Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  “I thought we were looking for a pack of Arrows season tickets?”

  My eyebrows reach for my hairline as I swing my head to Skye, who looks anything but apologetic. “Oh, did I forget to mention there are two auction items missing?”

  2

  “Oh my God. Both Bronte and Gunner Nix must think I’m insane.”

  “Stop it. I already explained it to them. Nobody thinks you’re insane. Except those of us who know you best.” Skye links her arm in mine as she pulls me along to the ballroom again. She thinks just because she used to babysit me, she can still boss me around.

  We just had a word with the venue manager and her assistant, and they’ve promised to do their best to help us out. They’ll work with the security guard to review security-camera footage and inspect the staff areas, while Bronte, Skye, Gunner, and I search the basement and main floor and look for suspicious behavior among the guests. “And stop using his full name. Gunner Nix,” she mimics my tone. “It’s disturbing.”

  “I can’t help it, okay. He’s a famous athlete—a freaking celebrity.” I desperately try to keep pace with Skye’s long strides on the marble floors as her heels clack a fast rhythm and my ballet flats shuffle in accompaniment. “That would be like talking about Robert Downey Jr. and casually referring to him as Bob. ‘Bob and I hung out the other night and watched him kick Thanos’ ass on his living room TV.’ No. Just no.” My head shakes almost violently at the thought.

  “You have some serious boundary issues, Lizzie.”

  “This isn’t news.” My hand swipes the air in front of us. “I still don’t understand what kind of criminal would choose a giant canvas out of all the other things they could have picked. I mean, the tickets I understand, but how the hell did they get past security with my painting? And why?” We turn the corner and I nod politely at a passing guest as I try staying upright.

  “Well, hopefully it’s all a big mistake, but the faster we figure this out, the faster we can get this auction off the ground. We have money to raise.”

  “You’re right. Let’s not drop the ball on this one.” I enjoy a private smile despite the tense mood.

  “I know you didn’t just say that.” Skye purposefully quickens her pace and drags me the rest of the way while I fight my first genuine laugh since discovering Gunner’s presence at this shindig and the mystery of the missing auction items.

  As soon as we reach the ballroom, Skye relates the new information to Bronte, who nods and comes to a decision. “Skye and I will take the main floor and ballroom since the guests will already be expecting their hosts to mingle. You and Gunner can inspect the basement.” He raises a silencing finger when I open my mouth to protest. I can’t just go off playing Hardy Boys with Gunner Nix! I’ll be way too distracted to be of any use. “Don’t argue. I won’t have you wandering around by yourself with a possible criminal lurking about.”

  Well, damn. That’s kind of sweet.

  I’m chewing my lip at Bronte’s words as Gunner appears out of nowhere by my side. “Looks like it’s you and me.” With our height difference, I have to tilt my head back in order to see his face. “Elizabeth, right?”

  Gunner Nix knows my name!

  He extends his hand and I blink stupidly when his lips curve in that devastating smile. “I’m Gunner. Let’s get the ball rolling, shall we?”

  At his choice of words, my hand goes on autopilot to take his while my gaze cuts straight to Skye in disbelief. Her jaw goes slack, and I swear I see her mouth, “Sweet lord, tell me this is not happening.”

  But it is. It is so happening.

  “So, how do you know Skye and Mr. Hughes?” Gunner gestures for me to pass through the door to the stairwell in front of him. I still can’t believe I’m supposed to carry on a casual conversation with Gunner Nix for the next however long. Civil conversation with hot men is not my strongest area.

  “I used to run around naked in Skye’s front yard.” Crap.

  Gunner’s foot catches the door jamb, and he quickly rights himself before tumbling headfirst down the concrete stairs. Nice, Elizabeth. You almost put one of the Arrows’ best players on the disabled list with your big mouth.

  “When I was three!” I quickly amend my statement. The words echo in the stairwell, and I glance up to see exactly how horrified I’ve made this man.

  But he simply tilts his head toward me and responds in an almost conspiratorial tone, “I used to pee on the fire hydrant in my parents’ front yard.”

