Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  “The two of you,” Lillian said, unruffled. “The food was amazing. All those gorgeous hors d’oeuvres. And that cheese table. I have never seen anything like it.”

  “Mmm,” Mack said, noncommittally.

  “And the two of you were gorgeous! You in a morning suit! And you! That dress. That dress was the classiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Was it?” Phaedra asked.

  “Oh, yes. I told all my friends, the ones who weren’t invited to the wedding. Oh, you should have seen her; she’s so slim and elegant to begin with, and then there she was in that dress: a lace, bateau, backless sheath, slit up the sides—”

  Mack would never be caught dead in a morning suit—that was a hundred percent certain—but for a brief, insane moment, he allowed himself to picture Phaedra in—well, he had no idea what bateau meant, but he knew the other words, and he could picture Phaedra’s modest, delectable curves sheathed in lace, her slender, strong back bared to his palms—

  He should definitely quit that line of thinking while Grandma was in the front seat.

  “That wasn’t my mother’s dress,” Phaedra murmured, quietly enough only he could hear. “I’m not sure what she’s thinking of.”

  “What, dear?”

  “Nothing, Grandma,” she said. “It was a beautiful dress.”

  “I’m sure Vivian’s will be lovely, too,” Grandma said. “But it won’t hold a candle to yours.”

  “It won’t,” Mack said. “It couldn’t. Your dress was beautiful, too, Lillian. Not as beautiful as the one you’re wearing today, but—you do always sparkle for the occasion. It’s easy to see where Phaedra gets her style.”

  Lillian preened, just a little, in the seat beside him.

  Phaedra shot him a glance in the mirror that he couldn’t read. It could have been gratitude or irritation. Or she could have been trying not to laugh. He wasn’t sure.

  “And the way you two looked at each other while you danced! That’s the thing I’ll remember to my dying day. You were so in love.”

  Could Phaedra’s grandmother be mistaking him for Phaedra’s fiancé who’d hurt her so badly? Had Phaedra and the asshole fiancé attended another wedding together, and was Lillian blurring them together?

  As if Phaedra could read her thoughts, she asked, “You’re not thinking of Chris, are you, Grandma?”

  “Chris who?” Lillian asked.

  Mack snickered. “Chris who is right.”

  Phaedra rolled her eyes at him in the mirror.

  “No,” Lillian said definitely. “I’m thinking of you. She’s never looked at anyone quite the way she looks at you. I could see it that night. And—I don’t mean to be indelicate, but it was clear to all of us that you have that chemistry.”

  He thought Phaedra would avoid eye contact at that one, but no—she was looking right back at him. And was that heat in her expression? Yes. It was. She was looking at him like she was remembering exactly the way that chemistry had crackled between them at Kevin’s party, on the walk back to his apartment, and another ten times more so when they were alone, behind closed doors.

  Whatever the expression on her face meant to convey, his body had its own interpretation. An inconveniently strong one. He raised his eyebrows at Phaedra in the mirror, meaning to warn her off, but she just looked back at him, nice and level and hot. He’d seen that look once before, when he’d closed the door of his apartment behind them and she’d stared at him for one long, contemplative moment before catapulting herself at him and knocking him against the door. And there’d been no turning back, once he had her in his arms, his hands cupped under her ass.

  He was going to burn up before they ever made it back to Tierney Bay.

  “I hadn’t met you until the wedding,” Lillian said, “but I knew right then and there that Phaedra had good taste in men. And I’ve never had reason to doubt my judgment.”

  “No,” Mack said. “I’ve never had reason to doubt your judgment either.”

  Phaedra’s expression was caught somewhere between a glare and a burst of laughter.

  6

  They made it back to the hotel just in time for photos. Phaedra and Mack flanked Vivi and Michael while the photographer snapped shot after shot and the pixie wedding planner, Grace, lurked nearby, offering suggestions and occasionally fussing over Vivi’s dress hem.

