Page 57 of GAF Factor

His hand slid up my arm, tangling in my hair before twisting around a curl. “When have you ever needed someone to take charge?”

“I would just liketo point out how incredibly hurtful it is that you would leave your sister on Christmas Day.”

“You’re with Bowie,” I said as I walked down the stairs.

“Yes, but I’m still here.”

“And you’re probably going back to sleep.”

“Actually, I was going to watch Christmas movies,” she said, pounding down the stairs after me.

“And fall asleep on the couch,” I retorted. I turned the corner, tossing the bag on the ground.

“That’s beside the point! You’re leaving!”

She did an excellent job of pretending to be offended. Really, if anyone deserved an Emmy for the performance of a lifetime, it would be my sister. With the fake tears glistening in her eyes and the torn-up expression on her face, I could almost believe that she actually cared that I was leaving. Almost. But I knew her too well.

I sighed wearily. “Do you really want me to stay?”

She nodded, sniffling and wiping at her nose.

“Alright. I’ll stay. After all, it is Christmas.”

“Thank you,” she whimpered as I pulled her in for a very fake hug.

“We’ll make Christmas cookies and I’ll send the guys out to find a Christmas turkey.”

I could feel her panic as I held her tighter. “None of the stores are open.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a box store open one town over. They can find us something. We’ll make a feast, just the two of us like Mom used to do.”

She hated Mom’s feast, and if there was one thing Riley really hated, it was baking.

“But…I’m not really in the mood for Christmas cookies.”

“Oh, but it’s Christmas. ’Tis the season. Ooh, and we’ll have eggnog.”

She gagged and pushed herself out of my arms. “Alright, fine. You win. I give up.”

I grinned in triumph. “I knew it.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “How did you know?”

“I always know. You can’t fool me.”

“I could have been serious. We’re sisters. I could have really wanted to spend the day with you.”

“Ha! Name one holiday that you’ve actually enjoyed celebrating.”

I watched, tapping my shoe as I waited for her answer. Her face twitched as she struggled to come up with an answer, which she couldn’t because she hated celebrating holidays.

“Fine! Alright, you win. I hate this stupid holiday!”

“You hate Christmas?” Bowie asked, walking into the room—his voice dripping with shock and disappointment. “How could you hate Christmas?”

She rolled her eyes at his pitiful expression. “I don’t actually hate it. I enjoy the season. I like the idea of it. What I hate is the actual day.”

“Why?” His brows twitched in confusion. “You hate Jesus?”

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