Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  I tuck a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from her updo behind her ear. “I want a kid. With you. I know you just started the business and we still have to get married, but I kind of like that look. I want to be a dad. I’m not sure I’ll be a good one—”

  She shuts me up with a kiss and falls back down to her heels. “You’ll be an excellent dad. So loving and caring. Our child will be lucky to have you as a father.”

  I shrug. Not completely convinced, but I want to try.

  “We just got Winston though.”

  “They do say that you should raise a dog and a baby at the same time.”

  She chews on the inside of her lip and thinks it over. “You’re crazy. Really?”

  “I’m not looking for an answer right now, just think about it.”

  The band must be winding down because they play another slow song and I circle us around.

  “There’s so much, the business. I mean.”

  “You can say no. That you’d rather wait. I understand.” I’m throwing this at her out of nowhere, but my gaze gravitates to Jax again and I see his two hands almost mindlessly running down Jolie’s back. I just know it’s something I want in my life. But I only want it with Rian. And only when she’s ready.

  “I would love to have your child. Hell, half the women in this room would fight me for the chance.”

  “I only care about one,” I say, and her wide smile warms my body.

  We’ve got something special and I’m hoping like hell I didn’t just mess it all up. “Yes. I want it too, and we’ll figure out the business. But I really want Blanca and Ethan to have their wedding first. Can we just wait until then?”

  I nod. “You don’t have to carry the child. I mean I want that one day, too—half of me and half of you if everything aligns, but we could start out by fostering a kid.”

  Seriously shoot me. Someone stop my mouth from rambling.

  “You know.” She laughs. “I knew my life with you would be a helluva ride but right now you’ve gone from eloping to having a baby to becoming foster parents.”

  I stop for a moment. “I can’t help it, I want it all with you. The marriage, the pregnancy, the happy life with two successful businesses, but I feel the need to help others, too. Kids who get a shitty start to life.”

  Her hand runs up my face and she cups my cheek in her hand. “I agree. We have way too much love for it to just be the two of us.”

  “You know it might not be easy. I was an asshole most of the time I was in foster care.”

  She stares up at me and shakes her head. “Just misunderstood.”

  I close the gap and bend down to kiss her, the woman who holds my entire life in her hands. “You truly are amazing.”

  “Right back at you.”

  “Ready to get out of here?” I say.

  “Yep, Winston needs a walk and we should tell him how he’s going to have to share all the attention soon.”

  I chuckle and grab her hand leading us off the dance floor.

  “Sorry Dylan, but if you want to say the speech now, we’ll listen,” Frankie says. I think she’s the only one sober.

  “No. we’re heading out. You and Jax have these two dumbasses?”

  Seth’s head is on the table asleep and Knox is on his phone, but he didn’t hear a word I said. He’s teetering like he’s about to fall out of the chair.

  “Yep. We’ll handle it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rian kisses her cheek and says goodbye, eyeing Jax one more time. She looks to Frankie and they share a look that I don’t really understand the meaning of.

  After we arrive home and open up our door, Rian bends down to pet Winston who’s tail wags a million miles an hour. He’s going to make an awesome big brother to whoever we welcome into the house.

  Before Rian can escape, I lightly grab her wrist and pull her back to me.

  “I know I say this all the time, but I really wanted to give a speech to all our friends tonight. I wanted to talk about what an amazing woman you are. That we were there at such a fancy event because of you. How you’re an example of what every little girl and boy should dream about becoming. Someone who didn’t accept the word no. Someone who I want to be a role model for my kids. A woman so fiercely determined she made her own opportunity.” I step up to her and cup her chin in my palm. “I love you so much and I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

  Her cheeks redden. “That’s what you waited all night to say?”

  I nod.

  “Oh babe, by loving me, believing in me, you bring that all out of me. That’s what I meant about not being where I am without you. You were my game changer. The one who made me believe in my worth and my talent. Let’s remember you were the first one to compliment me on a baked good.”