  “Can you get one of just the maid of honor and best man?” Grace suggested.

  Phaedra opened her mouth to say that that would be totally unnecessary, when Vivian said tentatively, from behind her, “I think that would be nice.”

  Right. Vivian’s day.

  A moment later Phaedra was trying to keep a small amount of air space between her and Mack while the photographer urged them closer together. “Arm around her,” he said.

  Mack’s arm looped across her back, warm, strong, and sure. Phaedra’s whole body bloomed at the touch. He was wearing a gorgeous brown wool suit with threads of red and green—subtly Christmas-y. It must have cost him a fortune, although she guessed that anyone who drove his car wasn’t worried about the cost of a suit. Sometime after they’d hooked up, Kevin’s wife, Aiysha, told Phaedra that he’d sold a facial recognition algorithm to Google when he was in his early twenties. All the work he’d done since then, including his current job teaching technology to kids in low-income neighborhoods, he’d done for the love of it.

  Does that change your mind about giving him your phone number? Aiysha had asked.

  Phaedra had shaken her head. It wasn’t a good fit. You really think whether he’s rich or not matters to me?

  Not a good fit, huh? That’s not what he told Kevin, Aiysha teased.

  Phaedra was instantly outraged. He’d kissed and told! What did he say to Kevin?

  That he liked you. And that he doesn’t feel like that about many women. Which is the truth, Phae. He doesn’t.

  That doesn’t mean I owe him anything.

  No, Aiysha had said. She’d cocked her head to one side. The only person you owe anything to is you.

  And that had been the end of that conversation.

  “What about one where they turn and smile at each other?” Grace asked.

  “They just met today,” a voice said, through clenched teeth, from somewhere behind them. It was Levi, the hotel owner, tall, dark, ridiculously good-looking, and—if his expression was indicative—broody.

  “That’s okay,” Grace said, although she sounded an awful lot like she was trying not to clench her own teeth. “This is a wedding. Everyone is insta-friends here. Levi,” she added, her voice even tighter. “Can you please make sure that everything is on track with the food?”

  “Your wish is my command, princess,” Levi said, and wheeled off.

  Mack leaned down and whispered, his breath warm against Phaedra’s ear, “They need a hate fuck.”

  Phaedra let out a totally inappropriate hoot of laughter. Luckily, there was no videographer.

  “Let’s try the smiling at each other. Like you’ve just met and hit it off,” Grace said.

  When she turned, she found Mack smiling at her. And it was impossible not to smile back. His smile was just so—warm. He had little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. And very white teeth. And his smile definitely went all the way to his eyes. Even though there was also something else in his eyes. Something also very warm. No. Hot.

  She was feeling very hot under her red velvet dress. Like she was also wearing red velvet panties, snug and hot as a palm on her damp sex.

  Mack’s eyes, suddenly dark and intent, searched her face.

  “Smile!” Grace said.

  Phaedra wondered if her thoughts had been visible on her face, and whether the photographer had captured it. That would be embarrassing when they looked through the proofs.

  Except she was pretty sure Mack had been looking back at her with a matching expression.

  “Phae,” Vivian said.

  They were alone together in the little room, waiting for their cue. Vivian glowe
d. Some of it was her makeup, which was perfect, but most of it was true, honest-to-God happiness.

  “I know you’re sad. And I know the timing of this was tricky. And I want you to know, I am so, so grateful that you are here with me. And being so utterly lovely about it all. You are—you are the daughter I never had, and I feel so lucky—”

  “Don’t cry!” Phae said with alarm. “We won’t have time to fix your makeup.” And then, “I love you, Aunt Vivian. And I’m happy. I’m so happy for you. And I want you to be happy, so I can believe people can fall in love, really in love, twice.”

  “Oh, darling. They can. You will.”

  “Then I’m really not sad.”

  As she said it, she realized that it was more true than it had been earlier that morning. The car ride with Mack had shifted something. Maybe it was just that she’d talked to him about Chris. She’d gotten some of that off her chest. But maybe that wasn’t all of it.

