Page 131 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Great,” she says, leaning forward and giving me her rapt attention. “This is getting better and better.”

“No. I mean, he’s someone I’d never go for. And he wouldn’t ever think of me that way. He’s the kind of guy who would go for someone like—”

You.Because Nicole is…well, she’scooland sexy and she wouldn’t get tongue-tied at the sight of Jace leaning out his truck window toward her, his aqua eyes fixed on hers, his arms flexing a little beneath his shirt, his whole presence so bulky and powerful andmanly…

“You don’t have the first idea what a man wants,” she says, “so let’s not waste our time guessing. But you want him badly. This is good. We can work with this.”

“No,” I bark out, making it pretty darn obvious I meanyes.“I mean, this guy is my son’s friend. His buddy.” Then, seeing the look on her face, I clarify, “His adult buddy.”

“Your son has an adult friend?” she asks flatly, looking at me like I’m the weird one.

I explain about the Butterfly Buddies program, and she quickly loses interest.

“OK, fine, you’ve convinced me your dude’s not a pervert.”

“Goodness,” I say, scandalized. “I hope not.”

Another hand wave. “Oh, quit it with the pearl-clutching. You’re better than that, Mary.”

Am I? I’m not so sure, and I don’t have the slightest idea why she’d think so. In fact…

“Why me?” I blurt out. “Why do you want to help me?”

“Because I see myself in you,” she says with a smirk.

“Really?” I ask, shocked.

She runs a hand through her pink hair, making it stand up straight in a way that somehow makes her look sensuous and not insane, and bursts out laughing. “No. Absolutely not. Call it my way of giving back. So, let’s get back to this guy. You’re interested.”

If I’d thought my cheeks were burning before, now they feel like they’re being pressed to a hibachi grill. “I mean, I’m not blind. He’s very handsome.”

That word feels too small, though. It’s the kind of thing you’d call some guy in a well-fitting tux to applaud him for making an effort. Jace isn’t handsome, he’s glorious. He’s like the wild ocean, and I’ve only ever dipped my toes into a man-made lake. But lusting after him is like lusting after Damon Salvatore onThe Vampire Diariesrather than one of the boring humancharacters. (I watched an episode with Molly once, and although I rolled my eyes through the whole viewing, I found myself tuning in for more episodes late at night on my iPad when I couldn’t sleep.)

“I can appreciate a man’s looks without wanting…” I wave. “You know.”

“You can’t say the word ‘sex,’ can you?” she asks.

I want to be pissed at her, and I sort of am. She doesn’t know me, yet here she is ordering me around and making all kinds of pronouncements about my life. And I’m letting her. Why am I letting her?

Because she’s not entirely wrong.

I’m not comfortable saying sex out loud. And isn’t that ridiculous? I’m a thirty-four-year-old woman. “S—ex,” I whisper.

And when I say it, I’m not thinking about my sex life with Glenn, where what passed for excitement was the one time he actually scheduled “sex” on our shared Google calendar. No, I’m thinking about a man who takes up space so effortlessly and without thought. I’m thinking about a man with blue eyes and a short beard—I’veneverkissed a man with a beard—and work boots. I’m thinking about a man who would never in a billion years look atmeas a woman.

“See,” Nicole says, giving me a thump on the shoulder. It’s probably meant to be supportive, but it’s a little too hard.

Then she’s rising to her feet.

“Are you leaving?” I sputter, flummoxed.

“I told you about my thing with my boyfriend,” she says. “Damien’s going to be a vampire this time.”

Shock jolts through me. Can she actually read my mind? Does she know about my secret TV addiction? But no, that’s ridiculous.

Either not noticing my reaction or not caring, Nicole continues. “He’s going to wear fake fangs. It’s a whole thing. But first I have to give you a challenge.” She pauses for a moment, then smiles in a way that tells me I won’t much like what she says next. “The theme for this week is your sexual awakening.”

“What?” I say, my mouth hanging open after the word escapes. “You don’t expect…?”

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