  “Like a dog?” Did I just call Gunner Nix a dog?

  But he only grins at my question and gives a short nod. “Like a dog.”

  I can’t help the laugh that erupts.

  “See, that’s so unfair. Girls never get to do fun stuff like that. Female parts are vastly inferior when you’re a kid.” I shake my head and grab the railing to descend to the venue basement, suddenly not feeling nearly as intimidated by this guy. Maybe Skye was right.

  “I’ll give you that.” Gunner’s voice comes behind me as he follows me down, his dress shoes tapping on the concrete. “So, this painting we’re looking for… are you a famous artist or something? I have to admit I’m not much into the arts, even though I know Asheville has quite the scene.”

  “Famous?” I chuckle as we turn on the landing. “No. I have my work in a few local galleries, but I make ends meet by teaching classes at CU Asheville among other places.” I’m tempted to tell him about my students at the senior center and their obsession with painting nudes, but my determination not to embarrass myself more than necessary wins out.

  “That’s cool. I’ll have to look you up and check out your work.”

  Sweet lord, he has no idea how my dirty mind just interpreted those words.

  “I guess that’s only fair. I’ve already checked you out.” Crap, crap, crappity crap. “I mean I’ve been to a lot of games.” I manage not to trip over my feet, but I don’t dare look behind me.

  Gunner can’t hide his laugh, but how can I blame him? I pretty much just told the guy I’ve been perving after him. Smooth.

  But he follows up the laugh with a light tone. “Well, I appreciate the support.”

  God, he’s so freaking nice.

  I halt at the bottom of the stairs and turn to face him, blush and all. From his position two steps up, he towers over me, amusement lighting his entire face. Even in the dimly lit stairwell, I can make out the gold flecks in his brown eyes, as well as a small scar across the bridge of his nose which I’ve never seen before. He’s so good looking with his close-cropped hair and beard and that sexy-ass grin. And if this is the only time I’ll ever have with this guy, I’m going to enjoy it, dammit—even if we are hunting down a thief and could possibly be putting ourselves in danger.

  “My mouth gets away from me sometimes.” I go for straight-up honesty since I’ve already made an idiot of myself in this man’s presence.

  Gunner descends the last two steps and stops beside me, never breaking eye contact—or his grin. “I can see that.” His amused tone hits me in my lady town, but I forge ahead.

  “So, I’m apologizing ahead of time if I overshare. Or offend you. Or insult you—or your loved ones. I promise it’s not intentional.” Skye would kick my ass if she could see me right now. Her advice is to always maintain an air of mystery and leave them wanting more. My method, on the other hand, apparently favors putting all my crazy on display and inviting strangers into the clown-infested funhouse that is my head.

  But Gunner doesn’t flinch. In fact, he tilts his head down again, giving me my closest look yet into those beautiful browns. “I’m not easily offended, I promise.” His voice is low and almost intimate, causing me to clench my thighs together. But Gunner’s not done. “So let your mouth do whatever it wants, Elizabeth,” he finishes before winking at me and turning to the door leading into the basement. “You coming?”

  I’m left staring ahead at the space he just vacated, my jaw threatening to unhinge and my belly on fire. If I’m not mistaken,
Gunner Nix is flirting with me.

  Holeeeeey crap.

  3

  The basement’s not nearly as creepy as I anticipated. Turns out Scooby Doo is a bit misleading when it comes to amateur sleuthing because it’s already been ten minutes, and we have yet to encounter an amusement park owner dressed like a ghost—or a single Harlem Globetrotter.

  “It looks like the loading dock is that way,” Gunner whispers as he points down a hallway to our left.

  I crane my neck to see past him and whisper back, “That would probably be a good place to exit the building without running into anybody. Let’s check it out.”

  We turn down the hallway, our steps cautious.

  The flirty atmosphere sadly dissipated the moment we entered the basement and our task began in earnest. Neither one of us has spoken more than a few whispered words as we investigate the empty hallways, our footfalls scuffing quietly on the concrete floor—just further evidence that flats reign supreme over high heels any day.

