Page 102 of Daddies on Ice
My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure it will wake them, but they remain asleep on the rug, the blanket now covering only their lower bodies.
I need to get out of here. I need to think, to process what happened, to figure out what this means. But I can’t do that with them here, can’t face their questions or their expectations or whatever this has become.
I have to get Becky!
Although arrangements were made for both girls to stay at the babysitter’s cabin for a sleepover, I need to get home, showered, and pull myself together before picking her up.
It’s Christmas morning. She’s going to expect presents and fun.
I slip my feet into my boots and grab my coat from the chair where I’d left it. One last look at the three of them sleeping peacefully by the dead fireplace, then I’m moving toward the door.
The cold morning air hits me like a slap as I step outside the lodge, but I welcome it.
I need the shock, need something to clear my head and help me figure out what the hell I’m going to do now.
35
JAKE
The smell of roasted turkey and cinnamon fills Tish’s small cabin, but it’s not her cooking that’s creating this perfect Christmas scene.
The catered meal sits artfully arranged on her kitchen table, complete with all the traditional trimmings that would make anyone believe she spent hours in the kitchen preparing a romantic Christmas dinner for two. Just as we planned for our fake relationship.
I adjust my position in the wooden chair, trying to find a comfortable spot while three cameras capture every angle of our “intimate” meal.
The cabin feels impossibly small with the film crew crammed into every available corner, their equipment creating a maze of cables and lights that transforms Tish’s cozy cabin into a movie set.
“This turkey is incredible,” I say, cutting into the perfectly golden meat while maintaining eye contact with Tish across the small table. The words feel rehearsed, even though they’re not.Everything about this feels artificial, except for the way my pulse quickens every time she looks at me.
“I’m so glad you like it,” she responds with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She’s playing her part perfectly, the devoted girlfriend who spent her Christmas morning cooking for her man.
But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers grip her fork just a little too tightly.
The red and gold Christmas tablecloth beneath our plates catches the warm glow from the string lights she has draped around the kitchen window.
A small Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, visible through the doorway, its colorful lights twinkling like tiny stars.
Everything looks picture-perfect for the cameras, but all I can think about is last night.
Last night, when the three of us had Tish writhing beneath us in ways that still make my body respond just thinking about it.
The memory of her soft moans, the way she called out our names, the taste of her skin, it’s all I can focus on, even as she’s sitting right here trying to make small talk about the cranberry sauce.
“Jake?” Her voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize she’s been talking while I’ve been staring at her lips, remembering how they felt against mine just hours ago.
“Sorry, what?” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of desire that seems to follow me whenever she’s near.
“I asked if you wanted more wine.” She holds up the bottle of red wine we opened for the cameras, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “You seem a million miles away.”
“Just thinking about how beautiful you look today.” The words come out automatically, part of our performance, but they’re also completely true.
She’s wearing a deep green sweater that brings out the blue in her eyes, and her long dark hair falls in waves over her shoulders.
The small mole at the corner of her left eye draws my attention every time she blinks.
The cameraman behind her gives me a thumbs up, clearly pleased with my romantic delivery.
