A Christmas Spark: An Enemies to Lover's Christmas Romance (A Pride and Pranks Romance)

by Cindy Steel

  “To be honest, I’m not sure where he is now. I was laughing too hard to take note,” Chase said, squinting as he meticulously scanned the kitchen.

  My heart sunk to a new low. He could be anywhere. I hope Chase made a good pillow, because I guess that meant I wasn’t leaving the table for the night. I forced myself to stop thinking about using Chase as a pillow, and instead I pleaded in the most pathetic voice I could muster. “Please just go find it and kill it.”

  “Just face it. He’s a part of our family now. What should we name him? Harold?” Chase asked, nudging me with his shoulder. Which, if I had to guess, was exactly three millimeters from mine. So much for space.

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Sure. Harold it is.”

  “I don’t do mice because they are disgusting, disease carrying rodents of grossness. Why don’t you do mice?” I asked him, half-debating over whether or not I should lean my head on his shoulder. It happened to be just the exact height of a shoulder my head needed. Suddenly, I felt very tired. I was nothing if not a walking contradiction.

  “I had a bad experience.” He drew out the word ‘bad,’ while his tone of voice sounded as though his memories had drifted to somewhere long ago.

  I looked at him, waiting for him to add more. Nothing came. “What happened?”

  “Nope. Not going back there. Just know, it was enough to make me completely comfortable jumping on the table like a little girl.”

  We sat there in dejected silence before Chase reached behind him, grabbing a handful of checkers pieces that hadn’t flown off the table in all the crazy. He threw a black circle toward the front door. It clattered to the floor with an unimpressive force.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’ll feel better once I know where he’s at. I found a sack full of traps in the laundry room earlier that we can set, if we know where he is.”

  I picked up a checkers piece and threw one towards the kitchen. We waited, our ears perked for signs of life, before Chase threw another, this time toward the living room. A few long moments passed between us, as we sat in companionable silence, you know, trying to coax a mouse out of it’s hiding place.

  “So, what kind of books do you write?”

  I made a face, though he didn’t see it. Looks like we were going to play the question game after all. I threw another checkers piece. “I write books for women.”

  “For women, huh? The kind that are down that one aisle in the grocery store with the half-naked men on the cover?”

  “What grocery store are you shopping at?” I threw a chip at his face. He laughed and swatted it away with quick, athletic prowess.

  “Violent reaction alert. I think I got one right.” He laughed, as my cheeks grew ruddy.

  “No. I don’t write those books. My books are women’s fiction. And yes, they do have a bit of romance in them, but they are nothing like those books. Nobody is ever naked.” Okay, the last part was true, but the ‘bit’ of romance part is stretching it a tad. The romance is definitely the main plot. I can’t help it, I was born a hopeless romantic.

  He laughed. “So is this week just feeding a flame for you, us all cozied up together in a mountain cabin?” His eyes grew wide as he asked, “will I be in your next book?”

  I opened my mouth only to close it again, thrown off balance for a moment. Did he somehow get a hold of my computer while I was showering or something? Denial. Denial. Denial.

  “Ha. No way. I still can’t believe that out of everyone in the world, I got trapped in this cabin with Chase Riley.” I smirked at him. “It’s a cruel world.”

  He just kept grinning at me as if he knew. My eyes narrowed—if he broke into my computer and saw my latest plot outline, I was going to kill him. After I hid in my room for the rest of the week. I mean, assuming I get off this table, of course.

  “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Perhaps, that wasn’t the most tactful transition, but I felt desperate to change the subject. Talking to close friends about what I write was hard enough, talking to Chase Riley was impossible. “I mean, I understand perfectly why you wouldn’t, but looks can be deceiving for some.”

  Crap. I heard it. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  His eyes lit up as a lazy smile emerged across his face. “What are you saying?”

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my sweatpants. His sweatpants. Ugh. Things were starting to feel confusing. My heart started to pound, even while I tried to play it cool. “You know what I meant.”

