Page 117 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“I can’t not do it. These last ten days have been torture.”
The honesty in his voice knocks the air out of me. I reach up, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the solid heat beneath my palm.
His breath catches, barely audible, and then he dips his head just enough that his forehead brushes mine. The world narrows to that tiny space between us.
“Max,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds mine, slow at first, testing, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he pushes too far. But the second I lean in—really lean in—something in both of us breaks loose.
His hand slides from my neck into my hair, angling me closer as I fist my fingers in his shirt. He spins us around, pressingme into the counter. The kiss deepens, all heat and ache and everything we’ve been holding back. He lifts me easily onto the countertop, stepping between my legs as he devours my lips.
I’ve missed this. No, I’ve missed him. My grumpy man, who is soft only for me.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead stays pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard. There’s a hint of a smile against my lips when he murmurs, “Careful, Princess.”
The nickname hits low in my stomach, all warmth and want, and I wrap my legs around him, tugging him closer.
He brushes his thumb along my jaw, voice rough but still soft around the edges. “We need to take this somewhere else. Before we give the janitor a story to tell.”
“Nobody believes the janitor.”
He chuckles. “Then maybe I just don’t want to risk the interruption.”
“Then we should probably walk fast.”
The grin that follows is small but wrecks me all the same. He sets me down slowly, like he’s reminding himself to breathe, then keeps his hand wrapped around mine as we make our way toward the exit.
The corridor outside the rink is empty, the hum of the lights the only sound between us. Every few steps, our shoulders brush, and each touch feels deliberate. The cool air waiting beyond the doors hits like a reset, cutting through the heat that’s still humming under my skin.
We walk the familiar path toward the dorms—same cracked sidewalk, same wind snapping at our jackets—but it feels different. Because Max is holding my hand in broad daylight on campus, where anyone could see.
Max’s thumb keeps tracing circles against my palm. “You sure you’re good with this?” he asks quietly.
“Good?” I glance up at him. “Pretty sure ‘good’ doesn’t cover it.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes flicking toward the ground. “I just… I don’t want this to feel like it’s rushing.”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “It feels like catching up.”
He looks over then, and whatever answer he finds in my face must be enough, because he squeezes my hand and doesn’t let go until we reach the dorm doors.
Inside, the hallway is warm and still smells faintly of burnt popcorn and coffee that someone must have made in the lounge down the hall. A couple of students pass, earbuds in, oblivious. We take the stairs, the sound of our footsteps syncing until we’re both half-smiling.
I stop in front of my door and let go of his hand long enough to fish out the keycard to let us inside. He follows me in, kicking the door shut behind us. Pausing to take in my undecorated room.
“Looks like something’s missing,” he says.
“Aww, are you saying you miss Christmas?”
“With you, it’s Christmas every day—and I’m pretty sure it’s become my favorite holiday.”
He says it with a grin, but he’s already moving closer, one slow step at a time. His fingers find the edge of my jacket, sliding it off my shoulders before I can answer. The fabric hits the floor, soft against the quiet thud of his shoes as he toes them off.
“Oh yeah?” I manage, backing up a half-step when he tugs gently at my sleeve.
“Mm-hmm.” He leans in, presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth, another along my jaw. “Lights, glitter, a little too much sugar—fits you.”
I laugh, breath catching when his mouth finds the hollow just below my ear. “You’re comparing me to Christmas?”
