by Box Set
“Hey, hand me the wet plates,” Ben says, grabbing a dish towel. “Got the log burning, and I figure we can talk and clean at the same time.”
“Uh, what do you want to talk about?” My heart’s falling over itself. I can’t walk away from Ben now that I know how wonderful he is. The stakes have just risen way above ordinary table stakes.
“What you said earlier about not being enough for me.” He takes a plate from me and swishes the towel over it.
Suddenly, I wish they had a dishwasher. This standing side by side, washing and drying is so intimate and ordinary, like a husband and wife. The conversation is anything but. Maybe I should put him on the defensive.
“When you’ve had hundreds, maybe thousands of women, how can my two measly half-hearted attempts mean anything?” I slide another plate to him.
“First of all, I haven’t had hundreds of women, not even close.” He deftly dries the plate and stacks it. “Secondly, I already told you I don’t care about your attempts with anyone else. You’re obviously not with them anymore, and I get the feeling there was no love involved.”
“Youthful experimentation.” I clean a glass and slap it in his palm. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”
For some reason, my entire body jitters waiting for his answer, even though I put on a casual, nonchalant attitude.
“Negativo.” He twirls the dishcloth inside the glass. “In fact, I’ve never made love before.”
“Ah … so, there’s a difference between making love and having sex?” I’m smiling so wide inside I could swallow the entire Bay Bridge.
“Absolutely, isn’t that the same for you and your half-hearted attempts?” He turns his dark, gleaming eyes on me and smirks.
“No love involved. And rather forgettable.”
“Yes. I agree. Let’s not ever bring it up again.”
I fish another glass from the suds and rinse it off. “Pinky promise.”
He takes it from me and hooks his large pinky around my slender one and shakes. “Pinky promises can’t be broken. That’s what my sisters always say.”
“Me and Lacy, too. I can’t believe a big linebacker like you pinky promises. What will it do to your image?”
I’m breathing multiple sighs of relief, but hiding it behind humor and banter. This went a lot easier than I thought. Ben’s not ever going to bring it up again, and I know Nash is a gentleman. The only thing I have to do is to warn him about me and Ben. Since I don’t have to go back to work, I can stay at my parents’ house at the tree farm while Nash camps at my apartment for the week leading up to the concert. Everything will work out. After all, it’s getting close to Christmas—the season of miracles and dreams come true.
The rest of the dishes go easily. Ben and I truly make a wonderful team. We’re so coordinated that we dance around the kitchen without crashing as we tidy up and put away the trash. Even the half-frosted Angel Cake is tucked securely in the cake holder ready for me to make another batch of frosting.
“You know what we forgot?” Ben grabs me from behind as I put the cake in the refrigerator. “Turning on the lights outside.”
“You’re right.” I straighten up right into his arms. “I can’t wait to see what you came up with.”
“The flamingos are pulling the sleigh tonight.” He picks up the Instamatic camera. “Too bad it’s foggy.”
“And dark.” It’s already after midnight, but maybe we’ll get lucky with the moon. “But that would make it more romantic. Like we’re inside a cloud together.”
“More private,” he agrees. “Put on your shoes.”
A few minutes later, we clamber down the steps of the porch, feeling for our steps in the dark, dense fog. Ben guides us along the side of the house while I hold onto his belt loops, not wanting to get lost, well, in reality, not wanting to let him go. The fog gives me an excuse to cling to him.
“Found it.” He opens a metal box. “Give me your hand.”
Aww … he wants to do it together.
I eagerly clasp my cold hand in his big, hot mitts.
“Ready?” He draws me close and kisses my forehead.
“Eyes on the lights, buddy.” Secretly I’m smiling, but I don’t want to miss the lights, even if they’ll be hard to see in the swirling fog.
“Got it. Three, two, one.” He uses my finger to flip the switch.
I catch my breath at the faint, fuzzy colors shimmering all around me. They glow with a soft warmth and blink like magic fairy lights. I can dimly make out rows of spotlights, each arranged to shine on a snowman, the Christmas train, and the sleigh.
“Come, let’s go say ‘hi’ to Santa,” Ben says, leading me over the lawn to the line of flamingos, each with a pink glowing belly. “There’s Brittzen leading the way.”
I bend over to see her name marked on her glowing belly, when Ben snaps a picture with the Instamatic camera.
“Let me get one of you and Santa,” I say, taking the camera.
“I’d rather have one with the Colleen Angel.” Ben saunters to the center of the lawn, where he’s put the angel with her lighted wings on top of a soapbox.
“Okay, ready?” I push the button, but nothing happens. “Darn. We’re out of film.”
“Did you advance it?” He chuckles.
“The buttons aren’t working.”
“Didn’t your mother ever show you how to use a vintage camera? No batteries, remember. See that ridged wheel? You turn it until it stops.”
“Oh, well, duh, I must be a lot younger than you.” I feel so stupid. Of course, no electronics means I have to turn the wheel to the next frame of film.