  “I do now.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  His smile finally faded, and he threw another checker’s piece. “I’ve had girlfriends in the past, but nobody ever stuck. Simple as that.”

  “Was there a shortage of blonde cheerleaders?” My mind drifted to several cheerleaders, all of them blonde, that he had dated throughout high school. Not that I was keeping track, but Eugene was a small town.

  “If I still wanted a blonde cheerleader, I’d be with one now.”

  I folded my arms, leaning forward on the table. “So many women throwing themselves at you, is that it?”

  “Nah. But there is one playing hard to get.”

  I stopped breathing. The tension once again found its way into the room between us—crackling. I stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him, even as I could feel his stare burning a hole into the side of my head. The head that was currently spinning. What world did we land in? Was Chase Riley making a pass at me? At me? Of course not. I was the only thing for miles around, with female parts, trapped in a cabin with him. That’s all it was.

  She looks like my dog but not as hot. Yeah, and I’d do well to remember that.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to move the air between us. “What do you want in a woman then? Enlighten me.”

  He blatantly looked at me, then his eyes roamed around my face, just long enough for my heart to start pounding. My breath hitched before he said, “next question. How about you, Blister? Twenty-eight years old. I would have thought you’d be married with four kids and a minivan right about now.”

  My heart plummeted. That is why conversations with him were impossible; they left me feeling weird and unsettled, with my emotions all over the place. His question cut me deep, but I refused to show it. There had been a time I had thought so as well.

  “I’ve had boyfriends in the past, but nobody ever stuck. Simple as that.” He smiled at me when I threw his words back at him. All of a sudden, I realized how close we sat to each other. The sides of our bodies were practically one. If I moved one tiny finger, our hands would be touching. Why was he still looking at me? His eyes dropped to my lips and suddenly, I needed to get off the table. Mice or no mice. I took a small breath of courage before I leapt from the table and dashed toward the hallway.

  “I’ll grab the traps. You set them up.”

  “Hey, get back here, I didn’t make that deal!”

  “It’s only fair,” I shouted from the laundry room. I found the sack of traps Chase had mentioned and ran back toward him. I flung the bag onto the table next to him.

  “What are you so scared of, Penny?” He asked, his hands flung out wide as he looked at me. My breath hitched at the sound of my real name from his lips, and I held his gaze for about three seconds too long.

  “Mice.” I said, turning to bolt down the hallway. Even when he called down the hallway after me, I refused to look back. I retreated as quickly as I could to my room, away from Chase, his eyes, and his hotness, and wrote a couple chapters for my new book—about two people snowed in at a cabin.

  I was in trouble.

  * * *

  Somewhere in the middle of the night, a loud snap sounded.

  And just like that, Harold was gone.

  * * *

  The next morning, I sequestered myself in my room once again, trying to write. For some reason, my mind had been unable to settle. I didn’t allow myself to think about sitting on the table with Chase, instead I chos
e to fixate on our poker game. Something had been bothering me about the game. The win had been too easy. Card games are half luck, but Chase had been acting strangely before my win. Pandering with questions and distractions before he showed his cards. I almost didn’t want to say it, or think it, but… had he somehow thrown the game? Lost on purpose?

  The thought humiliated me. Especially since I had done, not one, but two victory dance laps around the table after my win. A small part of me, probably the warm and comfortably dressed in his sweats and sweatshirt part, felt touched by the gesture. Either way, I had to figure this out, because I couldn’t gloat or tease him anymore if my win wasn’t a true win. But, he would never let me win. Would he? Of course, the whole thing was his idea, with the thought to get me some clothes. So maybe he was trying to ease his conscience. Still, Chase Riley letting me win? I wouldn’t stand for it.

  How did he do it? What was so off about the game?

  After thinking about it a bit longer, to no avail, I peeled off the covers and got out of bed. I re-rolled the bottoms of Chase’s sweats up to keep them from dragging on the floor and rolled the elastic waste band a couple times to make the cinch tighter around my waist. The sweatshirt was also too big, but other than pulling up the sleeves, I couldn’t do much to help it. I wouldn’t win any fashion contests, especially with the boxer briefs I was wearing, but I had never felt better.

