Page 33 of Not Like Christmas At All
Snapping his gaze back to mine, he nods decidedly. “Then let’s go.”
“Really? You hate Christmas!”
He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips as he sits up next to me. “It’s not Christmas anymore,” he points out, then kisses me.
“You know what I mean.”
Lincoln grins—actuallyfullygrins, and it’s beautiful. “I do. And yes, Gen, really. I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it like you do.”
“Well, that’s because you’ve never experienced the holiday with me.” I clap my hands together. “Get dressed, Stokes. We’re celebrating my favorite holiday.”
I have no idea what adventure we’re about to embark on, but I’m good at thinking quick on my feet. My instinct is to take him ice skating, but I know I can do better than that. Ice skating is the obvious choice—I want today to be special.
Lincoln swings his legs over the edge of the bed, tugging at my hand playfully, trying to pull me with him. Swatting him away, I tell him to go, and grab my phone off his nightstand as he disappears into his en suite.
“How long does it take you to shower?” I call after him as the water turns on, scrolling through my apps.
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” he yells back, and a few seconds later I hear the shower door close.
Perfect. Just enough time to plan the ultimate San DiegobelatedChristmas. Pulling his comforter over my body, I snuggle back into the warmth of his bed and get to work.
An hour later we’re exiting the cutest bakery in Logan Heights, a box of freshly made conchas in hand as we head back to Lincoln’s SUV. A dollar store bag sits in the backseat, filled with discounted costume accessories such as Santa hats, holiday-themed light-up necklaces, and glasses shaped like reindeer heads.
Also in the back is a fluffy red blanket for us to lay out on the beach, which is where we’re heading now.
“Are you sure you want to go to Mission Bay?” Lincoln asks, glancing at me from the driver's seat.
He’s doing those effortlessly sexy things guys do where they steer with their wrists and make smooth turns with the palms of their hands. I can’t explain why I like that as much as I do, but it’s making me want to ask him to pull the car over.
Nodding vigorously, I narrow my eyes. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not getting out of breakfast on the beach.”
By the time our toes hit the sand, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and the bright shade of blue reflects off the navy water. White foam lines the shore, leaving broken remnants of shells as waves roll against the sand, then recede back into the ocean.
Lincoln spreads the blanket on the warm, dry sand, giving it a light shake so it stretches wide enough for both of us. As usual,the beach is busy, but today there’s an easy, laid-back energy as families relax post-Christmas.
Sitting, I crack open the bakery box we brought and reveal the delicious assortment of concha bread, reaching for a pink one. It’s soft and pliable between my fingers, and my mouth waters as I take my first bite. The bread crumbles as my lips curl around it, and Lincoln laughs, reaching out to grab a piece that fell onto my lap, bringing it to his mouth for a taste.
My thighs clench as I watch his lips wrap around his fingers—and I’m no better than a man, my salacious thoughts running rampant.
He nods to the beachside coffee shop not too far away. “Pick your poison, Gen. I’ll go grab us some drinks.”
“Surprise me with a festive latte.” I choke, my mouth suddenly dry—and I know it’s not from the sweet bread.
“Not a margarita?” he teases, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“It’s not even ten!” I take another bite, then abandon it on top of the box. Pulling out the reindeer-shaped glasses, I slide them on my face like they’ll do something to help shield the sun. “Better hurry, Doctor Hottie. I can’t be the only jolly one here on the beach.”
He quirks a brow, looking down at the hunter green long-sleeve flannel he’s wearing. “I count this as festive.”
A laugh bubbles from me.Did I know he had a sarcastic humor?“Whatever you say, buddy.”
Laughing, he treks through the sand toward the coffee shop. Tiny grains scatter with every step, flying into the air as I watch him go, unable to take my eyes off him.
How the heck did I end up in his bed last night? And wake up there this morning? I must be dreaming.
Not only that, he stopped by my place before taking me to his so I could check on Pebbles. There were a few things I neededto do to make sure she was settled for the night before promptly scheduling my pet sitter to tend to her this morning.
Before our next stop on the Christmas tour, I need to stop by and check on her again.
