"Why didn't you just say something?"
"And be that guy?" I shot back. "You hate that guy. The one who can't be friends with women. The one who expects things to change from friendship to something more. I didn't want to put myself in that position. I wanted to see if when I amped things up on my side, made things more clear, if you would respond to that or not."
"But then... then why the big scene last night? Because you thought I fell in love with Dasher at first sight, but not you?"
"Sounds ridiculous when you put it that way, but it is something like that. I've been right here, Dea. Day and night for years. If you didn't love me already, I think I was starting to see it wasn't going to happen."
"I did love you," she insisted, brows pinching. "I do love you."
"You know what I mean," I insisted. "And it wasn't looking like things were going that way. And I told myself that if you didn't seem like you were on the same page as me by the end of the Twelve Days of Christmas, that I was giving it up."
"Giving me up."
"No, yes, but no. I was just going to give up on anything more than friends with you."
"You put a clock on your feelings?"
"I'm not an idiot, Dea," I said, shaking my head. "I knew there was no running out of my feelings for you. But I was sure that, given some time and distance, it wouldn't hurt so much to be in love with someone who doesn't love me back. Or, at least, I hoped that would be true."
"You should have talked to me about it," she insisted.
A small chuckle moved through me at that. "I know you. I know you wouldn't have ever let yourself go there unless I showed you it was a possibility. You value our friendship too much."
"Well, yeah. It's important to me. You're important to me. And, I don't know, maybe you're right. We both know I'm not great at the whole relationship thing."
"Because you've never had the right man."
"You're the right man."
It wasn't exactly a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes. I am absolutely the right man."
"And back to my point, if you maybe gave me twenty minutes to process the fact that my best friend has had feelings for me from almost the beginning, I would have come to the same conclusion."
"Yeah?" I asked, trying squash down the tidal wave of hope, still needing more from her. "You're not saying that because you're afraid of losing me?"
"I am terrified of losing you," she admitted. "I felt like someone had ripped my heart out last night," she went on. "And it started to click that people don't feel that way about platonic friends. Or, at least, I've never felt that way. And then I thought about the way things felt on all our Christmas dates..."
"How did you feel?" I asked, needing to hear it. I'd never needed someone to validate my hunch as much as I did right then.
"Confused. And interested. And even more confused when I felt, you know, other things."
"What kind of other things?" I demanded.
"Things people don't feel for their friends," she said, gaze slipping away with that admission.
"Dea," I started, waiting for her gaze to slip to my face again. "I need to hear you say it," I told her, tone apologetic, but an insecure part of me had to hear the words.
"I... I..." she started, taking a deep breath, sighing it out. "I... want you," she admitted, wincing at the admission.
The smile pulled at my lips as my hand rose, running my thumb under her swollen lower lip. "Yeah," I said, nodding. "But that's not what I meant," I added, my fingers sliding to tuck her hair behind her ear.
"Oh," she said, her cheeks going the slightest bit pink at her words. She took another deep breath, her gaze finding mine, and holding. "I love you. I'm in love with you. And I want to give this a shot."
I wasn't prepared for how deeply I felt those words, how badly I had needed to hear them.
It was too much, to be honest.
It was so much that I had to lighten the mood in that moment.
"You're just saying that because you want to be Lillybean and Dasher's mom," I declared, giving her hair a little tug.
"Damn," she said, tsking her tongue. "You found me out."
"I love you too, Dea," I told her, going ahead and letting the depth of feelings slip into my words, watching as the words sank in, making her eyes swim a bit.
My hand slid to frame her face as my other sank into her hip, pulling her closer, sealing my lips over hers like I had imagined doing a million times before.
It wasn't long before things started to heat up, get carried away, until hands were drifting, searching, finding. Until the kiss got harder, more demanding. Until Dea's little mewling noises became whimpers and, later, frustrated moans as my fingertips slipped down her back, sank into her flesh.
Her hands, just as greedy, slipped down my back, then back up over my shoulders, down my chest, my stomach, lower, the contact sending off a shock of desire so intense that I couldn't keep my hands from moving down either.
They teased up the hem of her skirt, slid up the silky-soft skin of her inner thighs, slipping between, feeling her lips rip from mine as a whimper escaped her. Her fingers gripped my shoulders as mine started to drive her upward.
Her body shifted forward, face resting in my neck as my fingers slipped inside, teased her nearly to the point of no return before I pulled away.
"Not like this," I demanded softly at her objection.
I'd imagined this moment countless times before.
Not a single one of them did we have our first time in a bedroom at a party to the chorus of Christmas carols on a bed of strangers' coats.
"Yes, just like this," she objected, her hands taking charge, undoing my pants, slipping inside, getting me to the point of no return as well as her lips teased my lips, my neck. "Crosby, please," she demanded, voice a desperate, airless sound.
Any thoughts of denying her, me, us, disappeared as I turned her, pressing her back against the wall, my lips claiming hers once again as my hands sought to protect us.
