Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  I relax, safe in the knowledge that Adam is as into this as I am, and even if this turns out to be a one-night thing, neither of us will regret it. I’m right where I’m supposed to be, and so is he.

  He lowers me slightly and, with a grunt that says he can’t wait another second, sinks into me. I stretch around him, his size surprising me, as he pushes us against the door. Wrapping my legs tighter around his waist, I sigh against his lips as we begin to move together, his hands firmly under my bottom, holding me in place. My breasts crush against his chest, and he captures my mouth, moving with me as his tongue explores mine.

  My whole body is tingling; I’ve never felt so alive. I’m having an out of body experience as the delicious friction between us increases. With every thrust, Adam pushes deeper. I want to touch him everywhere, kiss him so deeply that he never forgets this night or me. I want to imprint every movement—every sound—into my memory so I can relive it over and over.

  I bite his shoulder, and he reacts by pushing me hard against the door, the slight thumping sound both exciting and terrifying me.

  What if we get caught? What if some—oh, god, I don’t care!

  I just want him to keep moving inside me, building that clench in my stomach into something more. As though he can read my mind, he turns us around and takes the two steps to the table, shoving my carefully laid out dress to the side and pushing me back to lie flat on the table. My left wing catches on a cardboard box, so he drags me forward, one hand digging fingers into my soft thigh and one exploring my breast. A moan squeezes from my lips, and I feel myself beginning to lose control. As he rolls a nipple between his fingers, I bite my lip, arching my back, trying to get closer to the magic.

  When I can hardly stand it another second, his fingers slip between us, sliding over my perfectly placed nerve endings and banishing the last of my senses. I use my legs to pull him closer, and he leans over me, pushing deep and holding me in place as we crash together.

  Adam’s mouth on mine whispers words of love and longing until we finally still, our skin as close as two people can possibly be. When our breathing returns to almost normal, he pulls back and looks deep into my eyes.

  “I’m glad I found you tonight.”

  I smile up at him. “Me too.”

  “I’ve thought about you this whole trip. I wanted to get in touch and see if you’d be free, but I know you have a pretty hectic schedule when you’re here. I didn’t want to get in the way or seem like I needed a tour guide.”

  “You should have called me.” I run my palm over his cheek. “As you can tell, I’d have been pleased to see you.”

  “Would you—” He stiffens slightly, turning his head toward the door.

  I raise myself on one elbow. “What?”

  “Nothing. I thought I heard something.” He turns back to me. “Anyway, would you consider making this into a more permanent thing?”

  “More permanent?”

  “Yeah. Like I don’t leave your side between now and when we go home. I move my flight, and we go home together. As an item.”

  “Seriously?” I lean up on both elbows, and he tilts back a little, holding my hip and making sure we stay connected. His hand runs over my right breast, and he tweaks my nipple with a shy grin. “I should probably get cleaned up, but I don’t want the real world to intrude until I have my answer. And it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

  His words say one thing, but the pained look on his face says something else.

  6

  Adam

  “Mr. Grossman! Where are you?”

  Peggy and I cease all movement, my hand stilling with her nipple between my fingers. We stare wide-eyed at each other, neither of us daring to breathe.

  “If he’s left before the end of the night, I will not be paying his invoice in full.” Miss Maisie’s shrill voice cuts through the dimly lit space, and Peggy widens her eyes and bares her teeth.

  I snicker silently, shaking my head at her to make her stop. Instead, she inches closer and leans forward to plant a kiss on my naked chest. I stifle a groan and place my hand on the back of her head to stop her movement. My fingers twisted in her hair do not have the desired effect, though, and I have to stifle another groan as she giggles against my chest. It turns out I’m not done with my angel just yet.

  “Actually, his invoice is already paid,” the long-suffering assistant meekly responds.

  “What?” Who knew Miss Maisie had another level of shrill in her repertoire? “We don’t pay caterers ahead of time!”

  “It was in his contract. He required prepayment, since he resides overseas.”

  “The last time, Cheryl—write it down. This is the last time we prepay a caterer. I don’t care where they live, what’s in their contract, or how reasonably priced they are.”

  “His contract also stated that he would return the kitchens to their previous state and that he would send his staff home and depart before the end of the evening. The hotel is responsible for cleaning up the leftovers and disposing of the food.”

  There’s silence out in the kitchen, and I can only imagine the look poor Cheryl is receiving right now. We wait, breath still held, to see what happens next. I wish we hadn’t waited. I wish we’d quietly dressed and made plans to escape the minute Miss Maisie and her poor protege left the kitchen.

  Instead, my heart stops when I hear the older woman say, “He’s brought down the whole tone of the evening with those damn balls of his.”

  Peggy snorts, and I hold her face against my chest. Her entire body shakes as she tries to hold in her giggles. My god, those giggles.

  “If one more person comes up to me and mentions that man’s delicious balls, I will take them off the invite list for next year! Did you try one?”

  “I haven’t had time.” Is that snark I hear from trusty Cheryl?

  “Well, I did. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and I can tell you I don’t appreciate noisy crackling when I eat someone’s balls.”