  “I do love all your baked goods.” I wink.

  She laughs and I pull her flush to me. “I’m going to walk Winston and when I return, I expect to find you naked in bed.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  “Role playing? I like it. Every day you surprise me.”

  “I have to keep you on your toes.” She kisses me and hands me Winston’s leash.

  As I step outside our apartment waiting for Winston to do his business, I look up to the building. Our building. The place that changed everything for me. I found my family here and my future wife, too. I truly am the luckiest man in the world. I was handed a lousy pair of twos and somehow now I’m holding a royal flush.

  Also By Piper Rayne

  The Rooftop Crew Series

  My Bestie’s Ex

  Blanca & Ethan

  A Royal Mistake

  Sierra & Adrian

  The Rival Roomies

  Rian & Dylan

  Our Star-Crossed Kiss

  Seth & Evan

  The Do-Over

  Knox & Lelani

  A Co-Worker’s Crush

  Jax & Frankie

  About Piper Rayne

  Piper Rayne is a USA Today Bestselling author duo. Our goal is to bring you romance stories that have "Heartwarming Humor With a Side of Sizzle" (okay...you caught us, that's our tagline). A little about us... We both have kindle's full of one-clickable books. We're both married to husbands who drive us to drink. We're both chauffeurs to our kids. Most of all, we love hot heroes and quirky heroines that make us laugh, and we hope you do, too.

  Website: www.piperrayne.com

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  Part XVII

  Out of the Eggnog

  Arell Rivers

  About… Out of the Eggnog

  When Sophia Jenkins enters the fairytale that is Jingle Balls, she’s no longer the daughter of a Chicago bus driver or even the nose-to-the-grindstone newly-minted camera operator. She’s the lucky girl celebrating her birthday at LA’s most exclusive party. And when the legendary band Hunte serenades her with “happy birthday,” she’s living the dream—until they tack on a certain asshat actor’s name who just happens to share her birthday.

  Mark Ivan hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Sophia since their last film wrapped. Seeing as how his Moscovite charm never let him down before, he’s more than happy to share the birthday spotlight with her. And he doesn’t plan to miss out on a second chance to woo the silver bell.

  When she realizes they’re both wrestling with pasts that haunt them, it appears Mark might get his wish. That is, until his pillow talk makes Sophia believe he only wants her to be another pretty bulb he screws into his long string of flings. Let the festivities begin!

  Out of the Eggnog is a short story in The Hunte Family Series by Arell Rivers. It follows the secondary characters introduced in the recent release, OUT OF THE GOLD.

  1

  Sophia

  The push of the crowd brings Melody and me closer to the bar swagged with holly and garland. A sign by a large punch bowl in the corner highlights tonigh
t’s “signature drink”—spiked eggnog. Even though we’re both Cosmo girls, who can resist a sip of the ’nog during the holidays, especially at an event called Jingle Balls? It’s only the most exclusive party of the year, and I’m here courtesy of the director of my upcoming films, Ned Nobleman, who gifted tickets to the entire cast and crew.

  She scores two cups and hands me one. “Happy birthday, Sophia!”

  We clink our glasses and step aside, away from the mad rush. On stage, her father Braxton Hunte takes the stage, backed up by his band, the legendary Hunte. Growing up, he was a regular presence in my life, who always made me believe I could do anything, unhampered by my much lower class upbringing. No matter how many times he tells me otherwise, though, I can’t bring myself to call him Brax. “Looks like they’re getting ready.”

  My best friend’s eyes skim over the band. “Yeah. They were excited for this gig, as they don’t get out to LA often.” And they scored her a ticket, for which I’m grateful.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Neither do you, Miss Lead Costume Designer.”

  She dances a little jig. “I still can’t believe it! I know the execs at HBO sent out that press release and I’m in Judith’s old office and everything, but sometimes I have to pinch myself, you know?”