  That being said, I only ventured out to the kitchen after I had showered, put on my makeup, brushed my teeth and, if I’m being completely honest—shaved my legs.

  Chase stood in the living room, putting on a pair of fishing waders over his coveralls. He looked up and scanned my clothing with his eyes. Okay, I guess the only thing visible was his clothing. Though he didn’t look my way for long, I didn’t detect any lingering effect of yesterday in his eyes.

  “Looking good, Blister. I like your style,” Chase said. Good, we were back to Blister again. I found it was much easier to keep him and thoughts of him at bay, when ‘Blister’ was between us.

  “Ha,” I said, making my way to the kitchen, hitching up the sweatpants as I walked. As comfortable as they were, keeping them upright on my body all week might prove challenging.

  “What are you doing?” I asked over my shoulder, while I filled a glass with water.

  When he didn’t answer right away, I turned back to look at him. He held his hands outstretched and gestured to his clothing as if I had missed something very obvious. “I’ll give you one wild guess.”

  “Off to a wedding?”

  He snorted and pulled a beanie on his head. “Wanna come?”

  “Thanks, but it would probably start to get embarrassing for you when I out fish you again.”

  He stamped his feet in his boots, gathering up his tackle box and fishing gear, before adding, “awww, but I’d sure have fun watching you try.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to get some writing done today.” I opened the fridge for a snack out of habit, only to be disappointed. I eyed the pack of eggs inside, my mouth watering. A quick peek inside and I saw he only had about six eggs left from the pack of 18. I couldn’t do it. I sighed and grabbed another pack of maple sugar oatmeal from the cupboard. I refused to check the expiration date on the box, but the pack was hard and stuck together like glue. Only after adding water and some coaxing with a fork, did it finally mix together and resemble coarse oatmeal. After a quick buzz in the microwave, it resembled thick, tan sludge.

  Bon Appétit.

  “If I’m not back in two hours, send a search party,” Chase quipped as he opened the door, somewhat awkwardly, gear in hand.

  I sent him off with a wave. “Bring me home a hamburger.”

  He stuck his head back inside the door. “Still no mustard?”

  I met his amused gaze in surprise. My heart lurched—my body warmed. How could he have remembered that tiny detail about me? There were many Friday nights where Matt and our group would grab hamburgers, but I hadn’t realized my mustard fetish would be something someone would remember.

  Then he winked and said, “bye, Penny.”

  The door closed before I could say anything else, leaving me feeling funny, flattered, warm, like I didn’t want him to leave, and just a tiny bit confused by that wink.

  Chapter 7

  Blast it.

  That dang wink completely ruined the productive afternoon I had planned. Instead of typing furiously for my book, I found myself re-playing the wink and the mustard comment a thousand times. Each time the daydreams got a bit more farfetched. The last ended with a kiss, and that’s when I jumped up from the couch to do a few laps around the cramped cabin and grab a glass of water. Mercy. It couldn’t have been that long since a man had shown me attention. It was literally the tiniest amount of attention ever, and I was playing it in my mind like I had just been given the crown jewels.

  I brought my thoughts around to my last boyfriend, Conner. It had ended about three months ago—mostly on the basis of my roommate Connie, who told us we had the chemistry and excitement of a rock. Conner, who was a Geology professor at our local community college, had been flattered. I broke up with him the very next day. Honestly, other than my grocery budget lasting longer, and the fact that my evenings were spent watching TV by myself, I hadn’t noticed much difference in my life without him.

  It occurred to me that none of the breakups in my life had been devastating. At least not for me. Certainly no man I went out with had ever thought to wink at me. I didn’t even know winking was still a thing. Was it?

