Page 7 of Totally Pucked

No big deal.

Just because we’re going to a Christmas lighting festival doesn’t mean I’m stepping into one of those holiday flicks I always scroll past on my Webflix queue.

Fine, fine. I watch them sometimes.

But holiday flicks are like a bowl of popcorn. You can’t stop once you start. Even though most could use a little more sex.

I bound up the steps to Katie’s building, ring the buzzer, and wait for my friend.

“Coming!” Katie calls through the speaker.

I don’t even think about alternative meanings for that word.

All right. I do.

Just like I thought about it when I was in the shower thirty minutes ago, getting ready for tonight. I had to get my horniness out of my system, since the Webflix queue in my head definitely does not run family fare. The theater upstairs shows only filthy holiday flicks—fucking in front of fireplaces, and screwing under the stockings.

Someone should acquire my brand of holiday films that give new meaning to rocking around the Christmas tree.

A few seconds later, Katie’s shoes click down the hall of her building, heading toward the door. She opens it, and she’s looking…impossibly better than she did last night.

A pink scarf with snowflake illustrations on it is wrapped around her neck. Those soft brown strands of hair curl around her shoulders. Lip gloss shines on her lips. I want to kiss it off. Then, I want to learn exactly what she likes in bed and give it to her all night long.

But I don’t want to ruin our friendship. It means too much to me.

“Hey, you,” she says, and her pretty voice grabs at my heart, squeezes it.

The full weight of my feelings hits me all at once. I like Katie and I want her.

Great, just great.

“Nice scarf,” I say, a little strangled. But I needed to say something. Can’t just stare.

She lifts a hand to touch it, almost as if to remind herself that it’s there. “Thanks. My sister gave it to me,” she says as we head down the steps.

Family. Sisters. Small talk. I’ll do that tonight to slow down the naughty holiday reel playing before my eyes. “You enjoying being back in town and seeing Ivy?”

“Yup. And mom and grandma and Ryker,” she rattles off.

It’s like a snowball’s hit me in the groin.

Last night’s kiss was simply a one-time-only mistletoe incident and we’re back in the friend zone.

But that’s fine. It’s totally fine. I’ve spent years being friends with this woman, and I’m not going to ruin it because the troublemaker in me is suddenly thinking about her in new ways.

You’ve always been thinking of her that way. You just fucking realized it last night, you dumbass.

We head to Yerba Buena Gardens for the festival.

“Now, tell me the deal for tonight,” she says. She’ll say yes, she’ll help out, but she always loves a little debrief. She likes to do her best. I admire that about her. I’m the same damn way. “Are we supposed to be pretending to be on a date? Are we on a date, or are we friend dating?”

Don’t tempt me, universe.

Already my mind is filled with new thoughts like…

Let’s have dinner tomorrow.

Can you come to the game in two more nights?

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