Page 9 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

Maybe I can find a tape recorder and have him say it again…

No.No.

He didn’t mean it in any type of way. Not for me. He meant it as a friendly sort ofbaby.A platonic sort ofbaby. A “hey baby, my very good pal” sort ofbaby.

I order my heart to calm down and my stomach to settle. They arenothelping me stay respectful.Bazisn’t helping me stay respectful either, for that matter.

I eye the drawer of my nightstand where my diary lives, then my eyes catch on the clock on top of it. I screech and run to my closet.

I do not have time to journal about whatever weirdness is going on with Baz. Archie is going to be back here in ten minutes, and I’m still in my flannel Christmas pajamas. Not exactly sledding attire.

I throw open my closet door, sliding things aside until I find my favorite purple snowsuit. It’s covered in a riot of yellow, orange, blue, and green flowers. I grab a pair of purple fleece-lined leggings and a purple long-sleeve shirt as well, then dress quickly.

Once I am decked out like a cute monochrome floral marshmallow, I grab my favorite Santa hat, then waddle my way out of my room and down the stairs.

Bazzy is already waiting at the bottom, dressed in his classicoutdoor winter gear sans coat and holding my purple snow boots in one hand and a black beanie in the other. I frown.

“You’re not going to wear your Santa hat?”

The look he gives me is a four letter word followed byno.

I laugh and shake my head, grabbing my boots from him. He doesn’t release them, though, holding them up out of my reach and nudging me toward the stairs. Grinning, I sit. It’s princess time!

He kneels before me, grabbing one of my sock-clad feet. My sock, pale pink with little green Christmas trees scattered about, disappears into a boot, and I watch, content, as he carefully laces it up. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail today, but a few wayward strands have already made a break for it and dangle by his face. I’m entranced by the sway of them as he turns his attention to my other foot, getting that one snug in a boot and laced up as well. They brush his cheekbone, sliding softly against his skin, and my breath catches.

Who knew a couple of strands of hair could be so hot?

Respectful,Heidi!Respectful!

I tear my eyes away from the tempting hairs and scream when they land on Archie in the entryway window. Baz twirls, half standing so that all I can see is his shirt, stretched taut across his back.

Wow. He has a lot of back muscles, and that shirt does not hide a single one. They bunch, then relax as he recognizes Archie.

My seductively haired friend looks over his shoulder at me.

Seriously?

I huff.

“Yes, seriously! He’s just standing there like a total creep!”

The maniacal laughter of a madman sounds from outside.

“See!” I exclaim. Baz grunts, then rises fully and lets Archie inside.

“I see you two are almost ready!” he bellows as he enters the house. I glare at him.

“If you try a single thing, I’m egging your yard again,” I inform him. He grins, a man unconcerned.

“You’re so ferocious today!”

He comes closer, and I have to swat him away when he tries to steal my hat.

“Get your own!”

He laughs and flits away to dig in our coat closet. He emerges several moments later with a hand-knit pink cap that’s topped with a giant yellow puff. I protest when he puts it on his head.

“That’s mine you di–”

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