Page 21 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

I hadn’t known what to say because everything was happening faster than my defenses could handle. I still feel rushed along in a swift current, but I don’t want it to stop. I feel like we could talk all night and it might not be enough.

“You didn’t grow up hating Christmas?” I ask.

“Shocking, isn’t it? You’d figure I’d loathe everything red and green, and I’d hate ornaments and sparkling lights.”

“You’re not that kind of guy.” I feel a little warm and buzzy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the vodka or from chatting with him.

Actually, that’s a lie. I am sure.

It’s from him.

Everything I’m feeling tonight is about him, for him, because of him. I’m warm all over. Wait—make that hot. My skin tingles at the way he looks at me with hunger in his deep brown eyes.

“I’m absolutely not a scrooge,” he adds.

“You’re the opposite. And I think you’re also a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy.” My throat’s gone dry, so I take another drink.

He takes one too. “And how do you feel about that, Quinn?”

We’re not talking about parties. Or Christmas houses. Or how we approach the world. We’re talking about this crazy chemistry that’s crackling undeniably after two dates.

I mean, two evenings together.

Both of which feel like dates.

Like wonderful, thrilling,deliciousdates.

“I like it,” I confess, then I zip my lips because I can’t say more. My heart is on lockdown, but I’m so tempted to unlock it for him.

I promised myself. I don’t want to date, don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to fall.

I can’t handle getting hurt.

And the thing is, I could get hurt with him. Already I feel myself yielding—liking him, wanting him—more than I’m prepared for.

Except he’s leaving New York, which puts a guaranteed expiration date on any hypothetical relationship. Could he truly hurt me in so narrow a window of time? It makes things safe, makes me impervious to heartache.

“And do we have a winner here in this hotel?” I ask, concentrating on the job I’m contracted to do with his firm. I gesture around the bar though the party will be in the room we checked out already.

He takes a breath, then nods. “Yeah, it’s a winner. Let’s have the party here.”

As we finish our drinks, we chat about the party, the menu, and the Skee-Ball he wants to have at the soiree.

When we’re done, we leave the bar and head toward the lobby, turning a corner. As we walk down the hall, my feet feel leaden, and my mood turns darker.

I don’t want this time with him to end.

I stop decisively. “You know, we should talk more about the menu.”

His eyes light up with possibility. “Absolutely. Do you want to meet again tomorrow? We can plan the hot chocolate bar and the appetizers, and we should figure out what the heck goes in a candy cane cocktail.”

Somewhere inside me a warning bell sounds.

You’re not supposed to be dating. You’re not supposed to date him. You’re taking a dating break.

But the way he looks at me, the way I feel for him, makes me shove those mantras I prepared out of the way.

Besides, we’d only be temporary. This is a chance my once-broken heart can afford to take. “True. Those are all vital details.” I break into a wild grin because I feel crazy saying yes. But it’s a good crazy.

---