Page 75 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

“His job is to mold me into a truly embarrassing merman. He’ll be sculpting a skimpy outfit on me with the largest breasts you’ve ever seen. Meanwhile, my lovely assistant Chase will tease my hair into an Ursula-worthy makeover, complete with a hideous seaweed wig. Subscribe now to the Cherish Channel to see if I transform into the mermaid of your dreams… or a warty frogfish with an underbite.”

“Yahoo! Let the games begin!” Mom squeals as I end the livestream.

With business done, I can get back to my favorite family holiday tradition. Every year, we gather on this slice of paradise for some good old-fashioned competition. And trust me, we Barretts are serious about our fun.

We’re decked out in our beach finest—shorts, T-shirts, and bare feet. The weather couldn’t be better. Maybe it’s all this amazing sex I’m having, but the sand is like powder between my toes, the sky is a flawless blue, and the sun’s warmth is just right.

Most days, Chase dresses like she’s headed to a funeral—all black, all the time. But today, she’s switched things up… She’s lighter, more radiant. She’s wearing a breezy tank top in a soft pastel pink, paired with frayed denim shorts that tease with the slightest peek of her ass cheek. The glimpse of her bright-red bikini string under her shirt has me eager to play a game ofPeek-a-Boob.

Her hair’s down today, and it’s a bit of a frizzy mess thanks to the humidity. But it’s a gorgeous disaster. Dad always says he’s got beer goggles for Mama because she’s beautiful every second. Now, I get it. It’s not only the way she looks—it’s the way she makes me feel. Every time I look at her, I see something new, something incredible.

I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

I can’t take my eyes off her.

Whoa there. Shut ‘er down and stay focused, buddy. It’s game day.

“This year, I done outdid myself,” Mom announces. “I cooked up a prize that’ll leave ya speechless. Feast your eyes on the Yuletide Flamingo Flickers!”

She presents a pair of obscene pink flip-flops that are a hate crime against fashion, cluttered with flamingos, bows, and tasteless tinsel. And thanks to those obnoxious blinking lights crammed between the toe straps, the winner will definitelyshine.

Chase starts snickering, but I quickly cut her off.

“Laugh all you want. You’re not even in the running.”

“Oh Ethan. I have zero interest in the family prize. But destroying you, that’s a game I’ll play to win. You just lit a fire inside me.”

I tilt my head. “A fire that I plan on feeling inside you later tonight.”

“Always so cocky, aren’t you Barrett?”

I plant a quick kiss on her lips before whispering, “There you go again, thinking about my cock.”

“Alright, you two turtledoves, that’s enough!” Mom hollers. “No canoodling with the competition. It’s every man for himself in these games.”

Dad jumps in, looking at Chase. “Ethan’s been the reigning champ for three years. We’d be thrilled if you could knock him off his pedestal. Do whatever it takes.”

Chase sends a playful wink my way, purring, “With pleasure.” The way her tongue caresses that last word sends a jolt straight through me.

Dude, seriously, concentrate!

First up: Frosty the Sandman Sculpt-Off. The goal? Build a snowman out of sand and decorate it with seashells, dead wood,and whatever other beachy bits we can scavenge. Chase was in so much awe that she Googled it, and yeah, it’s a real thing.

The catch? We only get twenty minutes.

Mom yells, “Go,” and Chase is instantly in the zone. I’m knee-deep in sand. My hands move like sand-sculpting ninjas.

Chase is a few feet away, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates. It’s her directing face but beach-ified. Hair dancing in the breeze. Sand-dusted legs. It hits… different.

My hands are molding my tubby sandman, but my mind is stuck on last night on the boat. I laid it all out there for her, raw and honest in a way I’d never done with anyone. And Chase? She brushed it off with a laugh.

Oof.I’m still cringing.

“Ten minutes left!” Mom shouts.

A rush of panic grips me. Time is running out. And I don’t mean the game… I mean us. Our Christmas vacation is almost over. In a few days, we’ll return to L.A., back like we never left, and whatever this is between Chase and me will be… who knows?

I quickly arrange a row of small shells to form Frosty’s face, stealing glances at Chase. She’s smiling, lost in the moment, clearly not on the same emotional rollercoaster. Obviously not feeling what I am, because for me…

---