Page 29 of The Holiday Boyfriend

“How do you even know that?” I asked instead of answering her question.

“He texted me,” she said with a shrug. Her words were casual like their texting was something that happened on a normal basis.

“Since when did you two become so buddy-buddy?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. She turned to me with a sly smile.

“Why? Jealous?” she asked. I crossed my arms and humphed in reply. She watched me for a second before turning her attention back to the movie.

We sat in silence for a couple minutes as the couple on the TV kissed in front of a Christmas tree. It was just like Gemma to watch a holiday movie before Thanksgiving even ended. She and I may be the complete opposites, but we were both romantics at heart. A memory of us at the breakfast table and of Gemma calling Jim “yummy” appeared in my mind, making my irritation rise up.

“You're never gonna get with him, you know?” I bit out. I was able to endure Jim going out with other girls, but I didn't think that would be possible if he got together with my sister.

“Huh?” she replied, looking at me like I'd grown an extra head.

“Jim. You and he will never be a thing,” I said with a bit more sass than necessary.

Gemma snorted and rolled her eyes at me. “Whatever,” she said and went back to having her eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Just because you two text, it doesn't mean that he's interested in you.” Her nonchalance made me feelchildish and silly for trying to exert dominance over a teenage girl all because of a man.

Gemma finally stopped watching the damn movie with the lovey-dovey couple and turned to me. She took one look at my expression and busted out in laughter. I crossed my arms and grumbled in annoyance.

“Chill, bro. Nobody's gonna steal your man away from you,” she said with a snicker.

I grumbled under my breath that he wasn't my man, but I knew I didn't mean it. I wanted him to be mine so desperately, and knowing that it would never happen had my shoulders slumping.

“Besides, all we ever talk about is you,” she said, and I immediately sat up straight.

“R-really?” I asked, sounding a bit too excited than I should be.

“Why would I lie?” she said with a shrug. That was true. She had no reason to lie about something like this. Jim was texting my sister about me. That meant that he was thinking about me, at the least, and if I wanted to be even more delusional, that I meant more to him than just his best friend with temporary benefits.

That idea had me smiling so wide my face hurt. I was in such high spirits throughout the entire meal, living in my fantasies, that my family had asked if I’d knocked my head on something.

Maybe I had, and that was why the watchtowers that had always kept my guards on duty weren’t working. With a simple sentence from my sister, the worries that had haunted me after waking up with Jim still on the video call all seemed so trivial and stupid.

So what if I was enjoying this pseudo-relationship more than I should? As long as I remembered that this was all going to end come January, then it didn’t hurt to indulge myself in my dreams come true.

EIGHTEEN

JIM

“Dear, can you pass the gravy, please?”

I poked at the food on my plate with my fork, staring dazedly as the cranberry left a trail of red sauce as it rolled to the other side of the white plate.

“Jim?”

I looked up to find both my mom and Edna watching me with concern lining their faces.

Chuckling in hopes that it would be enough to fill the gaps of silence while in my daze, I picked up the bowl of gravy that was set on the folding tray table beside me and held it out for my mom. “Gravy, right? Dig right in.”

She doused her turkey with a spoonful and gestured to me that she was done. I placed it back on the tray table we were using because our dining table was currently sitting at full capacity with our Thanksgiving meal.

“Okay, what is going on with you tonight? You've barely touched your food, even though I made your favorite homemade stuffing,” she said with a huff. Eddie raised his head from where he was laying by her feet and whimpered.

That was the mental kick I needed to stop moping about the fact that Austin seemed to be avoiding me and actually be present at this nice meal that Mom had worked so hard to make. She'd especially made the stuffing from scratch—when she could have saved time and hassle by getting one of those instant ones—simply because homemade stuffing was my favorite.

“Sorry, Mom. I have a lot of my mind,” I said as I forked some stuffing into my mouth. “Mhmm, just as good as I remember, if not better!” I made a big show of it as I shoved down more stuffing.

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