  I can’t hold out any longer. I join Peggy in silent hysterics, holding my nose to keep in my laughter. I urgently need Miss Maisie to get out of the kitchen before we give ourselves away, but it’s not to be.

  “He’s not getting away with it. I’ll call him and tell him I expected him to be here until the very end. It’ll serve him right if he’s tucked up in bed already.”

  With a sinking heart, I know what will happen next, and within three seconds, my worst nightmare comes true. My phone lights up in my jacket pocket, and the shrill tones of Flo Rida’s "My House" burst from the fabric, louder than any song has ever played in the history of the world.

  Peggy snickers and then groans as I pull out, grabbing for the jacket as my pants fall to the floor. She slides off the table and reaches for her dress, trying and failing to step into it, straighten her wings, and finger-brush her hair at the same time. I dig for my phone, then hold it between my shoulder and my ear as I yank up my pants and button them.

  “Yes? Hello?” I pretend I have no idea who's on the other end of the call, like I’m not standing with a door between us, having just satisfied the sexiest undressed angel I’ve ever met.

  “Mr. Grossman, are you still in the building?” Miss Maisie’s voice is worryingly close to the door. Then the knob rattles, and I have visions of it bursting open before we’ve managed to cover ourselves.

  I press my hand against the only barrier between us and say, “Yes, I’m here. Did you need something else?”

  “I need you in the kitchen right this minute.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve had a…” I have no idea what to say, but Peggy waves my shirt in my direction and points at a can on the shelf. I nod and let out a sigh of relief that comes all the way from my toes. “I’ve had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

  Peggy slides behind the door, clutching her dress and grimacing when the top of her wing catches on a shelf and bends at the top. I look around to make sure there’s no trace of her, an
d she hisses and points to my chin. I wipe with my finger and roll my eyes when silver glitter covers my skin. She smirks, and I shake my head before flicking the lock and pulling the door back, to the immediate shriek of the party organiser.

  “Mr. Grossman, what are you doing? Where is your shirt?” Miss Maisie’s face is filled with horror, and I wish Peggy could see it. Her assistant just licks her lips and stares. From what I’ve seen, this is probably the highlight of Cheryl’s night.

  “I’m sorry. I had a spill with some beetroot, and it’s all over my shirt. I was back there wondering what to do about it, but I’ll probably just wear it with the stain to get home. It’s a bit cold out to go home in just a dinner jacket, don’t you think?”

  “Beetroot? What is he talking about?” She turns to Cheryl, averting her eyes from my half naked body.

  Cheryl, on the other hand, doesn’t break the stare as she answers. “He means beets, Miss Maisie. Australians call them beetroot.”

  “Yes, sorry, beets. They’re not quite the same here—ours are a lot sweeter. They're all shaped like balls, though.” I grin and cross my arms, drawing a gasp from the assistant and a scowl from Maisie. I stare straight at them, ignoring the shimmers of silver glinting up at me from my arm. That shit is all over my chest, too, I bet.

  I don’t mean to play up how buff I am, but I really need them to get out of the kitchen. I’m convinced my moment with Peggy will be lost, and I’m worried on a deep level that this will be like the couch incident all those years ago. She’ll get away, and we’ll never speak of it again. We’ve crossed a line tonight and come way too far for me to let that happen.

  “Why did you need to see me?”

  Maisie stares at me, her mouth partly hanging open. The pose is mirrored almost exactly by Cheryl as Maisie’s eyes flick to my arms and then up to the ceiling. “Never mind,” she says.

  It occurs to me that Peggy and Cheryl might not be the only ones who like what they’ve seen tonight. Maisie, you old fox.

  As amusing as this thought is, it’s time to get them moving. “I think I dripped some beetroot on my pants, too.”

  I move a hand to undo the button at my waist, and that galvanises Maisie into action. She grabs her assistant and bustles her toward the door, and I hear her say under her breath, “No more Australians. They are completely obsessed with balls.”

  If only she knew.

  7

  Peggy

  “So, what do you say? Will we fly home and make a go of it?”

  Adam and I have managed to escape from the kitchen, and now we’re hand-in-hand on a freezing New York street. My hair is a little less glamorous than it began the night, and one of my wings has a definite bend, but it was totally worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, I’d like to do it again tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after that.

  I gulp, though I shouldn’t. A woman whose body reacts to Adam’s warm hand the way mine does knows the answer she’ll give. I’m just playing with him and making him sweat a little. I do have one concern, though.

  “I thought maybe you got carried away in the moment.”

  “I did, but not in a bad way. Suddenly, everything was crystal clear for me. I should have been straight with you years ago, instead of all of this dancing around the issue.”

  “We both should have been honest about how we felt.”

  “Just because I suggested getting serious right after we’d”—he laughs—“you know. I didn’t want you to run away, that’s all. It’s not like I had an epiphany when your dress came off. I’d already made up my mind to ask you.”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Promise.” He watches me, not breaking eye contact, and I can see his sincerity shining through.

