Page 16 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

A stampede of wild horses runs through my chest, deeply upsetting the carefully contained chaos the bugs have going on in my stomach.

The sensory input is never-ending, it seems.

“Did you need something?” I squeak, then clear my throat. “I mean, did you need something?” Much better. Totally cool. Great save, Heidi.

He shakes his head, and my eyebrows pull together. He just pulled me down here to torture me, then? Rude.

“Goodnight, Heidi.”

I blink.

What?

His stomach flexes beneath me as his face moves closer, and then, shocking me to my core, he gives me another ten percent kiss.

Once his mouth is one hundred percent off of me, he closes his eyes and runs his nose along my cheekbone. His arms tighten around me, pulling me down further until he’s laid back against the cushions and I’m over him, raised high so that his head is in my neck and my legs are straddling his chest.

Again, what?

“What’s happening?” I ask the top of his head.

He kisses my neck, and my eyes go wide. Seriously,what is happening?

“I love you,” he says.

My jaw drops.

Why is he talking so much? Why is he acting so weird? Did I give up on the head injury thing too soon?

“Honey, are you okay?” I ask, concern lacing my words.

He hums in response, nose gliding up to my pulse point and pausing there before slipping past. His lips take its place, pushing against my skin where my heartbeat thunders.

That’s a kiss. A one hundred percent kiss on my neck.

I’m so confused.

I’m so worried.

I’m so hot.

“Bazzy? What’s going on?”

He kisses my pulse again, and I swear I feel the flick of his tongue against my skin before he pulls his head away.

I’m panting.

He shifts us, dragging me down his chest until our faces align. His eyelids rest low over his eyes, and he looks morerelaxed than I’ve ever seen him. The tension that normally lives in his jaw is gone, replaced by a serenity that, at this moment, completely terrifies me.

My hand lands on his cheek, and my thumb rubs a path against the prickles of facial hair coming in this late in the day. His eyes close as he groans and leans into my touch.

“Bazzy?” I whisper. His eyes shoot back open, and I’m surprised – and even more worried – when his mouth opens as well.

“Let’s have a sleepover,” he rumbles, his accent rough.

I don’t have time to process this brand new sentence escaping him, because the next second we’re both up, him on his feet and me in his arms. I realize he’s not planning to let me walk on my own and quickly hold on with arms and legs as he moves us through the house.

We’re approaching the staircase when the lights go out.

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