Page 80 of The Crush of Christmas Past
“Twelve months’ worth,” I explain. “Sorted by season. And general depravity level.”
She worries her lip, then lifts the lid of the first box. “Oh, wow.” Pulling out the shirt, she studies its front before turning it toward me so I can see the lettering. “This one speaks to my soul.”
New Year? Free January Trial!
Beneath the slogan is a glittery goldSubscribebutton.
She presses it to her chest and sighs. “This is the kind of soft launch I want to indulge in this year. Thirty-one days to figure out my shit before committing to the rest of it.”
The next one isn’t even fully out of the box, and Isla is already laughing.
“Manifesting Orgasms and World Peace.” Her groans mingle with giggles. “Truly altruistic content.”
“February is infinitely worse,” I warn, nodding toward the pastel pink box.
She sits on my bed and pulls it into her lap. “Can’t wait.”
The first shirt is coated in candy hearts, each stamped with a declaration of love. The two in the center are the largest—and the loudest.
Be Mine. Get Naked.
“Direct. I appreciate it.”
I tilt my head, smirking. “Is that what you like?”
Her cheeks pink as she fixes her focus on folding the shirt. “Ply me with sugar and find out.”
“Duly noted.”
“I can’t tell if this is a math problem or a psychological test.” She holds up the next tee, revealing three checkboxes:
? Foreplay Feelings
? Foreplay + Feelings
“I know which one I’d pick,” I murmur, unable to look away from her.
She pretends not to hear me and instead focuses on unearthing more slogans.
The aptly titledCupid’s Kinksshirt provokes a low whistle. “Some of the items on this list need a safe wordanda legal team.”
She’s not wrong. The list reads like a dare, a felony, and one hell of a weekend.
“At least he asks nicely before defiling,” she says, presenting the final shirt in the box. “Cupid the Consent King.”
“He even wraps his little arrow.” I point to the stack of condoms in the cartoon menace’s hand. “Classy fucker—no pun intended.”
“Well, March can’t be that bad. Spring is subdued, right?” She tears into the green tissue paper like she’s daring it to prove her wrong.
“Okay, this one’s not even pretending to be subtle.” Snapping the shirt open, she flips it toward me.
I’m Yours. You’re Lucky.
“Possessive and smug.” She grins. “Peak Theo Thorne energy.”
“It suits you,” I say. A little too quickly.