  “Okay.” I look up at the sky and shiver. “Can we go somewhere with coffee? Or a giant open fireplace? Or maybe there’s a spare pizza oven somewhere in Brooklyn that I can crawl into. I’m freezing.”

  “Sure. Let’s get a taxi.” He raises his arm to hail an oncoming cab, as though he’s been in New York his whole life. “You know your answer will dictate where we have the cabbie take us, though.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know what to do. It’s all so sudden. I might need a few guarantees.” I try not to laugh as he frowns and tilts his head.

  “Like what?”

  “Do you promise to—” I break off mid-sentence and stare at his chest. Am I really brave enough to arrive home with Adam in tow? What will my sister think? Will we end up as fodder for her newspaper column? Olivia has no filter, and my personal business could end up splashed all over the internet.

  “What?” Adam slides his hands over my shoulders, which are covered by his jacket. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  His touch makes my skin tingle in all the right places, even through the thick fabric, and I know that, no matter what my family thinks or what embarrassment my sister heaps on me, spending my time with Adam is exactly what I should do.

  “Do you promise to make me my own batch of those fabulous snowballs?”

  He grins, relief washing his features bare of the tiny worry lines that had gathered. He kisses me, and it’s almost as sweet as those amazing chocolate desserts.

  “I do. I totally promise to make them whenever you want them. I have one condition of my own, though.”

  He grins as a taxi pulls up beside us, and he opens the door and ushers me inside. It’s so warm that I almost cry with relief as I note that I’m now sitting on my undamaged angel wing. It turns out I’m ending the night as the most satisfied of fallen angels, having fallen completely for him.

  Adam gives the address of his hotel, sure I’m going to agree to his plan. I shrug and settle back against the leather. I guess I’ll worry about clothes to wear home when morning rolls around. These wings are never going to see the light of day again.

  The car moves off, and our lips meet, doing a feather-light dance as I whisper to him in the dark. “I think I can afford you one promise in exchange for years of sweet treats. What’s your one condition?”

  “I need you to promise to always lick my snowballs.”

  Also By Tracey Pedersen

  Lick My Snowballs is the prequel to a new series coming late in 2020 titled Outrageous Olive. You can see all of Tracey’s books on her website at www.traceypedersen.com/books.

  Outrageous Olive

  Married This Year

  Secret Billionaire’s Club

  Men About Town

  Famous Love

  One Week Love Story

  Finding Sweet Love

  About Tracey Pedersen

  Tracey Pedersen is an Australian author who has finally accepted that she is meant to write, write, write! If you enjoy romance stories that mimic the quirks of real life, you'll love Tracey's books. She enjoys dialogue that sounds exactly like we all talk and loves weaving travel into her stories. A few laughs don't go astray either!

  Join her newsletter: https://geni.us/SignUpTP

  Part XV

  Deck the Halls With Balls

  Marika Ray

  About… Deck the Halls With Balls

  Prescott

  My night started in an expensive tuxedo, offering samples of my knock-you-on-your-ass home-brewed kombucha beer to the good citizens of Auburn Hill, aka Hell, at the Jingle Ball. It ended with a naked ride on a mechanical bull with a sexy scientist screaming my name. I’m not sure how things devolved so quickly, but I may have to leave town under the cover of darkness now, which wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t major chemistry between nerd girl and me.

  Jazzie

  I felt every single molecule come alive when I drove that getaway car with Prescott by my side. Or maybe it was all those bad-boy tattoos that lit me up like a Christmas tree. All I know is I’ll do whatever it takes to solve his booch chemistry problem and keep him in town. I have a sudden need for Prescott to deck my halls with his jingle balls all year long.

  1

  Prescott

  I was sweating m
ore than that one time I got caught replacing the cheerleaders’ water bottles with hard cider at the homecoming game senior year. Had you seen the way Dr. Locke glared at students in his office, you would have understood my unhealthy level of perspiration. He’d been a mortician before becoming a high school principal. Genius, really. One meeting with him and you were so scared for your life you didn’t step out of line. Different town, different decade, but here I was fucking things up again.

  I’d even splurged on a tuxedo. Actually bought one like a card-carrying adult, never mind the fact that it was bright red. I’d only been in Auburn Hill, aka Hell, for four months and I knew how much this event meant to the citizens. The annual Jingle Ball, where the alcohol flowed, pockets opened, and all proceeds went to the Testicular Cancer Research Fund. Hell was small, but they prided themselves on producing the largest donation in all of Northern California.

  My problem? I was the supplier of said alcohol at the Jingle Ball this year. The first step to getting attendees to throw caution to the wind and overbid on the auction items. Without the proper alcohol in place, the entire operation fell apart. And if I let down Hazel, the event planner of this whole shindig, I was afraid she’d cut my balls off and use them for science in that factory where she worked.

  “Prescott!” Speak of the devil. Hazel materialized at my side and glared up at me, her eyes looking far crazier than my balls cared for.

  I gulped and tugged on my shirt collar. Damn thing was trying to choke me. “Hey there, Hazel. Looking gorgeous as ever!” I gave her the smile, the one that softened every female I’d ever come across.