Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  Crap.

  I glanced at Ash, and then back at PJ. The guy was a grown man. I could just leave the situation to resolve itself. God, I wanted this perfect night to go on. I wanted to see where it might end up. But PJ was my partner’s nephew. And so he was my responsibility.

  And my responsibility was now vomiting into a potted evergreen tree in the corner as his date turned away, looking appalled.

  “Hey, I think I have to go,” I said, standing and picking up my bag.

  “You . . .?” Ash stood too, his smile faltering.

  “I want to stay. I really, really do.” I squeezed his hand, trying to telegraph how completely I meant the words. “But I have a mess to attend to.” I nodded toward the mess that was PJ in the corner. “My assistant. My partner’s nephew. PJ. You met him earlier, only he was more upright then.”

  Understanding cleared the concern from Ash’s face. “Ah. Right.” Ash followed me across the space to where PJ had decided to lie down beneath the tree. Becky was a loyal first date, still standing by.

  “You’ve got your hands full,” I suggested, approaching her.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said, sounding a little panicky. “One minute he seemed totally sober, and then suddenly, it was like he melted!”

  “It’s okay,” I told her as Ash began lifting PJ into a standing position. “I work with him. I can make sure he gets home.”

  She looked unhappy, her eyes darting to PJ and then back to me. “I’m his boss,” I said, in case her concern was misplaced jealousy. “He works for me,” I emphasized.

  “It’s just that . . .” More hand wringing. “Well, we didn’t exchange information yet.”

  She wanted to see him again? After this? Well, good for PJ.

  “Oh,” I said, understanding showing me a clear course of action. “Give me your number. I’ll text you his info and give him yours when he’s more . . . Conscious.” PJ was practically asleep, slumped against Ash.

  Becky gave me her number.

  “Do you have a way to get home?” I asked.

  “Uber,” she shrugged, and ordered a ride.

  “Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I speak for PJ too.”

  “So nice,” PJ slurred, surprising me.

  “I’ve got it,” I told Ash, preparing myself to take PJ’s weight against my shoulder.

  Ash frowned. “Let’s get your coat. I’ve got him.”

  I didn’t argue, and soon we were outside, waiting for the Uber I’d called. We didn’t speak, and the cold night air worked to erase the soft sense of certainty I’d begun to feel inside. Ash was gorgeous and compelling. But he also lived in Alaska, and I wasn’t exactly going to walk away from my company. How would things even work if we pursued this?

  The car pulled up and Ash helped PJ slide across the seat, the Uber driver giving me a dubious frown as I tucked PJ’s feet into the car.

  “Well, I said to Ash. I guess it’s goodnight.”

  He didn’t look happy, and something in his eyes made me want to press myself against him again. “You sure you have to go?”

  “I can’t just send him off,” I said. “He’s my responsibility.”

  Ash nodded lightly. “Okay then, Rose,” he said, and the sound of my name made me think he just wanted to hear the way it sounded from his lips, maybe test it one last time. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”

  I waited for him to suggest we exchange numbers, even though I knew this couldn’t go anywhere real. All the possibility I’d imagined inside vanished in the face of reality.

  “Take care of yourself in Alaska,” I said, suddenly protective of this huge man as my mind flashed through episodes of Deadliest Catch with a shudder.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Boss,” PJ moaned from the backseat.

  “I better go,” I said. And I was about to pull my hand from Ash’s grip when he lifted it slowly to his lips and placed one more kiss on my palm. My heart screamed at me to stay close, to not walk away.

  “Good night,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, and a trace of sadness in his voice wrapped around my protesting heart as I slid into the car next to PJ.

  The car drifted away from the curb, away from Ash, and from a night where twinkle lights and the smell of pine and saltwater had me thinking I could be someone I was not, could have someone clearly not meant for me.

  “Becky had pretty hair,” PJ slurred as he slumped over again, his head coming to rest on my lap. “You’re a nice lady,” he concluded before he began snoring.

  Regret surged through me, and I had a sudden urge to turn the car around, to race back and tell Ash that of course we could figure things out, of course we should try.

  But it didn’t make sense. Neither of us could step out of the lives we’d made, and neither of us wanted to. It was clear Ash wanted to stay as far from San Diego as he could get.

  As I tucked PJ into my guest bed and texted my partner to let him know his nephew was safe, my heart felt strangely empty.

  I was not the girl who needed a man. I wasn’t the one who wished for things that couldn’t be. I’d never been that girl.

  Only now, maybe I was.

  6

  ASH

  Rose is Not King Kong

  It wasn’t like I’d expected that Rose would come home with me tonight and then we’d spend the rest of our lives happy ever after.

  Except maybe I did expect something.

  Something more than a quick glance at the curb as she went home with another man.

  Okay, yeah. That’s not quite fair. But she didn’t go home with me, and that burned. Deep inside me, there’d been a little kindling flame of hope, and the warmth of that tiny fire was so unfamiliar and unexpected, I’d lost myself to it for the evening. I’d forgotten who I was, and why meeting someone here in San Diego would be the worst possible scenario.

  Except . . . would it really?

