers, then back up at me, his expression softening.

When we get back to the house, I stop inside the door, turning to face him. “Goodnight, Ethan,” I say, my voice gentle, almost tentative.

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