  The chances of us finding anything helpful are slim, but I’m determined to do whatever we can to find that painting—and the Arrows tickets. I suggested calling the police, but Bronte and Skye said they didn’t want to spoil the mood for the guests, and the tickets are somewhat traceable if someone tries to use or sell them. Tracking down the thief that way would lead us to the painting as well—in theory, at least. But we’re on our own in the meantime.

  A metallic grinding noise stops Gunner and me in our tracks, and we simultaneously flatten our bodies against the wall, side by side. My eyes flash to his as it comes again, this time a little louder and accompanied by the faint sound of voices.

  “What is that?” There’s clear panic in my whisper.

  Gunner’s eyes widen as he peels a hand off the wall to point to an unmarked door a few yards down. “I think there’s somebody in there.”

  “I thought the manager said nobody was working down here?” I whisper-hiss through clenched teeth. I’m suddenly not so anxious to find our missing loot after all. In fact, this whole thing was a really, really stupid idea to begin with. Whose idea was it to send an out-of-shape painter and a professional athlete down to a dark basement to hunt down some criminals? Isn’t that more of a security-guard kind of gig? I mean, what if these guys have a gun? It’s not like I carry a set of nunchucks in my bra. I don’t even have my phone with me, now that I think about it! Heavens to Murgatroyd, I’m a terrible junior sleuth!

  I blink up at Gunner, wondering if maybe he has a weapon of some kind, but a new clanking sound ricochets off the concrete walls along with the clear sound of a male voice this time. “Quiet! Did you hear that?” There’s a brief pause where I hold my breath and make all sorts of promises to God. “Go check it out to make sure nobody’s out there.”

  The next thing I know, my hand is in Gunner’s and we’re sprinting around the corner and back to the stairwell as I decide Bronte is rich enough to make up the difference in any lost revenue from the painting and tickets.

  As we near the metal door, Gunner shoves me in front of him and reaches around me for the handle. I don’t have the headspace or time to properly sigh over him being protective of me, but I silently vow to enjoy it later when we’re both safe and sound in a more populated area of the building.

  Gunner jerks on the handle with his considerable strength and—nothing! It doesn’t open! “Shit!” His resulting whisper is urgent as he pulls again, but it’s no use.

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod!” I oh-so-helpfully offer in response before my forehead thumps on the closed door. But, while I might have already given up hope that we’ll ever see daylight again, Gunner isn’t accepting defeat. My hand is in his again as he steers us down another hallway, checking every door we come to in our race away from the mystery men.

  “Come on, come on, something be open,” he pleads quietly as the third door refuses to budge and we hurry toward the next one.

  I can’t help but keep my eyes glued behind us, expecting at any moment for some burly, gun-toting prison-escapee to appear around the corner and find us. So I have to bite back my surprised yelp when I’m pulled sideways without warning and find myself face first in Gunner’s warm chest as he presses our bodies against the now-closed door of a dark room.

  “Shhh.” I can feel his breath in my hair, and I hold as still as possible, willing my breathing to be silent. We stand like that for who knows how long, our bodies pressed together from the knees up and our chests heaving in close rhythm. Well, okay, so mine is going at about twice the rate of Gunner’s, but he’s a professional athlete, so I’m willing to cut myself a break on this one.

  The heat from his body radiates through my skin as adrenaline fires up my senses and I inhale the scent of sandalwood mixed with cinnamon and something I can’t quite put a finger on. But whatever it is, I want it to keep surrounding me in this little bubble of security Gunner is providing.

  I’ve almost convinced myself that we completely overreacted when the sound of male voices just outside the door has our spines straightening like matching steel bars.

  “I told you this floor was deserted on weekends. Nobody is gonna find us, so quit your bitching and moaning, all right? And put that gun away before you shoot a hole in the wall and alert everyone upstairs.”

  My molars almost crack with how tightly I clench my teeth at that.

  “Fine. But let’s hurry up. I got a bad feeling,” the other man responds, low and impatient.

