Page 24 of Secret Santa

Four pairs of eyes all swung toward Priscilla who blushed so fierce the tips of her ears looked like she’d been out in the snow too long.

“We can’t take that carriage ride together.” She held her hands up toward me like I was offering her a box of rat poison.”

“Why not?”

“I’m certain that Presley’s Secret Santa intended for him to ride around town with someone he was sweet on, Priscilla.” Fitzy added, poking her in the ribs with her elbow.

“Did they now?” Priscilla asked. “Last I checked that ride was for fraternity pins and engagement rings. We go on that trip around the square and you’re practically screaming into a megaphone that we’re an item.”

She said it so matter of fact. Like I would be detracted by the prospect. Apparently kissing her senseless and pinning her up against a wall to get a come out of her hadn’t broadcast clear enough how badly I wanted to get to know her.

ChapterFourteen

Fitzy was at the top of my shit list. Not that I kept a list. But she was going to get an earful from me. Considering thatIwas Presley’s Secret Sant I knew for a fact I did not, nor would I have ever thought to purchase tickets to the damn holiday carriage ride. And once the grand Secret Santa reveal happened in a few weeks, that gossip would be like butter on a hot griddle. How Priscillagiftedher own Secret Santa tickets to go around the squarewith her.

“I promise, Harris might act like a goofball but he’s really a good kid. I guess technically he’s not a kid. He’s twenty-four now—his maturity level just hasn’t quite caught up yet. But Beckett is a fully functioning adult and I promise your diner will still stand in an hour.”

We walked toward Bourbon City News, the pick-up point for the carriage rides. It was the first weekend of the holiday season, and I prayed it was late enough in the evening that the news cameras wouldn’t be rolling and getting footage.

“I don’t know what men you’ve been dating, but people knowing we’re an item isn’t anything I’d ever want to hide.”

The comment stopped me in my tracks.

“You’re new to town.”

I tried to explain as quietly as I could while we waited in line. There were less than a handful of couples. The wait would be brief.

“Sports are a big deal here. All sports for the university. Hell even thegolfingcoach is treated like a celebrity.”

Not that there was anything wrong with golfing or the coaches. It just tended not to be a sport that had a lot of visibility surrounding it. Not like football or basketball. Hell, Presley’s celebrity stature probably had more to do with everyone’s expectations of what he could do more so than enthusiasm for swimming itself.

“Ask around town first and see if I’m a wagon you actually want to hitch your cart to. No pun intended given we’re about to take a carriage ride. But families like mine—ourkind—aren’t typically the types that people will approve of you publicly declaring interest in.”

He held my hand and helped me step up into the carriage. It wasn’t even that cold outside, but when he laid that blanket across us, I swear I felt lighter than air. He shifted on our bench so his body turned toward me.

“Do you know what being the brother of a celebrity taught me?” He tilted his head toward me, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “No matter who you are—rich, poor, famous, infamous, the town joke or the town hero—we’re all the same. We get in our own heads; we worry what people think of us. But the truth is—the people that matter, the ones that trulymatterdon’t judge. And if theyarejudging you? They don’t matter. And the ones that don’t matter?”

He was so close I could smell the fresh mint smell of one of those peppermint candies we leave with the check.

“Fuck them all.” His lip curled in a devil may care smirk that loudly broadcast he was about to do something questionable. Just before he pulled me in for a kiss that bordered on pornographic. It wasn’t sweet. It was lips and teeth, and lots of tongue.

Other than a few college kids walking the square heading toward the bars that hooted and hollered, no one else paid us any mind. And if they did, I never noticed.

* * *

“Your brother is quite chatty.”

I took a sip of the Bailey’s hot cocoa we’d bought from the bakery in the square. Never mind that Presley charmed our little puppy of a carriage driver to please break protocol and stop the ride for five minutes so he could get his shivering girlfriend some cocoa. I hadn’t been shivering. I’d merely mentioned that Tasha made amazing adult cocoas and then poof, like magic he made it happen.

After the kiss to end all kisses, we’d pressed pause on the PDA and just took in the sights.

“Do I even want to know.” Presley massaged his forehead, sinking lower into his seat.

“Apparently the Murray womenVegas Theoryis the hill he plans to die on. It makes more sense than the MurrayHair Theorywhich apparently is the hill Cash and Beckett will die on. I honestly feel torn about the whole thing. Do Iwantto side with Harris because that eases the pressure from offmyshoulders or should Iwantto side with the hair theory because then that would mean that maybe I’m not imagining the weird little zings I feel whenever you’re around.”

“I believe that is called an orgasm.” He failed at trying to keep his lips in a straight line, “And I’m so sorry that it’s been so long that you’ve forgotten what those—what did you call them, ‘weird little zings’ felt like. But I’d be more than happy to escort you back to your place and remake your acquaintance with them.”

I felt my entire body heat. Attraction, embarrassment—they were tied in the race to capture most of my blood stream. However regardless of which emotion won out, they were both ready to punch the one-way ticket to Pleasure town with Presley as the conductor.

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