Page 40 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
“Looks like it.”
I hate the awkward silence that now lives between us. The best part of Grayson and I, and why I was so excited to explore whatever this was between us, was the banter. How we could make each other laugh. How topics flowed freely, and it was as easy as breathing.
Now I feel suffocated. But I need to push through it. If my friend-zone plan is going to work, we need to get over the awkward. Start now.
“I didn’t know where you were when I got back to the room,” I say. My topic of conversation is fine enough, but does he really have to be sitting, arms spread wide, with his hair wet? He’d really help me out right now if he just said something that was a screaming red flag. Crypto. Showing me fishing pictures. Mansplaining literally anything. I’ll take a crumb at this point.
“A soak sounded nice,” he says. “Since this is now my vacation, I figured I’d make the most of it.”
“I figured it was because you had a crick in the neck from the cot.”
He laughs. “Well, that too.”
“I’ll take it tonight,” I offer up. “No reason for you to be the only one to suffer.”
“No,” he protests. “It’s your room. You’re not sleeping on the cot.”
“I insist.” I pause for a second, trying to figure out what I want to say next. I definitely want to get away from bed talk. “You’re stuck here instead of going home. The least I can do is give you a real bed to sleep on.”
He laughs. “Strangely enough, if I had to pick between the cot or two days of family time, the cot wins hands down.”
That takes me by surprise. “That bad?”
He shakes his head as he repositions himself in the hot tub. I should get a medal for not staring at his defined chest while he does it.
“My family is…complicated.”
“How so?”
I don’t know if prying into personal family stories is the move here, but at least the silence isn’t deafening, and for now, I’m not picturing myself sitting on his lap.
“I’m the black sheep of the family. Makes the holidays a little uncomfortable.”
“Black sheep? Wait, did you leave your small town in Connecticut and the family’s Christmas tree farm for the big city and the big corporate job? Because if you did, I saw a movie about that once.”
The joke does its job of breaking the tension. “I saw it too. But unfortunately, that’s not the one I star in.”
I want him to finish telling me the story, but I need to rewind back.
“You watch cheesy Christmas movies?”
“Of course,” he says. “Well, except for the ones with that one actress. What’s her name…”
I know it, but I refuse to say it. “I know who you’re talking about. Fuck her.”
“Exactly.”
We share a laugh and a smile, because that’s all we know how to do, even when I’m trying to do the exact opposite. I hate that the conversation is so effortless. That we go from complicated families to cheesy television movies and bad-take actresses without skipping a beat.
This. This is what I always wanted in a partner. A guy who I could talk to like a best friend. A friend who I just so happen to want to rip his clothes off. Someone who matches my vibe while also making me yearn for them when they aren’t around.
Too bad I found it in the guy I can’t let myself have.
“I fell in love with public relations and media when I was in high school,” I say. “I don’t even remember where I read about it, or what piqued my interest, but once I discovered it, I knew that’s what I wanted to do.”
“And being a six-figure publicist isn’t good enough for your family? Remind me to call my mom and thank her for not batting an eyelash at my career choice.”
I meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “I didn’t follow in the family footsteps. So because I don’t have a ’JD’ at the end of my name, I am forever the outcast.”
