Page 9 of The Detective's Secret Santa

She hurries inside and slams the door. I fight the urge to knock on the door and insist we talk about this. But it’s better to wait until the alcohol is no longer playing a part. Until I’m not so worked up over assholes who’ve tried to harm her. I wait until I hear the click of the deadbolt before I retreat to my truck. Wishing like hell things were different. I don’t know how long I can go on denying how much she means to me.

7

BROOKLYN

I’ve avoided decorating the tree at Mom’s for two days, hoping that if I picked up extra delivery shifts at the bakery that Mom and Bash would just put the thing up without me. But an earlier phone call with Mom—one that included a few tears and a whole of guilt—made it clear that none of the decorations were even out. She threatened to not put the tree up this year at all.

So here I sit in her driveeway, dread twisting my stomach in knots. Because I know how much no Christmas tree would break Dad’s heart.

I’ve been avoiding Bash since I drunkenly threw myself at him the other night and kissed him. For almost two seconds, I swore he kissed me back. It wasn’t until the tip of his tongue brushed mine that he pulled away, as if suddenly coming to his senses.

A mental battle has been in full swing since I slammed the door in face. Did he pull away because I was drinking or because he doesn’t want to be with me? Was it a strained expression or horrified one? I seem to remember both. But thanks to the margaritas, I’ll never know for sure.

“Stupid tequila.”

Kicking the snow off my boots on the front porch, I force myself to push open the door and face the music.

I barely get the door closed behind me when I freeze at the sight that greets me.

Bash is tangled in red and silver garland.

My heart should ache at the memory of picking out that exact garland with the snowflake accents with Dad four Christmases ago. Instead, my pulse quickens at the sexy scene before me. Bash in a tight black t-shirt with a faint yellow Batman symbol. One now sprinkled with stray sparkling snowflakes. Garland’s wound around one elbow and shoulder. All those delicious muscles are gift-wrapped in holiday spirit.

Hot damn.

“Hey, Brook.” His casual tone, his easy smile, the lack of tension…it’s all enough to reassure me we’re okay.

I breathe a sigh of relief because I really didn’t want to have a conversation about that kiss.

“Everything okay in here?” I tease, thankful my voice remains steady despite the sexy smile he sends my way. I shouldn’t flirt with this man after what happened the other night, but it’s all I seem to want to do.

I’m sober. There’s no tequila in sight. Maybe I should stop fighting what I’m feeling. It’s not as though he’s staying in Alpine Valley. Would a fling be such a terrible thing if no one knew about it? The boldness is slightly shocking, but not enough for me to question. Not now while we’re alone and my core is tingling with want.

“Just untangling everything. Molly warned me it was a mess, so thought I’d get a head start on organizing.”

It’s only now that I notice several perfectly round piles of Christmas lights covering the couch. Neat and orderly, just like Dad would’ve liked. My heart aches with guilt. I’ve left Mom to take the decorations down for three years now. She’s terrible at putting it all away. I can only imagine the mess Bash has been sorting out. “Never was Mom’s strong suit,” I say, kicking off my boots near the front door. “Dad and I always sent her off shopping while we put everything away.”

“Your dad was always one for order.” This exchange should make things feel weird considering I was imagining him wrapped in garland and nothing else less than two minutes ago. But his comment is comforting. This whole scene feels…natural. As if he’s always been a part of this holiday tradition.

As if we’d always been a…couple. What the hell? It’s a complete contrast to the dread and embarrassment I’ve been harboring since the mistletoe and margaritas incident.

“Yeah,” I manage to choke out, shocked by the feeling that’s overcome me.

A harmless fling is one thing. I could use some hot, meaningless sex. Maybe it’d be a confidence booster to know I managed to seduce a man so far out of my league like Bash Fraser. With the way he’s looking at me, no way he’ll keep fighting me if I’m persistent.

But picturing a future with my dad’s best friend? Yeah, that’ll do more than get me on Santa’s naughty list. That’s a one-way ticket to I’ve-lost-my-goddamn-mind-ville.

I make a mad dash from the living room, into the kitchen, right to the fridge, careful to avoid brushing Bash’s arm as I pass him. I’m parched and overheating. In desperate need of anything that’ll cool the blistering heat within me. I can’t be falling for Sebastian Fraser. Outside of all the obvious complications that would create, I barely know the man.

“Your mom’s running late,” Bash says, the news causing the gentle wave of warmth to spread to all parts of my anatomy. A wicked wetness pools in my panties.

“How late?” The question comes out in a quick squeak before I shove my face into the coolness emitting from the fridge. I let my eyes fall closed as the chilled air soothes my scorching skin. But it does little for the heat stirring within me.

“She wasn’t sure.” His voice is closer than it should be. I don’t have to open my eyes to sense his presence behind me. He’s left his post at the couch and entered the kitchen. My pulse quickens as his footsteps draw nearer. “Her replacement had a flat tire. She thought maybe an hour behind you.”

I gulp a swallow. My overactive imagination has no trouble conjuring several ways we could kill that hour. One of which involves garland tangling our very naked bodies together. I bet Bash is packing under those jeans… Get a grip, Brooklyn!

“Think we can handle this until she gets home?”

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