Page 19 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

I shake my head. What a softie.

While I wait for him to return from his foray into altruism, I find the fluffiest pillow he owns and snuggle down with it. I inhale deeply, ginger and nutmeg filling my lungs. I smile, digging my face into the pillow.

When I can no longer breathe, I unearth my face and glance at the door.

I should probably go to my room if I’m creepily sniffing the bedding, but we so rarely have unplanned sleepovers that I can’t quite bring myself to do the responsible and respectful thing this time. My selfishness is rearing her ugly head, and I’m letting her. Just for tonight, when it’s dark and scary and there’s the possibility of sleepover goodness ahead.

The last time we had a sleepover was Bazzy’s birthday in April. We brought a picnic basket full of birthday yummies up here that Rosie had made him and nibbled on them in bed while we did face masks and read our favorite rom-coms. It was the same thing we had done a month earlier for my birthday, and the same thing we’ve done every birthday for the last three years.

Birthdays are magical – better than Christmas magic, even. After the food and the masks and the books, we cuddle, and Baz talks. And I mean, hetalks.

I don’t know why he does it. The first time, I was so shocked I didn’t respond at all, and to be honest, I still don’t respond much, preferring the beauty of listening to his words find their way into the world.

He talks about everything, and nothing, and everything again. He tells me how much he loves his mom, how much he respects Stryker, how much he’d like to strangle Archie – a dream come true tonight.

And he talks about how much he loves me.

In detail.

Infriendlydetail.

It is a torture so lovely I can hardly bear it. And yet…

You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known,he says.

The way you laugh could cure depression worldwide,he says.

I love the way you talk – how you go and go and even if you say something embarrassing, you don’t stop; you just laugh and keep on. It’s special, Dee, what you have – that sunshine in you. It’s rare and it’s special. Don’t ever think it’s not,he says.

It’s enough to keep a girl going for, oh, say, eleven months until it happens again. Not that I would mind a little Christmastime sleepover treat.

My musings and rememberings are interrupted when Baz shows back up, moving first to his dresser, pulling clothes out of drawers, then to me. He offers me one of his giant t-shirts – a blue, short-sleeved one I bought him last summer – and nothing else. I accept it. Considering it will come down to nearly my knees, I’m not too torn up about not being offered any bottoms.

He turns around when I slide out from under the covers to stand by the bed, and I change quickly while his back is to me, tossing my clothes in the general direction of his hamper, then give him my back so that he can change as well.

His movements shuffle behind me for maybe a minute, then his hand is on my shoulder, giving me the all clear. I twirl around and see that he’s put on an identical blue shirt to the one he gave me and a pair of loose athletic shorts. Shame. Birthday Bazzy goes shirtless.

“My feet probably got your blanket gross after being in the snow,” I say. “And by probably, I mean definitely. They were wet and covered in dirty slush when you dropped me in here.”

He hums, considering, then shrugs and starts stripping the bed. I help, and we have the bedding in a heap on the floor at the end of the bed in no time.

Baz leaves me to retrieve fresh sheets and his extra comforterfrom the hallway closet, though how he plans to locate the correct linens in the dark, I do not know. The Christmas magic that lives in his veins must give him night vision too, I can only assume.

Confirming this theory, he returns with the correct bedding, and we make quick work of getting the sheets on the bed. Before I can even think about spreading the comforter out over them, Baz pushes me onto the fresh cotton covering the mattress.

I squawk in surprise. It is a loud, supremely unattractive sound.

It’s a very good thing we’re just friends, so I do not have to be embarrassed about the awful noise that just came out of my mouth. Imagine how embarrassing that would be in front of a potential romantic partner? Talk about yikes. Thankfully it’s just Baz, so I am definitely not even a little bit embarrassed.

Thankfully, Baz ignores my impression of a dying bird and simply climbs into the bed, crawling over me and dragging the blanket behind him. He drops down beside me, close, and flicks the blanket over us, then tucks us in side by side. I catch his eye and smile big. He gives me a tired eye crinkle.

I close the half-inch gap between us to hug him.

“Sleepover!” I exclaim into his chest. It rumbles against my face, and one of his hands lands on the back of my head. His other hand slips under me, causing me to giggle when it tickles my ribcage as it slides through, and then his arm is around my waist, clasping me to him.

“Yeah, baby,” he mutters. “Sleepover.”

The bugs in my stomach are back and more chaotic than ever. Hecannotkeep calling me that. It’s bad for my health.

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