My hands slid down our last barrier, waiting for her to step out, then grabbing her leg, wrapping it around my hip, then surging inside, my lips swallowing her moan.
Yes, I'd imagined this all countless times before, and in none of those did our first time involve a bedroom at a party to the chorus of Christmas carols, but, somehow, it was exactly right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dea
I guess I figured it would be awkward.
That was the one worry I had left after getting to the party, finding him, admitting my feelings for him, taking things to the next level with him.
There was always the chance of weirdness once the clothes were back on, and all the hormones started to level out. I worried that was especially a risk with a best friend turned more.
I should have known it was nothing to worry about, though.
This was Crosby, after all.
I didn't get a lot of time to overthink things directly after anyway. By the time all our clothes were back in place, the door was flying open, slamming back against the wall.
"What did I tell you kids about screwing around in... oh," Zach said, faux dad-voice slipping away as his gaze fell on the two of us. "Oooh," he went on, eyes widening, as he took in my messy hair, our flushed, and, more than likely, guilty faces. "In that case, you two kids take all the time you need," he said, grabbing the door, starting to pull it closed. "But we are doing the White Elephant in about fifteen minutes," he added, giving Crosby a beaming smile before shutting the door.
"Apparently, we weren't the first people to use this room tonight," Crosby said with a lopsided smile as he reached up to bring some order back to my hair. "Come on. Let's go finish the party," he suggested, reaching down to grab my hand, pulling me along with him.
And then, well, it was just a party. With Crosby by my side. Like always. Except now, he was holding my hand, he was curling my body in at his side, he was pressing little kisses to my forehead, to my lips, to the top of my head.
I thought there was no way a party could be better than with my best friend at my side.
I was wrong, though, because it was infinitely better with the man I loved. In the capacity I had been denying for so long that I wanted.
We left the party each a little tipsy. Crosby was now the proud owner of a set of triceratops taco holders while I checked out my "Fowl Language" cup that was a compilation of actual birds with dirty-sounding names. Red-billed Oxpecker, Southern Screamer, Blue-footed Boobie.
"Where to?" the cab driver asked, making a surge of panic move through me.
Because I needed to go home to Lock.
But I wanted to go home with Crosby.
"Two stops," Crosby said, rattling off my address, making my stomach drop.
Was that really it?
He was just going to drop me off?
Go back to his own place?
Then what?
Act like nothing happened?
Was he done with me? That quickly? Old, half-buried, mostly-denied insecurities welled up, making me think of all the times men lost interest in my mother after she spend the night or the weekend, about how she spiraled down after each rejection before throwing herself back on the market, trying to hook the next man, and how I swore I was never going to be like her.
I tried to object when my therapist told me that, in order to be as different from my mother as possible, I always sabotaged and ended my relationships before they even got a chance to get going.
I owed her an apology because she was absolutely right.
And the one time I didn't do that, I was getting driven home on Christmas Eve by a man who meant way too much to me.
"Hey, Dea," Crosby called, giving my hand a tight squeeze to bring my attention back to him.
"Yeah?"
"Stop," he said, giving me a knowing smile.
"Stop what?" I asked, trying to pull my hand away, but that only made him grab it tighter.
"Doom spiraling," he told me, chuckling. "We have two stops because you need to go grab Lock as well as a bag with your clothes for tomorrow and makeup and whatever else you need, and then we are heading back to my place for the night. So we can watch Christmas Vacation together like usual."
"Oh," I said, feeling hope swell up, chasing away all the dark and ugly that had been welling inside.
"You think I've waited this long for just half a night with you?" he asked, leaning over to press a kiss to my temple. "Don't be ridiculous," he added as the cab pulled up to the curb outside my apartment.
"Okay. Give me five," I said, rushing out of the cab and running into my apartment, confusing poor Lock as I threw half of everything I owned into my weekender bag—since I didn't see myself going home after Christmas day either—and then strapped him into his harness, and all but dragged him along with me, giving him promises of Lillybean and Dasher.
And then, well, it was practically like any other night with Crosby. We got back to his place, grabbed the dogs, took them all on one last quick walk in the cold, then changed into comfy clothes, climbed into his bed, and started watching Christmas Vacation together.
The only difference was, I was curled up on his chest, and his hands were absentmindedly drifting up and down my spine, eventually lulling me to sleep.
It was the best Christmas Eve of my entire life.
And, apparently, waking up in his arms with three dogs asleep at our feet was the best Christmas morning of my life as well.
"I'll do dogs, you do coffee," Crosby suggested when we eventually couldn't ignore the expectant looks on the dogs' faces for a moment longer.
"My hero," I said with a grateful smile, not exactly keen on the idea of heading out into the freezing cold just yet.
"Give me ten," he said, kissing my forehead, then shooting out of bed, calling the dogs behind him.