  I watched Rose’s car leave, and turned, going directly to the bar inside.

  Max was waiting for me.

  “I watched you leave. Figured you had it buttoned up tonight.” His voce had always had just a touch of arrogance to it that was rubbing me the wrong way right then.

  “Nah. Didn’t work out.”

  “Right.” He ordered a scotch and as we took our drinks, we turned together, walking a bit away from the bar. “So when you had your tongue down her throat and she was practically scaling you like King Kong on the Empire State Building on the dance floor, things were not working out.”

  “They were not.”

  “Optical illusion, then.”

  “Could be. And I don’t like Rose being King Kong in that scenario, by the way.”

  “You’re a moron.” Max turned away from me, as if he was so disappointed in me he couldn’t even look at me.

  And looking at me wasn’t required right then, because everyone at the party was watching Trace Johnson again, as the huge goalie cleared the dance floor for a second time. He was pushing everyone to the sides, loudly promising them it would be worth it.

  “He needs to cut his alcohol intake,” I observed as Johnson handed his jacket to the woman in the silver dress, who looked exhausted.

  “He quit drinking in the off season. This is Johnson sober.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  The man on the dance floor was explaining to the irritated crowd that he’d been watching a lot of YouTube.

  “So, like, it only looks hard, right?” he said. “Watch. You just get a little bit of a running start, and then you do like a half-split kind of thing and just whirl the other leg around.”

  “Have you done a backspin before, Trace?” someone in the crowd asked.

  He shook his shaggy blond head. “No, you need a big open space and it’s gotta be kinda slick, and Mags won’t let me clear out the living room. But I’ve envisioned it, worked it through in my mind the same way I visualize a match. I�
�ve totally got it.”

  “Let’s see,” someone called out.

  “I need the right music,” Trace said, looking like maybe he was rethinking the backspin he’d promised. “Like some Run DMC or something. Old school.”

  The DJ delivered, and seconds later the crowd was nodding and the singing about hotels, and motels and Holiday Inns as Trace backed up a bit, preparing for his ‘running start.’

  The ridiculousness of the spectacle almost took my mind off Rose leaving, but there was a little part of my mind that was working around the hurt and disappointment I felt in constant circles.

  Trace took his running start and then slid to the ground, one leg out before him. As promised, the other leg followed, putting the guy on his back, but there was no spinning whatsoever. For a moment, the room was still. Then Trace tried again, lying on his back and shooting one leg into the air in a half circle. No spin. Several guffaws erupted from the crowd.

  “Fuck,” he said loudly, and then he tried one more time and a loud ripping noise followed as more people erupted in laughter.

  “Oh great,” he bellowed, his hands going to his butt as he laid on the ground. “Mags,” he called to the beleaguered woman holding his jacket and rolling her eyes. “My pants busted.”

  The crowd burst into all-out laughter as Trace got up. He was right. His tux pants were split down the back, revealing a pair of Christmas-themed boxers beneath.

  “At least I’m wearing my good undies,” Trace called out, leaving the dance floor with the pretty woman at his side.

  “Magalie puts up with a lot,” Max said, turning back to me. “So tell me again why you aren’t with Rose right now?”

  I was about to explain everything when a woman in a tight green dress practically bounced over. I thought I recognized her as one of the Oceanside Stars players, and the woman who had whisked Rose off earlier.

  “Why are you with him?” She asked Max accusingly, narrowing her eyes at me.

  This wasn’t Max’s fiancée, Tatum, and yet this woman seemed angry. Jealous? I was confused, and didn’t have the energy to try to figure it out.

  “We’re not together,” I volunteered.

  They both turned to look at me, surprise etched along the sides of Max’s mouth.

  The woman burst into laughter. “Together?” She recovered herself. “You’d actually make a really stunning couple,” she said. “But what I mean is, where the fuck did Rose go?”

  I’d been asking myself the same question.

  “Uh, she had to go.” I said. Who was this woman anyway?

  “But you got her number and you’re going to see her tomorrow.” It wasn’t even a question. She was standing quite close to me, crowding my personal space.

  “Ash, meet Tallulah.”

  “Hello,” I said to the woman practically glued to my chest and glaring up at me. “No. I didn’t get her number and she didn’t take mine.” I felt sad as I said it.

  “Yeah. Hi. I know who you are, and you’re supposed to be with Rose. It was working, I saw it. What the fuck happened?”

  Tallulah seemed to have a special affinity for the “f” word and a weird sense of entitlement to my personal business. “She needed to go,” I repeated. “It wouldn’t have worked in the long run anyway.”

  “What?” She pressed an index finger into my chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her finger pressed harder, and then her gaze dropped down to the finger, and she pressed her whole hand into my chest. “Wow. This is . . . Wow.”

  “Lu.” Max pulled her away from me.

  “Sorry,” she said to us both. “But all that—" she waved a hand to indicate my chest, “—is distracting.”

  “Right,” Max said, amusement coloring his voice. “So listen, Ash. Lu and I set you up with Rose because we thought you might be a good match. If you say there was no possibility at all that things could work, we’ll back off.”

