Page 1 of Winter Break Up

1

MERCER

Coming home for Christmas break, I figured I’d be greeted with a warm welcome. What I never planned on was having the nicest ass I’ve ever glimpsed in my life shoved directly in my face as I strolled back into town.

The two perfect round globes greet me and my distracted cock with a blunt hello, and I can’t help but trail my eyes down the long legs that lead up to them. Even if this spectacular backside is clothed in tight, waterproof snow pants, which I know for a fact have long johns beneath them because I was lucky enough to peel them off of her once upon a time.

Emily Palmer makes a grunting noise, one close to the type of moan that haunts my dreams, as she tries once again, unsuccessfully, to deliver the final blow to the trunk of the tree about to tumble onto her head.

The saw in her hand shakes a little as if she’s been holding and cutting with it for so long that her muscles are exhausted. The snow I stomped boot prints in on the way out here is at least six to eight inches, and it’s all over the knees and elbows of her snowsuit.

It’s early days here at Palmer Tree Farm, but just from observing the number of trees that have been cut down and presumably sold already, I’d say we’re in for a busy season.

Emily and her brother, Charlie, have been working the farm since their parents allowed them to handle the saws independently. From that time, I naturally took a job here every holiday season, too, so that I could work with my best friend and the girl I’ve always crushed on. Year after year, we’d spend the snowy months goofing off between the rows of spruces while hauling plump, fragrant-scented trees back to the register on the four-wheeler.

That all changed three and a half years ago when my heart was smashed to bits, and I haven’t worked a Christmas here since. Not until today, when Charlie begged me to come back in for what would be our last holiday together before the real world comes calling.

Another frustrated whistle of air through Emily’s teeth has me focusing again, and I need to get it together before I make my presence known. I didn’t think I’d have to face her this soon, but when her mother asked me to come out and grab one of the purchased trees on a four-wheeler, I didn’t realize she meant that her daughter was the one cutting it down.

Or, well, struggling to by all accounts. She throws down the saw in annoyance, which I see as my opening. Can’t risk being hacked in half by an ex-girlfriend who can’t deliver someone’s merry and bright.

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”

My first line, the only words I’ve spoken to her in nearly three years, are asshole ones, but part of me will never forget that she put the final nail in our coffin.

The branches of the Douglas fir sway as she whirls around, still careful to keep hold of the inner trunk so it doesn’t completely topple.

And now, I’m face-to-face with the girl who thought I wasn’t worth a long-distance relationship. Mind you, that long distance was only an hour and a half, but I guess when you’re an eighteen-year-old, fresh off graduation and headed to college, everything in this world seems a bit bigger.

Hazel eyes, flecked with green and gold that remind me of a forest at sunset, flash a look of indignity and shock at me as Emily realizes who is standing in front of her. I watch as embarrassment—a quick blush of it—races over her high cheekbones. Full peach lips, a tinge blue from the cold, settle into a grimace that only highlights the beauty mark just above the left side of her mouth. The tiny scar on her jaw, the result of stitches from a sledding accident on a hill not too far from here, flexes as it appears she’s gritting her molars together.

Her hair, nearly inky black with a tinge of auburn red when the sun hits it just right, peeks out from beneath her beige cold weather hat. I can’t tell if those loose waves are still as long as the last time I saw her, what with the layers of clothes swamping her, but the pom-pom atop her head makes her look cute despite the scowl she wears.

Emily Palmer, my best friend’s little sister, the high school flame who dumped me the summer before college, stares at me in all her angry, gorgeous glory, and I can’t help but be rooted to the spot. The weight of her gaze has always rendered me helpless; there were times when we were dating when she’d only have to look at me, and I’d fall at her feet like some pathetic Romeo.

This is the one girl, now a woman, who I will never be able to get out of my head. We all have that one regret, the one who got away, the one who we thought would be everything, and it didn’t work out. She’s mine.

“Aren’t you going to help me?”

The huffy, frustrated tone of her voice only deepens my smirk, and it’s nice to know she’s not going to be timid or sympathetic, even though she blew me off all those years ago.

“I mean, you’re doing a hell of a job of it all by yourself. Don’t mind me, I’ll just wait to lug it up here once you’re done.” Leaning back, my ass hits the hood of the four-wheeler as I cross my arms over my chest arrogantly.

Or cross them as best as I can. After spending most of my winters and summers in Florida, I’m not used to wearing cold-weather clothing just yet. Sure, I’ve been back to my hometown of Queenwood, New Jersey, for short visits here and there, but the schedule of a college athlete doesn’t permit for a lot of family time. Especially when I’m training for the big leagues in the off-season or taking meetings with professional trainers to spread the word about my dedication.

The way her eyes trace over my stance, though, it’s clear she likes what she sees. That only makes my extremely confident ass more confident, and that’s typically lacking when it comes to this girl.

“Mercer, stop fucking around.” An errant snowflake lands on her cheek, and I have to stop my hand from unconsciously reaching out to brush it off.

“Ah, so she remembers my name. I thought maybe you’d forgotten it in all the fun you were having away at college.” It’s not like I haven’t stalked her social media.

Secretly, I hope she’s done the same to me. Has she watched my soccer matches? Has she kept up with my free agency prospects in the sports news? Has she seen some of the speculation about my dating life from those stupid online publications that care so seriously about who I’m dating?

They say there is no better revenge than an ex who did the dumping, being jealous of your current love life. As I think about the prospect of Emily poring over Internet searches about me, I can attest that’s true.

“Shut up and help me,” she demands.

My steps crunch the snow beneath our feet as I stalk toward her, the heat between us making me sweat beneath this getup. It’s been years since I’ve been alone with her, yet it’s like no time has passed at all. She’s still the girl I had to pretend to be annoyed by because she was my best friend’s sister until I didn’t want to pretend anymore, and we got so serious, so fast, that it knocked both of us for a loop. I’m still the guy who wanted to take her along for my future, the boy who hasn’t been able to come home partly because I can’t stand to see if she’s moved on.

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