  Had every guy I dated been so vanilla? This idea was hitting me hard enough that I had to sit down. Conner, Trevor, Greg… all of them were nice, quiet, smart, safe—boring. Mostly great qualities, probably why I was drawn to them. All of them were very active in their careers—each in some sort of scientific type profession that I could never speak to them about, because I understood nothing they would tell me. We would have nice evenings out every once in a while, chuckle over our days together, and probably would have led a pleasant existence if something had ever worked out.

  But what I couldn’t understand was why I had dated virtually the same type of man since high school. I had always been confused and would roll my eyes at the over-dramatic way roommates and friends would break up, or get broken up with. So much angst, crying, and emotional drama. I had no experience with that. Every breakup of mine seemed more like parting ways from a business deal than having any sort of emotional effect.

  Had I been attracted to any of them? Yes. No? Maybe? They were each handsome enough in their own right. I was never embarrassed to be seen with them. Each of them adequate, if a bit reserved in the social department, but I never felt their presence in a room. I knew they were there, but I never felt them there.

  The last few days living with Chase had been super charged with him. I knew where he was at all times. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that kept me on edge. I was both nervous and excited to see Chase whenever he appeared, even though I played it cool. When we sat near each other on the couch, I was aware of every movement. Anytime our skin made contact, the touch had charged through my body.

  Was that what being attracted to someone felt like?

  Goodness, it was exhausting to not be able to concentrate all day long. Even when he wasn’t there, I was still obsessing over the tiniest bit of nothing. Granted, it was hard not to feel him there. One of his long-sleeved shirts lay flung over the couch. The fishing gear he hadn’t needed sat haphazardly on the table and partially on one of the kitchen chairs.

  Throughout all my productive writing time, I had imagined Hallmark movie scenarios in my head, where we’d be doing dishes together, our fingertips brushing in the water. Or playing another round of poker, but only not the version where we were putting on clothes. Alright, I’m kidding. I only got as far as him taking off his shirt. I forced my daydreams to stop there, but I couldn’t help taking one tiny second more to dwell on those abs. Or even him just looking over at me with his teasing eyes
and a smart-alec grin. That one stopped me in my tracks. The teasing eyes were my favorite part of Chase, I realized. None of my other boyfriends had teasing eyes. Kind eyes, which were also important, but not teasing.

  I hated the teasing. Didn’t I? I sure thought I did in high school but, deep down, wasn’t Chase the reason I re-adjusted my makeup before every Friday night hang out? The few nights he wasn’t there, I usually went to bed early.

  The clock on the wall read 4pm. No wonder I was feeling hungry. Restless. I reached into the fridge, about to steal just one egg, when I whirled around and looked again at the clock. 4pm. Chase had left at noon. He mentioned he’d be back in two hours. He was two hours late. How could I have missed that? I raced to the small kitchen window, looking out toward the lake, hidden by a cluster of trees next to the cabin. The sun had already set past the mountains, and darkness would soon be settling in. Only one set of tracks were visible, leading toward the lake.

  I looked again at the clock, willing it to turn itself back to the appropriate time. Should I go look for him? What if something happened? What if he slipped through the ice? My heart was pounding as I rushed over to the coat rack and flung my arms through the sleeves. I was just reaching for my boots when I stopped. What if Chase was completely fine? He probably just lost track of time. The man came out all this way to fish, he obviously knew what he was doing. If I came rushing out there to find him, I would never hear the end of it. The thought of his teasing alone was enough to redden my cheeks and caused me to shrug out of my coat. He was probably fine. I would give it another few minutes and then re-evaluate.

  I marched back to the couch and sat down. My feet tapped against the floor. The tick of the clock sounded through the cabin like a drum. My fingers itched for something to do. I glanced around and picked up the Louis LaMour book Chase had been reading the day before. Great. I would read a book, relax for a bit while I waited for Chase to come back. Not that I was waiting for him, I was just… taking a break. He was only a couple hours late. Not a big deal on the mountain. Time didn’t matter much up here. I opened the book to the first page and did my finest attempt at reading. It would be dark soon, so he would definitely be heading back any minute. I didn’t need to worry. I re-read the first line of the book.