I was aware I was doing it as a test. To see how she would react.
She just laughed when she saw it. “Subtle.”
“I figured it was classier than the nutcracker one that said “Deez nuts.”
“Fair enough.” Dakota told the cashier, “I don’t need a bag.” She then ripped off the tags with an impressive snap.
She pulled on the coat and stuffed the tags in the pocket, while the cashier rang up my hat. She tried to rip the gloves apart, but the plastic was thicker. She tugged harder. “Stubborn little jerk.”
“Let me try.”
For a second, I thought she was going to be equally stubborn and refuse but she begrudgingly handed it over. I snapped the plastic easily. When she raised her eyebrows I shrugged. “I have big hands.”
“I noticed.” Her head had tilted, lips parting.
That was flirting. I may have been out of the game for years, but I wasn’t an idiot. My dick got hard. I tapped my credit card on the scanner with barely a glance. “It has its advantages.”
She nodded. “I bet you’ve never met a pickle jar you couldn’t open.”
Not exactly what I’d been thinking. Hell, maybe I’d read her wrong. I took the hat from the cashier and absently thanked her. “Maybe that’s my superpower.”
Dakota laughed. “I think you can do better than that.”
“Maybe.” Then I winced at the song that started blaring over the speakers. “Let’s go. I hate this song.” The forced cheerfulness of that fake kid demanding a hippopotamus. It was just too much.
“You can’t hate this song. That’s impossible. No one hates this song.”
“A lot of people hate this song.” I opened the door for her. “I bet it’s sixty-forty in favor of hatred.”
“That makes you a Scrooge. Hates parties and hippopotamuses.”
“Is that even a word? Hippopotamuses? Isn’t the plural just hippopotamus?”
“I have no idea.”
“Me either. I’m going to look that up later.”
“You’re avoiding the real issue,” she said, as we crossed the street to the ice rink. “Your grumpiness.”
I wasn’t offended. I was just amused. “Because I don’t like parties and grating Christmas songs that have nothing to actually do with Christmas? So what? You can’t like everything.”
“I do,” she said. “I like everything.”
It was a ridiculous statement. No one could possibly like everything. But she didn’t seem to care.
“Brandon, look! There’s almost no one in line. Our timing is perfect. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me forward.
I went. Very, very willingly.
* * *
Big hand. Yep. Brandon had a very, very big hand. I had impulsively grabbed it in my rush to get to the nearly empty line (which never happened anywhere in New York ever) and now my own hand was enveloped by a large, callused very masculine and surprisingly warm hand.
We were holding hands. And I kind of wanted it to never end. His touch was comforting, and was giving me all the feels. Not to mention now I was again fixating on his overall largeness and what that might mean for sexy times.
But I had to drop his hand to open my purse to pay for my ticket. Brandon beat me to the punch and handed the cashier his credit card. I thought about protesting then decided why would I turn down a nice gesture? It wasn’t like I’d asked him to pay for it.
“Thank you,” I said, instead of protesting.
“You’re welcome.”
While he got the tickets and skates, I texted my friend Felicia. She lived the closest to Rockefeller Center and she had a huge townhouse. I could crash there tonight. She had a baby, but that actually worked to my advantage. Felicia fretted about everyone and everything now. She had gone full-blown Mom Warrior.
She answered immediately.
Of course you can stay with us tonight. Michael and I are actually out to dinner. Amelia’s with my in-laws. We’ll swing by and pick you up. And if I see Dante I will kick him in the bollocks.
Perfect. I knew she would have my back.
“Here you go,” Brandon said, handing me a pair of skates. “Last chance to bail.”
“That’s not happening.” I sat down on a bench and undid the straps on my heels. On went the green reindeer socks and the skates.
I’ll be honest, standing up was a little scary. It’s harder when you’re tall. Your center of gravity is higher. I’d spent my middle school years jealous of petite gymnasts and figure skaters. Now I appreciated my height. There was no shelf out of reach and I looked great in any dress. But the skates were just a touch unnerving.
Brandon didn’t look uneasy at all. A little ridiculous, maybe, in a hot-guy-wearing-a-suit-with-skates kind of way. But mostly confident and sexy. He took my shoes and his and put them in a locker.
Then he held his hand out for me. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this.” The second I hit the ice, I bobbled, and gave an involuntary shriek, but Brandon was still holding my hand so it was only a minor slide.
