Page 8 of Holiday Vibes

A quick shower will do. The bathroom is an en suite, thank god. I get out of bed, walking quickly, cupping the mess on my stomach in case it drips onto the carpet.

I swing the door open, and…fuck.

It’s a Jack and Jill bathroom.

Jessie’s standing at the sink in her pajamas, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth as she turns, her wide eyes taking me in—all of me, and the state of my stomach—before she turns and bends to spit into the sink. Her shorts ride up higher over her round ass.

My face is on fire. There’s no retreating, no showing weakness or she’ll win. I flick the shower on and will her to leave.

When I look back, she’s leaning against the vanity, amber eyes amused as they drop to my cock. Her head tilts, her eyebrows arching in a silentHuh, how disappointing.

My cock isn’t the rumored fifteen inches some corners of the internet claim based on a fuzzy image from a movie and I don’t look like I do on screen. My muscle definition has faded and I’m not dehydrated to make the veins in my body pop. She’s not the first woman I’ve disappointed by being real.

But Jessie’s nipples are hardening through her shirt and a light blush is creeping up her chest.

Maybe…she’s not disappointed.

“You’re a mess,” she says with atsk.

Her lips are stripped of that red, but her smirk is a reminder of the mess I made of them in my imagination, and Christ, suddenly my cock is preparing for round two.

“Lock the goddamn door.” The shower is steaming, so I step in, turning my back to her.

“If I knew you were in Timothy’s room jerking off, I would have.”

I glare at her over my shoulder, but she’s turned to rummage through the arsenal of beauty products that have overtaken the vanity. She’s not leaving. God, why is she not leaving?

It’s a minute before I hear it. She’s humming a melody and the moment I recognize it my blood goes cold and my returning arousal dies.

It’s a song fromSummer Camp, a massive box office flop my ex-agent strong-armed me into. I was twenty-two playing the part of a fifteen-year-old in a musical when I could neither sing nor dance. Not even the rest of the cast could redeem that train wreck.

Jessie knows I hate that movie.

I tip my head back in the water, closing my eyes, and resolving to stay in here until she leaves.

There’s a tap on the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Jessie says with a wince, standing right next to the shower. At least she hasn’t pressed her face to the glass.

I’m about to nod, to accept her apology so she’ll go away when I notice her hands. Both index fingers pointing down.

“For your dick not living up to the hype.” She finishes.

My jaw clenches and it takes everything in me to act like I’m not pissed. “Get out.”

Jessie smiles, waves, and saunters away in her short little pajama shorts.

I am in so much trouble.

Chapter three

Nic

December Twentieth

Myheadisthickin the morning, last night’s embarrassing encounter with Jessie front and center, refusing to budge even after a predawn three-mile jog in the bracing cold. I dreamed about her last night. All night. We did things that heat my face and distract me enough that the patch of ice at the end of the driveway nearly takes me out on my way back into the house. I shower on autopilot—locking the door—and dress before heading to the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Celia chirps, pressing a cup of coffee into my hands.

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