  “Yeah, yeah.” The two voices continue down the hallway, away from us.

  I’m not even the least embarrassed when Gunner has to physically pry my fingers from where they maintain a death grip on his dress shirt a couple minutes later.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.” He keeps one hand holding mine while I feel him rustling around for something with the other. “I’ll call 9-1-1 and we’ll get somebody down here to straighten this out. Don’t worry, okay?”

  His voice is so calm, I’m blown away by his level of composure. But it reassures me enough that I manage to nod as the light from his phone screen offers a bit of illumination in the otherwise dark room. These guys must be after more than just the tickets and painting if they’re still hanging around. It’s just my luck that the minute I meet the man of my dreams, the authorities have to get involved.

  “Dammit.” Gunner grimaces at his phone.

  “No, no, no. No ‘dammit,’” I order him, my nod turning into a panicked shake. “Only ‘okay,’ okay?”

  He glances up at me, and I know what he’s going to say before he even speaks. “There’s no service.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip so hard it hurts.

  “Let’s try yours,” he whispers.

  There’s no way I can bear the look on his face at what I have to say next, so I keep my eyes closed. “My purse is upstairs.”

  “Okay. Right. Let’s think then.”

  My eyes pop open before I can tell them to. “You’re not mad?” The words are a little louder than I intended.

  “What?”

  I lower my voice again. “You’re not mad I didn’t think to bring my phone down here?”

  I can see his head shift back at that. “Why would I be? It’s not like you did it on purpose. And you probably wouldn’t have had service anyway.” He shrugs and looks down at his phone again.

  Good God, our kids are going to be so freaking sweet.

  The distraction of our future children is directly to blame for my response to Gunner’s words—which involves me hurling my entire body at him and enveloping him in a giant bear hug. “Consider this a version of oversharing,” I murmur into his shirt and actually feel him grin against the top of my head.

  It’s another minute before I regain my composure enough to let go, and I find I have a bit of trouble meeting his eyes.

  “Hey.”

  Of course my eyes do what they damn well please as my gaze flips right to his.

  “It’s going to be fine.
I promise.”

  He looks so earnest and handsome in the light from his phone, all I can do is nod in agreement and muster up a ghost of a smile to reassure him I haven’t fallen into the abyss of hysteria just yet. Gunner nods back and then turns to use his phone screen to start checking out the room.

  “Here.” He focuses the light on a wide stack of boxes. Let’s put these in front of the door since the lock doesn’t seem to work. Then we can just wait it out until Skye and Mr. Hughes realize we haven’t come back. It shouldn’t take long before they’ll try checking in.”

  I stifle a gasp at that. “What if they get locked down here with those guys too? Skye made me promise never to let her face appear on the evening news unless it was for something fabulous.” I point a panicked finger at the door and whisper-hiss. “Those guys and their guns are not fabulous.”

  But Gunner shakes his head, ignoring the second part of my rant. “No way. If Mr. Hughes and Skye can’t get ahold of us, they’ll be more careful than that.”

  “I guess so.” I bite my lip as I consider the matter. I can’t believe this is really happening.

  Gunner sets his phone down and bends to lift a box, so I join him, ready for something to do with my hands. It takes a few minutes, but we manage to pile at least a dozen of the heavy cardboard boxes against the door with minimal noise.

  “Better.” Gunner picks up his phone again and turns it toward our makeshift barricade.

  For the first time, I can make out the words on the boxes. “Biltmore Estate Winery.” No wonder they were so heavy.

  “Well, at least we won’t dehydrate if we’re stuck here for the long haul,” I offer with a shrug, feeling slightly calmer with all the wine blocking the door.

  Gunner doesn’t respond but turns the light to finish inspecting the room instead. Being no dummy, I glue myself to his side as we take in the space. The two back walls are lined with tall wire shelving packed with boxes and crates of various sizes, and an old refrigerator quietly hums in the corner. I point to a group of boxes labeled with the familiar Nabisco logo and turn my eyes back to Gunner.