Page 35 of Flown in for Christmas

My body flushes with heat from my core to my chest to my face.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Joy,” my father’s voice rings in my ear, yanking me from the dirty memory of my boss’ thick cock buried between my legs less than twenty-four hours ago. “But, if this is as important to you as it sounds, I’ll find something. Closure or otherwise. I promise.”

I smile faintly. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, honey. Merry Christmas.”

I wish him the same and end the call, setting my phone down on the counter in front of me beside a half-eaten brownie and a small pile of guilt.

“Joy?”

I startle, nearly falling off the chair at the sound of Nick’s voice. He grins as he steps into the faint light of the kitchen. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, coming toward me wearing a pair of flannel sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. Yummy as always. “I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour. What are you doing down here?”

My eyes widen and I check my phone for the time. I squint, trying to see the blurred numbers. “Is that a one or a nine?” I question aloud.

Nick’s hand lands gently on my forehead and I peer up at his furrowed brow.

He really shouldn’t do that. He’ll end up with age lines all over his pretty face.

“You feeling all right?” he asks as I lean into his touch with a sigh.

“Mhmm.” His touch is warm and inviting and— “Are you always this warm?”

Nick leans down, his face level with mine. “Look at me,” he demands, and I do.

He’s so close I want to just kiss, kiss,kisshim all over. But his gaze drifts to the table and he straightens, grabbing the rest of my brownie and bringing it to his nose.

“You can have the rest,” I offer with a smile.

“Joy,” he says, sounding cautious for some reason. “Which container did you get this from?”

“The one in the fridge.”

“Yes, but which one? The one with the Christmas trees on the lid or the one with Santa?”

“I’m…not…sure.” I hum, thinking. Why does it matter where I got them from? Betty said to help myself. “The other brownie had green sprinkles on it if that helps.”

“Theotherbrownie?”

I nod, pointing to the half brownie in his hand. “That’s my second one,” I admit, then start to feel a bit self-conscious. “Don’t judge me, okay?”

Nick’ssmile is slow—and devastatingly handsome—as he pulls out the chair beside me and sits. “Have you ever taken edible marijuana before, Joy?”

I guffaw at the very notion. “Me? No,” I snort. “I ran track and field throughout high school and college. My coach used to tell us it would ‘slow us down’ if we ever used it—which, now that I think about it, I’mfairlycertain he was lying.” I don’t know how any of this is relevant to his question, but the information spills from my lips without any thought. “Then I got older and all of my friends already had their experimenting phase with recreational drugs, so I was kind of the odd one out, you know?” I shrug. “And at that point, I just didn’t want to do them alone.”

“Joy,” he starts, his tone almost careful as he holds the brownie in front of me. “These are my dad’s.”

“Betty said I could—”

“You ate Dad’sweedbrownies, angel.”

Time stops. Or—it doesn’t, but it sure feels like it does!

I’m…high?

Don’t panic.Don’t panic.

I panic.

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