  If she wasn’t wrong, she was feeling a little bit—hopeful.

  She turned her not-sad, little-bit-hopeful face toward Vivian and let her see the truth of it. Vivian examined her carefully and planted a kiss on Phae’s nose.

  “That’s the best wedding present of all,” Vivian said.

  They hugged, pressing cheek to cheek but being careful not to mess up lipstick. Vivian smelled like green apples, delicious and comforting.

  “You ready to live happily ever after?” Phae asked, holding her aunt’s hands in hers.

  Seeing Vivian’s face lit up with a huge grin, Phae couldn’t help but smile.

  “Sure am.”

  Music reached them from the main room, and Vivi linked her arm through Phae’s.

  She could feel her aunt trembling as they walked down the aisle, but the grin never left her face, and Michael, watching them as they approached, looked like a man who couldn’t believe his good fortune.

  The envy Phae had felt earlier that day had transformed into pure joy for them. She took her place at Vivi’s shoulder, and made very, very sure not to look at Mack. Until his father said his vows:

  “… I feel like God had a reason to keep me alive and that that reason is to love you for the rest of our hopefully long lives together…”

  Then Phae snuck a look at Mack, because she wanted to know if he, too, felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

  He was teary.

  Just a little bit. Red-rimmed eyes, slightly shiny.

  Holy shit, but she liked that. A guy who actually had feelings and wasn’t afraid to show them.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  She’d almost missed the key moment. But she hadn’t. She saw the open, raw gratitude on both faces.

  She snuck another look at Mack, who chose that moment to look at her. And he didn’t drop her gaze, even though she’d caught him crying. He looked right back, like he was challenging her. Yep, he was saying. This is how I feel.

  Soft and strong.

  There was nothing sexier.

  7

  Vivi, Michael, Mack, and Phae sat at the head table. When the bride and groom got up to circulate around the room after the salad course, Mack and Phae were left alone on opposite sides of the long table, staring out at the room. After a while Phae got up and circulated around the room, too, and he followed suit. He talked to his cousin Evie and his uncle Doug and several of his father’s oldest friends. He updated them on what he was working on—raising money for a robotics program—and his romantic status—single. His eyes sought out Phaedra where she was hovering over a table, hugging two women Vivian’s age from behind.

  She was wearing a red velvet dress with a halter top, a cuff of velvet around her slim, pale throat. And Jesus, he liked that waaaay too much. The dress clung to her curves, dipped in at her narrow waist and swerved sweetly around her ass. The skirt portion was high cut in front, like a wrap that hadn’t quite closed, and that was doing things to him, too. But the thing that was really killing him was the back. Or lack thereof. He wanted to stroke the swath of Phaedra’s soft skin until he raised goosebumps. He wanted it so much he had lost his appetite.

  She looked up from the people she was chatting with. Her eyes met his, and he smiled at her. And then tilted his head to indicate their table. As in, Want to come sit with me for a bit?

  She gave him a little nod, and a few minutes later, they met back at the table. He took his father’s seat so they were side by side.

  “Did you get to say hi to everyone you wanted to?”

  “And more,” she said. “You?”

  “I’m good. That dress is—fucking amazing.”

  She smiled, pleased. “Yeah?”

  There was a tease in her voice that edged itself under his skin.

  “What do you like about it?”

  Okay, she was definitely playing. Which didn’t surprise him. She’d talked dirty in bed. Yeah, like that, Mack, please. Higher. Harder. More. You make me so hot.

  “I like the halter,” he said, letting her see the heat in his eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmm-hmm. And the back.”

  She grinned at that.

  “I also like that it looks like if I pulled on that bow in the front, the whole thing would fall open.”

  Her pupils were big, her lower lip a little softer than before. He could lean in and kiss it right now. Or he could let this build for a while longer, see if he could get her breathing fast and leaning towards him, the way she’d been right before she’d said, You wanna get out of here? on Kevin’s rooftop deck.

