Page 30 of Merry Me
Margaret pursed her lips and turned back to her computer, clearly humoring me. “Well, let’s see…your grandmother said she needs her own room?—”
“For hooking up,” I muttered under my breath, already knowing that was a dead end.
Margaret continued scrolling on her screen. “Your parents are in the Mistletoe Lodge—romantic suite, big bathtub, very cozy. Not ideal.”
Rooming with my parents while they reenacted their second honeymoon. No.Not idealwas an understatement.
“I assume you don’t want to stay with the groom’s parents…”
I tuned her out as I mentally went through the list of people I knew were staying at the B&B this week. The other bridesmaidswere all married. Aunt Kathy snored like a freight train. Uncle Clayton had weird rules about temperature control and made everyone sleep with the windows open, even in the snow.
I was officially out of options.
“Oh!” Margaret perked up like she’d just remembered a winning lottery ticket in her apron pocket. “You could stay in Santa’s Bunkhouse!”
I leaned forward. That sounded…better than a stable. I could get behind quaint.
“It’s where the flower girls and ring bearers are staying,” she finished with a proud smile. “It has plastic sheets, in case of accidents…and hot cocoa on tap!”
I groaned, rubbing my hands over my face.
Margaret grinned like she’d solved world peace. “Well, then!” She gestured between us with delight. “Looks like you two are roommates!”
I turned toward Easton, my mouth already open to tell him exactly where he could shove that smug little smile—only to catch him mid-fist pump.
Afist pump.With an actual arm flex and everything.
Like achild.
Like he’dwon.
I narrowed my eyes. “I don't know why you’re celebrating.”
Easton tilted his head, still grinning. “You say that now…but wait until you see how good I still am at sharing a bed.”
I sucked in a breath. My pulse betrayed me, thudding like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest and leap into his arms.
Margaretgiggled.Giggled like this was the best rom-com she’d ever seen, and she had front-row tickets.
“I’ll be sleeping on thecouch,” I said, glaring daggers at him.
He smirked, utterly unfazed. “Sure, Trouble. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
This was going to be anightmare.
And not the fun, sexy kind where you wake up flushed and panting.
No. This was going to be the kind of nightmare where your ex is still stupidly hot, smells like a daydream, sleepssix feet awayfrom you, and makes your panties combust every time he so much as breathes.
Awesome.
Merry fucking Christmas.
CHAPTER 7
EASTON
Ipushed open the suite door, motioning for Natalie to go in first, and the second she stepped through the threshold, she whirled around like she’d just walked into a crime scene.