  With a devious smirk, I pinch her arm. We burst into a fit of giggles. When they die down, I add, “Plus, your man is starring on Broadway now.” At my reference to Charles Wainwright, a/k/a Chase Wright, her cheeks pinken. Gah.

  “I miss him so much, but he has shows every day except Monday. I’ll be home then to share the whole day with him—and make up for lost time!”

  She’s so in love. Not that I’m jealous of their coupledom, but I do long for what she’s found. Seems that’s not in the cards for me, though. Either the rich ones only want one thing, or the guys from my “station” treat me like shit. Either way, I’m still alone with no possibility of my status changing anytime soon.

  I tilt my chin and affect the same demeanor I’ve worn all my life—bubbly party girl. After all, who doesn’t love being around her?

  On the stage, Hunte strums a few bars, and her dad takes the mic. “Welcome to Jingle Balls, benefitting testicular cancer awareness here in the City of Angels! Before we get started, we wanted to play a little song for not one, but two very important people here today!”

  Mel and I exchange confused looks. Hunte starts with “Happy birthday!” and it’s my turn to blush.

  But wait—who’s the other person celebrating a birthday today? I don’t have to wait long for my answer, as the band sings, “to Sophia and Mark.”

  At his name, my smile dips. Mark Ivan. The actor who played the villain in Doctor Manipul8—the last movie we filmed in Italy where Melody, an assistant costume designer, met Charles, and I was behind the camera—and who’s been cast as the villain in the trilogy I’m getting ready to shoot. Over six feet of gorgeous Russian male with heavy, dark brown hair begging for a woman’s fingers.

  But not mine.

  I stand taller. Nope.

  The infamous actor tried to woo me on set in Italy and almost succeeded—but I remained strong. When we hadn’t hooked up by the wrap party, he basically disappeared out of my life. That’s his M.O. He gets hot and heavy with one woman per film and dumps her by the end. She’s just a play toy to help him pass the time—his “shoot ho,” if you will.

  To be fair, he did text me a couple of times when we were back in the States, but he was at his home in Florida and I was with my parents in Chicago before moving into a rental here to prep for the upcoming film. While I did respond to those random texts after making him wait for my replies, nothing ever came of them. As expected. He probably was disappointed we didn’t hook up in Italy and was trying to even out his track record.

  During the time I’ve been adrift in my own misery, a big table with a huge cake has been wheeled onto the center of the hardwood dance floor. The table has a red tablecloth festooned with sprigs of real holly. The cake is a four-tiered, over-the-top monstrosity with green frosting. Red icing in the form of garland punctuates the levels. Yikes.

  Mr. Hunte says, “Sophia and Mark. Come out here and cut your cake!”

  “What?” I yelp.

  Melody grabs my arm. “I had no idea, or I would’ve told him not to do this.”

  My body remains rooted to the spot. Inanely, I note, “At least there aren’t any candles to blow out.”

  Around us, the crowd claps their hands. Well-meaning people nudge me forward.

  Melody whispers, “Go out there and cut the cake. Try to avoid slitting Mark’s throat with the knife. I’ll be here with your eggnog.” She steals the cup from my limp fingers.

  “Mel, I don’t—”

  Shouts of “Mark!” and “Sophia!” rise. With one last pitiful glance at my bestie, I square my shoulders and remember my mantra to be jolly during the holiday season. And every season. My posture straightens.

  I plaster a smile and acknowledge my friends and crewmates who have gathered on the dance floor as I waltz over to the cake. They touch my shoulders and wish me happy birthday. For his part, Mark whoops it up and dances his way to me.

  Not to me, I correct myself. To the cake.

  Desperate to look anywhere but at my fellow birthday twin, I pick up the knife and weigh it in my hand. In my mind’s eye, I play out a scene of my stabbing him without being noticed. Mel told me his neck’s off limits, but what about his stomach? A camera wouldn’t be able to capture the movement, as my actions would be hidden behind the oversized cake.