  “It wouldn’t, though.”

  “I know, but it’s really nice to think about.”

  Her hand went to her throat, to the ring of red velvet. His cock was hard, and his suit pants were poor cover. Thank God for tablecloths.

  The waitstaff brought the main course to the table, and a moment later the bride and groom inserted themselves between Mack and Phaedra. His father was in high spirits, laughing and raising toasts and occasionally turning to Vivian to kiss her, even when no one had clinked a glass.

  Shortly after, the dancing started. First Michael and Vivian paired off, then Mack with Vivian and Michael with Phaedra, then Vivian and Phaedra. As Vivian turned Phaedra loose, pink-cheeked and laughing, Mack grabbed his chance. “Want to dance?”

  “Sure,” she said, turning that gorgeous smile on him. Her curls were a bright, beautiful halo around her head.

  He felt it again. Lucky.

  He led her onto the floor where they made it through the second half of Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean before the DJ segued into Lady in Red.

  “Really?” Phaedra demanded. “Did you have something to do with that?”

  “I might have seen the playlist,” Mack said.

  “I don’t even like this song.”

  “Ignore it then. But come here.”

  He’d startled her with the command. Startled some heat back into her eyes. He pulled her into his arms. She felt so, so good. Her long slim body, the softness of every curve, and all of it overlaid with velvet. She was delicious to the touch everywhere.

  But most delicious where his hands found her bare, warm, silky back.

  She made a small sound, barely more than a breath, when he did, and he let his fingers move just enough that he raised goosebumps.

  Which raised some other issues for him. And she was close enough, her chest against his, her belly against his, her thigh against his—to know it. He felt her nudge her hip a little closer. God. He could feel every layer of fabric between them, especially the goddamn seams of his boxer briefs. He might have groaned. Or growled. She made another little sound. Then whispered his name.

  “What?” he asked her.

  “You know what.”

  “You want to get some fresh air?” It was a real question, but he loaded it full of tease.

  “Hell, yeah,” she said.

  8

  When Mack took her hand, Phaedra flashed back to the night they’d hooked up. She keenly re
membered the feel of his big hand around hers as they’d walked back to his apartment. The whole time, she’d been hyper aware of his body, his shoulder nudging hers. The heat and strength of him, the electricity flickering between them.

  It was the same now, only they didn’t have nearly as far to go. They snuck into the small room that had been the launching point for Vivian and Phaedra’s trip down the aisle. He led her into a corner, wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and kissed her. Hard. His mouth was hot and tender and greedy, and she moaned into it.

  “Shh,” he said, breaking away, laughing. “Wait. On second thought, don’t shh. Be as loud as you want. I love it.”

  Hungry for more, she reached for him, drew him down, kissed him again. He fumbled in his pants pocket, adjusting himself, then edged her up against the wall and pressed his body to hers, the hard length of him caught between his belly and hers. She remembered that erection. It had felt so damn good stretching her. She wanted him to rub it against her, get her off right here and now in this semi-public room. She wouldn’t even care if someone walked in on them.

  But he broke the kiss, drew back, and rested his forehead against hers. “Damn, I like you, Phaedra.” He didn’t wait for her response; he just tilted his head and took her mouth and stroked his tongue insistently against hers.

  And she liked him, too. Oh, God, she liked him so much, the feel of his long, strong body and his gentle-rough hands and his knowing mouth and his silky tongue and the pressure rising in her, the need. She liked the way he’d been with her grandmother and how frank he’d been with her and how his eyes had filled with tears at the wedding. She liked him and she wanted him and—

  Suddenly her mouth felt too full of his tongue, her chest and belly tight under his weight; suddenly she was struggling to break loose, panic rising sharp and fierce. She put both hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  He stumbled back and stared. Horrified. “I’m so sorry,” he said, right away. “I’m so sorry—did I—?”