Page 30 of War on Christmas

“Mmm.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, the tip of my nose, the tiny mole on my right cheek that I hated as a kid but now think of as my beauty mark. “So you keep telling me.”

“We ended up in the principal’s office seventy-eight times.”

“Seventy-nine.”

“The bloody nose doesn’t count,” I argue. He’s nuzzling my neck now, his five o’clock shadow a pleasant rasp against my bare skin. “It was totally spontaneous. Mrs. Johnson just assumed I gave it to you.”

“Wanna know what I thought about while we were in the principal’s office? While I had tissues shoved up my nose?”

It’s a trap. I can smell it as surely as I can smell the warm, spicy scent of his faded cologne. Unfortunately, my fatal flaw is that I’m a total Pandora. Now that he’s dangled that little box in front of me, there’s no way I’m not going to open it.

“What did you think about?” I ask, hating how soft and breathy my voice sounds.

“Your mouth.” His lips brush over mine, barely touching. My legs tighten around his waist. “You were wearing black lipstick that day.” I don’t remember that. I remember his green-and-white striped polo, dotted with blood. I remember hating it because it marked him as this new and improved Jeremy, popular and trendy. “And I was wondering if you’d taste the same with black lips as the first time we kissed.”

“Oh.” The single syllable drops from me. Falls between us.

I’m waiting for him to pounce. For his mouth to crash into mine. Instead, his assault is gentle. Subtle. His lips graze mine only to coast to my cheek and chin and jaw before returning to my mouth, each pass marginally firmer than the last. It’s teasing. A sexy, flirty “Come play with me” that my stupid body can’t resist. My mouth chases his, and we’re both smiling, our breathing fast, until I reach up and grab his face, holding him still so I can finally,finallypress my lips to his.

He jerks, the barest tensing of his muscles, and I puff out a laugh as we kiss. He did that same thing, that little lurch, the first time we kissed, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of the sweet, sensitive boy I knew. That boy who felt electrified by an innocent brush of my lips against his.

Jeremy’s arm tightens around my waist, but he keeps the kiss slow and unhurried. A leisurely exploration that taunts me into softening for him, unfurling, my body going loose and lax as my lips part to invite the sweet, gentle invasion of his tongue. He groans into my mouth.

“God, you taste good, Sunshine.”

He tastes oaky and sharp, like whiskey, and I can’t get enough of it. All of it—his body against mine, the press of his lips, the smell of his skin—all of it is new and exciting but old and achingly familiar. Because it’shim. My best friend. My worst enemy. The one I’m never going to get over. Not completely. Because maybe I’ve never admitted it to myself, let alone to him, but I’ve been waiting twenty years for this kiss too.

That’s how I am—pinned to the wall, legs wrapped around Jeremy’s waist, hands holding his face, wanting himwaytoo much—when the door gives a too-small, too-late squeak of warning and my dad’s deep, booming voice fills the room.

“Just wanted to—Oh! Sorry—Oh!”

Jeremy shoots back from me like he’s been burned, face flushed and eyes darting frantically. But when my legs give out on me and I stumble, he jumps forward, his hand grabbing my elbow to steady me even as he turns his panicked, guilt-stricken face toward my dad.

“Um, hey there…Mr. Nilsen,” Jeremy says, then clears his throat. “Sir.”

“Uh, right.” My dad looks even more panicked than Jeremy. He’s standing there in his plaid pajama bottoms and frayed T-shirt, half in and half out the door, one hand on the knob and the other over his eyes. Then he’s clearing his throat too. “Jeremy. Mary mentioned you were here—and I just wanted to say—well…hi. Sorry. Should’ve knocked. But, you know, locks.” Here he stops to inspect the lock on the door, twisting the knob to double-check that it works. It does. He slaps his hand back over his eyes and his moccasin slippers start shuffling back into the hallway. “Well…I’ll just let you two—well.”

I start to feel it swelling inside me then. A dark well of hysteria that feels an awful lot like a giggle. Giggling isnota noise I make. And if I’m honest, it’s the second time tonight. Clearly, Jeremy has broken me and I’m suffering some kind of malfunction. I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle it. Jeremy’s hand slides over mine, and he shakes his head at me, looking positively mortified, until the bedroom door shuts with aclick.

“Shit,” he whispers. “I think he thinks we were havingsex.”

I pull his hand down, freeing my mouth.

“Well, if you had given it another minute or two—”

He stops me with a short, hard kiss that instantly has my knees wobbling again. Then he pulls back, his breath short and choppy.

“God, I love that sassy mouth of yours.” He grips my chin, his eyes on my lips. “Now I’m getting out of here before it gets me into more trouble.”

“You callthattrouble?” I scoff. “You’ve gone soft.”

He groans out a laugh, running his hand down his face. “Sunshine, I am anything but soft right now.”

“Well, better make up your mind how you want to play things.” I raise my eyebrow. “As of tomorrow, we’re down to twelve days.”

Twenty-One

JEREMY

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