He poses back with the angel, and a lump careens to my throat. My Ben has such a big and loving heart that he’d never forgotten his one-day-old sister. Meanwhile, Nash had acted as if nothing had happened—not once mentioning his family other than to say they didn’t understand him—an artist lost in a sea of Philistines, or so he’d always claimed.
Ben puts his arms around the angel figure’s wings and tilts his head so it rests almost on the halo.
Snap.
The bright flash showers light over the angel, and I’m not sure if I’m seeing things or not, but for a moment, shadowy figures flit in the fog—a grayish image of a woman holding hands with a little girl and another one with her hand on Ben’s arm. I narrow my eyes, but it’s dark again and there’s nothing but mist.
“What’s wrong?” Ben steps toward me, holding out his hands. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
I swallow hard, my jaw trembling. I don’t want to give him false hope, or put things in his mind. I’m probably tired and my imagination’s working overtime. “No ghosts, but maybe a trio of angels.”
Chapter 54
~ Ben ~
Grandma, Mom, and Colleen.
The thought flitted through Ben’s mind as the hairs tingled over the back of his neck. He blinked and walked to the angel, staring at the white lights winking in the mist. A slight breeze stirred the yarn his grandmother had glued on as the angel’s hair.
Brittney was too kindhearted to be shitting him. The way she’d gasped, her eyes big as saucers meant she saw something. Could they still be around? Or their spirits?
He turned his face toward the cloudy night sky, searching for a clue. Unfortunately, even the moon was hidden, only a faint glow visible behind the tall trees.
Brittney glided to his side and slipped her hand around his arm. Just having her warmth at his side was like no other feeling he’d ever known. A calming peace descended like an old worn blanket as the mist thinned over the trees enough for the moon to peek through.
Over the treetops, a faint twinkling grew brighter.
“A star.” Brittney gasped and pointed.
“The Christmas star.” He hugged her close. “Mom says it means a special blessing.”
They stared at the winking star in awed silence. For the first time in a very long time, Ben breathed evenly and felt surrounded by love. He could
n’t be sure if it was his imagination, or the phonograph had started again inside, but the sounds of an angelic chorus singing glory to God on the highest echoed in the quiet Californian night.
Brittney turned her wide eyes on him, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she raised a hand, silencing him. The chords vibrated faintly through the silent breeze, rising higher, higher, spilling up over the treetops, until he knelt to the ground and raised his hands.
A cloud of light rested over his broad shoulders, soft like lamb’s wool and warm with love. The presence of his loved ones, even on the other side of the veil, renewed his tired heart.
It was time to let love win.
Chapter 55
~ Brittney ~
I kneel awed at Ben’s side as he bows his head and speaks to the angels. I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, but the sense of peace that floats over me lets me know everything’s going to be okay.
The night is silent and still. Even the breeze has stopped as the fog thickens. I bade Ben’s mother, grandmother, and sister a silent farewell, assuring them I’ll always be the sunshine in his life, that I’ll do everything I can to give him the love and happiness he deserves.
I ignore the dampness seeping through my sweatpants where I’m kneeling, but the lowering temperature makes my teeth chatter. I don’t move since the moment is too sacred and special.
Ben raises his head and looks toward the star, but it’s gone now, hidden by the thickening fog. He notices I’m cold and puts his arms around me.
“Want to go inside?” His voice rasps husky.
“Yes.” Looping my arms around his thick neck, I grace his lips with a tender kiss.
He smiles down at me, his eyes watery, but there’s also a look of wonderment—an openness that wasn’t there before.
My smile glows from deep within my heart, blossoming like a rose in the snow. As our steps crunch through the dried leaves and up the creaky steps of the porch, I feel as wild and carefree as a seagull hovering over the currents high above the churning sea. I’m free from my past, and he’s free from his. In the wee hours of our made-up Christmas morning, we can finally let ourselves go.
We must be on the same wavelength, because he doesn’t pause at the threshold trying to decide whether to go to the kitchen, great room, or bedroom. Forget the hot chocolate in front of the fire. We’re well on our fifth date by now.
He turns left, picks me up and kicks open the bedroom door. We fall onto the bed with our lips pressed together. I clutch him tight, pulling him over me, and he attacks me with his hungry lips, sucking and nipping.
Coils of desire churn in my belly and sparks mainline their way down to my clit. I wriggle and squirm, sliding my hands under his tight shirt. His chest is hot and hard. How I want to be pressed against it, skin on skin.
His hands rove over my back and down to my butt, cupping it, then under the football jersey I borrowed from him. I raise my hands for him, and he shucks it over my head, tossing it.
I hadn’t bothered to put on a bra, so of course, my enormous monstrosities bounce into hands large enough to palm a basketball—not that I’m that humungous.
Heat flares and that full, warm delirious feeling returns. Ben massaging my breasts is like hypnotism, drugging me into an addiction of lust and want. His weight crushes me briefly, but he props himself up with one arm as he strokes my body.
I run my hands all over his hot and hard chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so close to a man, especially one this perfect. His sexy scent washes over me, and I’m melting under the delicious kisses as my fingers explore every ripple of his anatomy.
“I need more skin on skin, take off that ugly shirt.” I tug at the bright orange Shopahol shirt. “Why should we advertise for them when they threw me under the bus?”