  Mark puts his hands to his lips and yells, “Happy birthday to our newest Camera Operator extraordinaire.”

  My fantasy dissipates as everyone cheers. At least he acknowledged my promotion. Feeling the need to reciprocate, I lift my lips into a half-smile and reply, “Happy birthday to our much older villain.” More catcalls ensue.

  Despite my best efforts, I become aware of the man standing next to me, radiating joviality that rivals Santa’s. Unlike the man in red, though, he smells like sin and heaven wrapped together in a heady cologne with vanilla and cinnamon undertones. Relegating his scent to the big man’s toy bag, I stare at the knife. “How old are you, Mark?”

  “Thirty. You?”

  “Twenty-five, old man.”

  Mark grins and whispers in my ear, “That’s five more years of experience to draw upon, my silver bell. Let’s cut the cake and give them what they want.”

  What? The festive knife slips from my fingers, but he catches it and offers it back to me, which I automatically take. Placing his hand over mine, we make the first cut as if we were newlyweds. Ridiculous.

  When the second cut’s made, he grabs a nearby plate where we deposit the slice. Mark’s baritone swells above my head. “Want me to feed you?”

  Around us, the crowd erupts.

  Plastering a feigned appearance of congeniality, in a low voice I reply, “No fucking way.” Leaving the plate on the table, I plunge a fork into the slice and bite off a small piece. It’s unexpectedly delicious given the outside—a delicate butter cake with eggnog-flavored buttercream icing. I close my eyes and moan.

  “Now that’s a sound I like to hear.”

  My eyelids fly open and I give my birthday double a death stare. Mark ignores my displeasure, steals the fork out of my hand, and finishes off my bite. In typical overacting fashion, he pretends to swoon. Then, dropping the fork onto the table with a clatter, he grabs me around my waist, twists, and dips me low.

  With his face directly above mine, and my hands clinging to his broad shoulders for dear life, I stare into his mesmerizing gray eyes. A clinking sound reaches my ears. “What’s that noise?”

  Mark stares at my lips. “They want us to kiss.”

  I push back, but he has me in a steel grip. His mouth swoops down and covers mine, much to the excited roars coming from the people around us.

  My body buzzes at the contact. Despite our previous flirtation, we never ki
ssed before. And right this second, I can’t imagine why not. His lips are so supple. I’m overwhelmed by the way his fingers flex around my waist. How his tongue seeks entrance into my mouth.

  He tastes of cake and buttercream. Seeking more of the deliciousness, I open my lips and his tongue enters with a tentative stroke. Which makes my head almost explode. How can this man with magic lips tie me up like a present under the tree?

  From far away, bada-boom plays on the drums, which jolts me back to the present. I pull my head back, severing our lip-lock, and struggle to regain my own footing. At the mic, Mr. Hunte says, “Well, that was a very happy birthday!”

  Mark’s mouth moves toward me again, causing me to stumble a couple of steps away from the actor who just rocked my world. Jerk!

  From the stage, Mel’s father asks, “How about we kick off this party with a little ‘Sunnyside Up’?” Around me, the crowd yells as the opening strains of one of the band’s older Number Ones is played. Behind me, staff wheel the birthday cake off the dance floor.

  Mark bites his bottom lip. “Want to continue what we started?”

  I squeak, “What?” While I make it a point to always be upbeat around other people, Mark doesn’t qualify for such treatment. Especially after that kiss. Which was so right it was absolutely wrong.

  Ignoring my response and the feet separating us, he extends his hand to me and bows. “May I have this dance, birthday girl?”

  I glance around. The people around us clap and start chanting, “Dance! Dance!”

  My body vibrates. If he kisses like that, I can only imagine how he does other things. No way! Shut it down, Sophia. I inhale, praying for divine intervention. When chants for us to dance like newlyweds multiply, I admit defeat and take his proffered hand. It’s large and has callouses, probably from working out. His thumb strokes the back of my palm, causing goose bumps to erupt up and down my arm.