  “No we won’t,” Tallulah protested.

  “But if there was even a chance,” Max went on. “Then Lu will give you her number so you can call her tomorrow.”

  “I, uh . . .” I prepared the lie in my mind. “I’d like her number,” my mouth said.

  “Phone.” Tallulah held out her hand to me, palm up.

  She was very demanding. I wanted to protest, but instead, I dropped my phone into her palm after unlocking it.

  “There’s a crab here.”

  I frowned. Crab? What?

  “Your wallpaper. It’s a crab.”

  “Oh yeah, that was a monster my guys hauled in right on the border of—”

  “If a big crab is the familiar face you’re looking at every time you pick up the phone, this is more critical than I thought.” Her thumbs flew across the face of my phone., and then she held it for a moment more while she fished her own phone out of her bag and swiped a few times at it. I watched her, pretty sure she was doing more than just adding a contact, while Max smiled out across the ballroom like a king surveying his kingdom. “Here you go,” she handed it back a few minutes later. “Rose is in there—it’s Rose Gonzalez, by the way. You guys were so busy groping each other you probably didn’t even exchange full names.”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the phone back. I tapped it to wake up the screen, and my breath left my lungs as Rose stared back at me. Tallulah had replaced my home screen photo and this one was much, much better. Rose. In a bikini. Laughing on the deck of a boat with her hair flying wild around her and her skin shining. She looked happy and free, and so pretty it nearly broke my heart.

  “Better, right?” Tallulah poked me in the arm, and then shamelessly wrapped her hand around my bicep. “My lord,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, better.” I wrenched my arm from her grasp the way I’d done with my grandmother when I was small. Tallulah shrugged and then bounced away.

  The evening seemed to be deteriorating, and without Rose here, there was no reason for me to stay. I said goodbye to Max and wandered through the cold night to my car, parked in a lot a few blocks away. When I got there, I sat in the driver’s seat for a long time, just looking at Rose’s photo.

  Did I have the guts to call her? And what would I be starting if I did? Could I see it through?

  I’d met the woman once, and as Tallulah pointed out, hadn’t even bothered to get her full name. But I knew she was strong and determined, I had a sense that family was important to her—she had seemed so shocked at the state of mine. And I knew she cared about people and would sacrifice her own needs if someone else needed her more—she’d done all that for PJ.

  I knew she was beautiful. God was she beautiful.

  I also knew that something had shifted inside me when I met her.

  Maybe that was enough.

  7

  ROSE

  Lost and Found

  I was not in the habit of answering the phone if it rang after ten p.m., unless it was work. And then only if I knew there was something going on that needed my attention. In my opinion, most things and people were not as urgent as they were made out to be. Most things, and most people, could easily wait.

  And whoever was blowing up my phone at eleven on a Friday night as I sat out on my patio and mourned the loss of an opportunity that had turned my heart inside out in one short evening, with one brief kiss . . . Well, that person could probably wait.

  Except something told me to answer the phone. That same thread of magic that had wound its way around Ash and me as we’d first met, and pulled us together all evening, was shimmering in the night sky on the patio now. It was a faint glow, like a whisper that made me do things I would not normally do.

  I sighed and leaned back in my chair, picking up my phone. I should have just left the damned thing inside. No good came from phone calls late at night.

  “Rose Gonzalez.” It was my business tone. Assertive and a tiny bit angry.

  “Ah, yes. Hi. Hello. Ms. Gonzalez. I’m calling about an item you left behind this evening at the party.”

/>   I knew I had not left anything behind at the party. Furthermore, I didn’t believe that any of the caterers or event staff were in possession of this particular voice. Deep, sexy, warm. Confident and cultured.

  “Did I?” I decided to play along. “I seem to have all my possessions. What did I leave?”

  “It’s a large item,” the voice said.

  “Would you say it’s bigger than a breadbox?” That was something my mother had always asked when we played twenty questions on road trips when I’d been a kid.

  “I don’t think most people know what a breadbox is anymore.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you have a breadbox?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Have you ever seen a breadbox, Ms. Gonzalez?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Then how do we know how large one might be?”

  “Want me to Google it?” I asked, laughing now, easing back onto the lounge chair where I sat. It was Ash. I didn’t know how he’d gotten my number, but I felt like I could talk to him about breadboxes all night and be happier than I’d felt in a long time.

  “I think that would be cheating. Ask me something else.”

  “Did you have a good time tonight, Ash?” I felt brave, sitting here in my own home, the night and its holiday magic wrapping around me as the stars burned bright overhead.

  “I did,” he said, his voice lowering like a secret just for us. “Until it ended too early. And I let a woman I’d hoped to know better disappear like Cinderella, without getting her number.”

  “But you must be very resourceful. You got it somehow.”

  “Tallulah gave it to me. I didn’t know if you’d pick up this late.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t.”

  “I wish we’d had a little more time together.”

  “I do too,” I said. Where would things have gone if we had? And really, in the long run, where could they go? “Maybe it was for the best,” I tried, not believing my own words and hating them as soon as they were out of my mouth.