“We won’t.” Grinning, he sits up on the bed and shrugs off the t-shirt. His rippling muscles and rock-hard abs bulge dangerously, and drool collects in my throat. Wow. The dusting of black hair and the way it whorls, thicker below his belly button, is enough to drive me crazier than ever.
He’s still sitting, with his legs arched, knees up and back against the headboard, so I take charge and straddle him. Taking control, I shove my breasts against him, hot skin to hot skin. The ridge of his cock strains and throbs as I rub myself over his tight elf pants. There’s no way he can take all this stimulation without coming apart. Please, please, touch me. Suck on me, lick and grab. I want it. Want you, Ben.
“I can’t hold back if you keep doing that,” he groans, his eyes half-closed with lust, but his lips firm. “Maybe we should stay at second-base.”
“I thought we were okay. Is something still bothering you?”
He shudders, as he lowers his eyes to my chest. “I want to, but I feel things for you. I can’t take what you’re offering. Not right now.”
A bucket of ice pours over me, and suddenly, I feel like a slut, especially since I slept with his brother who could be sleeping on my bed in my apartment at this very moment. Maybe he senses something, or his mother or grandmother clued him in, or he changed his mind about me. I cross my arms over my breasts and back off his crotch, bumping into his knees.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I grab wildly for the oversized jersey. Actually, I need my own clothes. That Shopahol shirt, no matter how dastardly, has to be somewhere in the bed.
“No, please, don’t be upset.” He pours himself over me, pinning me to the bed. “I want you so much, so very much, but not like this, not yet.”
“Is it something I did? Did I come on too fast?”
“It’s not you.” Despite what he’s saying, his weight over me reassures me he’s still in the game. “I made a promise to my mom, and tonight, when we saw the Christmas star, I knew you were the blessing, the present I shouldn’t open until Christmas.”
“Oh, right, and today’s not really Christmas. But who’s counting?”
“You’re not upset, are you?” he asks in all his cluelessness. Of course, I’m a little upset. I practically threw myself at him, and he turned me down. But then, I froze on him earlier, and he’d handled it a lot better.
“Of course not.” I reach up to caress his tight shoulders. “I made you uncomfortable and I should have backed off. I guess we women assume guys are always down for it, like all you ever do is think about sex every six seconds.”
“We do. Especially if we’ve never done it before.”
“Wait. What?” My jaw plummets and my stomach twists as if I dropped off a screamer roller coaster cliff. “Are you saying you’re a virgin? But didn’t you have sex with all those women?”
“It wasn’t making love type of sex.”
I shift from underneath him. Being covered by his heat and in a sexual position and talking about his denial is too weird. “I think we should get that hot chocolate now, and you can explain to me what exactly you’re talking about.”
“I promised my mother I wouldn’t make love to anyone unless I loved her totally and completely.”
“But, what about the groupies? Or the strippers?”
“I set my limits and that’s that.” He backs off from on top of me and sits on the bed sideways. “I’ve had sexual contact before, but as long as I come, it doesn’t much matter how.”
“This might be too much information, but since you started it, you’re going to have to spill.” I pull my hair into a ponytail and grab an elastic from the night stand. “Looks like we’re having the hot chocolate after all.”
“With a couple of shots of Jack Daniels.” He gives me a decidedly nonvirginal smirk.
I hop from the bed and wag my way to the kitchen. Either I’m in an alternate reality, or Ben’s pranking me. Virgin, my foot!
His heavy footsteps plod after me on the rough-hewn log floor, but he stops at the fire and pokes it while throwing on another log. With the way we keep going, all the icecaps will be melted before we get to third base, or in football terms, inside the twenty.
“Why do you have that funny smile on your face?” Ben asks, popping a fat marshmallow into his mouth.
“Nothing.” I arch my eyebrows and pour the hot chocolate into thick mugs—one for Santa and the other for Mrs. Claus. “Do we have any candy canes to put in these?”
“Whoever heard of candy canes in hot chocolate?”
“Oh? You didn’t know? It’s a North Pole tradition.” I cup my mug while he pours a splash of whiskey into my chocolate drink.
“We might have some left over from one of the guests.”
“Nah, don’t want old candy canes.” I take my mug and pad to the living room. “Speaking of candy canes, whatever happened to your boxers? The air conditioned ones?”
“My lawyer’s using it as an exhibit to show I wasn’t purposely trying to arouse anyone.” Ben follows me. His hand at the small of my back sends warm vibrations through my body, and I suppress a quiver of delight.
I take a small sip of the steamy chocolate and set it on the coffee table while I arrange myself on the Navajo rug in front of the fireplace.
With a loud sigh, Ben sits next to me and pulls me into his arms. “Guess I have some explaining to do.”
“I think you’re teasing me.”
“Nope. I’m truly serious, but you can’t let anyone know.”
“You mean I can’t broadcast it on social media? Bamm-Bamm Powers is a virgin?”
“It’ll ruin my reputation. How are the quarterbacks going to quake in fear when confronted by a virgin?” Ben’s face is serious.