I let myself sit there for all of two minutes after I heard the front door close before I remember that while this was still Crosby, that this was now my Crosby who I kind of wanted to see me looking halfway decent, not with sleep-creases in my cheek and morning breath.
So I rushed out of bed to put the coffee on, then made my way back into Crosby's bathroom, laying out my outfit for the day, brushing my teeth, then climbing into the shower that warmed up about ten times faster than the one in my apartment.
It got so steamy, in fact, that I didn't even see Crosby until the shower door was opening, and he was stepping inside.
Gloriously naked.
Yes, gloriously.
Everything about a naked Crosby was glorious.
"Really need a cup of coffee," he said, moving under the spray as his hands sank into my hips, pulling me closer. "But I need you a little bit more."
"I must be pretty important if I outrank coffee first thing in the morning, huh?" I asked, giving him a saucy smile as his hands sank into my backside.
"You have no idea," he agreed before he gave me my first, and second, and third gifts for Christmas.
"Are you sure this is okay?" I asked, waving at my outfit.
Sure, I'd met Noel, and Clarence was practically family to me already, but I hadn't met his parents. And it all felt different now. I wasn't just one of Crosby's friends anymore. Which meant I wanted them all to like me, to approve of me with their son and brother.
"You look beautiful," he assured me, piling brightly-wrapped presents into a massive bag. And our first presents are always pajamas that my parents expect us all to change into anyway.
"Please tell me they don't match," I said, laughing. "We would look like a cult."
"There's usually a theme to them, but not exactly matching."
"Okay. So, what is the dog situation?" I asked, looking at Lock and Lillybean cuddling on the couch while Dasher squeaked a little gingerbread man toy. "I mean Lock and Lillybean are fine. But Dasher? Do we want to take the risk of all-around-the-place accidents? Or do we want to risk him whining and ruining the neighbors' holiday by locking him up?"
"I vote we close all the doors down the hall and hope for the best."
"Good plan," I decided, going to do just that while he finished packing up, then flicking on the TV so the dogs had some background noise.
And it was all just so normal, so comfortable.
"Wow," I said when Crosby led me into his parents' living room a little while later. "And here I was thinking you had the best decorations."
"Not even close," he admitted as we moved into the open space.
If Crosby's apartment was nice, his parents' was spectacular. It was very similar in design, in style, but everything was bigger, just a little more upscale.
The tree was a massive thing that nearly touched the high ceilings and was decorated in colored lights and bulbs.
"This is tree number one," he explained. "There are two more," he added, leaning me in toward the sound of voices around a corner where the kitchen was located.
Then there they were.
The absolutely most perfect family in the world.
The two gorgeous, loving, giving, stable parents and their three very different, but very close children.
And I got to be a part of it.
The perfect family.
And the perfect Christmas.
With the most perfect man at my side.
"You okay?" Crosby asked some time later while we sat cross-legged beside the second tree in the family room, the one decorated with personal ornaments that each had its own story. From the dining room ceiling spider that was a tradition on Crosby's mom's side to the little yarn ornaments he and his siblings all made in elementary school.
Discarded wrapping paper and clothing boxes were scattered around us, covering damn near every inch of the room because when Crosby's family did Christmas, they did it big, presents included. I had never gotten so many presents in a single holiday before. Hell, I was pretty sure all the presents I'd ever gotten from my mother combined since birth equaled what I got from Crosby's family. They'd even gotten Lockjaw toys and treats.
"Your family is like a greeting card. Or a Hallmark movie. I used to watch holiday movies featuring the perfect family and feel like they didn't actually exist, but also really wanting to be part of a family just like that. And here you all are. Being all perfect."
"And you are a part of it," he finished for me, nudging my shoulder with his. "I've spent every Christmas Day since we met here, all the while wishing you were with me. It's almost hard to believe you're here now."
"I guess we can count ourselves lucky that I have a less than perfect mother who canceled on me last minute, huh?" I asked, sliding my legs over his lap. It seemed that now that I had permission to touch him as much as I wanted, I couldn't get enough of it.
"I owe her something shiny and expensive," Crosby agreed, wrapping his arms around me.
"Her two favorite things," I agreed. And, for once, I didn't feel bitterness over that fact. I had understood for many years that I would never be anywhere near the top of my mother's priority list.
But, I was starting to realize that I was very close to the top of Crosby's list. And that, well, that was more than good enough for me.
"What?" Crosby asked, running his finger next to my lips where a small smile had settled seemingly perfectly.
"I just realized that we are in our very own Christmas movie," I told him, feeling my heart swell even bigger in my chest.
"Christmas pajamas, check," he agreed, waving toward our bodies.
"Over the top Christmas presents, check," I played along.
"Loving family to spend the day with, check."
"And sweet puppies to come home to, check."
"And maybe most importantly," he said, leaning forward slightly, pressing his lips sweetly to mine.
"A happily-ever-after of our very own."
Ugly Sweater Weather NEW Page 11