The dress really wasn’t an issue, thanks to the slit. A few steps and I had a handle on it. I even let go of Brandon’s hand, which seemed to serve as an opportunity for him to show off. He literally skated circles around me.
“Okay, okay, Minnesota Man. Point taken.” While I didn’t feel in danger of falling, I was conscious of the other skaters and the vagaries of ice. I wasn’t so nervous though that I wasn’t having fun. It was actually very freeing to be doing something that was such a Christmas cliche. I love a cliche. I’m one of those people who loves a good classic holiday moment.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he said, going backwards, glancing over his shoulder at intervals. “This is actually fun. I should–
“Brandon, look out!” He was about to run into a girl who had come to a dead stop and was holding her arms out for balance.
“What?” He turned and somehow managed to both avoid her and stay on his feet. But the air from his sharp turn was enough to throw her off-balance. She went down in a sudden scramble.
Brandon sliced his skates into the ice to stop and immediately bent down. “Are you okay?”
The girl was about ten. She nodded, tears in her eyes, which I suspected were more from embarrassment than pain. He tried to offer his hand to help her up, but she shook her head. Probably because he was big, and despite his gentle voice, was a total stranger. So I intervened and shoved him aside with my hip.
“Here, take my hand.”
She looked up at me, sniffling. She reached out and accepted my help. “Thanks. I like your dress.”
“Thanks. I like your pink hair.”
She smiled, wiped her eyes and tentatively skated away.
Brandon looked sheepish. “No more skating backwards.”
He looked so contrite it was kind of adorable. “I guess not.”
Then without warning and for zero reason whatsoever, my feet went out from under me. I screamed and windmilled my arms to try and recover. Brandon had lightning quick reflexes. He grabbed me with an iron grip and hauled me against his broad chest. I stayed upright. I stared up at him, breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with nearly breaking my ass on the ice. “Thanks,” I murmured.
I wanted him to kiss me. He looked like he wanted to kiss me.
But then a teenage boy rammed into us, sending us sliding back a foot. Brandon managed to keep us both upright by sheer force of will. The teenager yelled a very unrepentant, “Sorry!” as he flew past.
It shattered the moment, which was probably for the best. My phone was buzzing in my purse again and it made me aware of reality. This wasn’t a date. It was a stranger I’d met running away from my surprise wedding. “Maybe it’s time for coffee,” I said. “It’s getting rough out here.”
His expression was enigmatic. “Sure.” He dropped his hands from my shoulders.
We got two coffees and found a bench and sat and sipped and talked casually about the v
arious skaters on the ice. Dante was blowing up my phone and I sent him a text saying I would talk to him tomorrow but I wasn’t doing this right now.
“How about one last lap around the ice?” Brandon said. “Then I should go to the party.”
“Yeah.” Why did it disappoint me that he needed to, or wanted to, leave? “Of course.” I jumped up. “Last one on the ice is a rotten egg.”
Chapter Four
Dakota took off at a fast clip toward the ice and I jumped up, grabbing our empty coffee cups. I tossed them in the trash as I followed her, knowing I should take off the skates and get out of there. She had me intrigued, too much so. Several times I had thought about kissing her, and that was just a bad idea.
She was knee deep in breakup drama and I had no business involving myself in that. Plus I did need to get to the party. Maybe it was my imagination but she had looked disappointed when I had said I should leave.
But for right now, I was going to linger for a minute. Just enjoy the crisp air, the holiday lights, and the sound of her laughter. She had a magical laugh– unrestrained and joyful. When I had gotten the coffees, I had bought a sprig of mistletoe from a bowl of them at the check-out counter. It was burning a hole in my pocket.
One kiss. That’s all I wanted. Well. That was a fucking lie. That absolutely was not all I wanted, but the smart thing to do would be to take a kiss and run.
We did more than one circle around the rink. We actually did three before she stepped off the ice and I followed. “Thanks for doing this with me,” she said, breathless, as we made our way to retrieve our shoes.
“It was my pleasure.” An older woman dropped a twenty dollar bill. I snagged it and handed it back to her. When I turned back to Dakota she was eying me with amusement.
“You know what I think? I think you’re a fraud.”
“A fraud?” I’d been accused of a lot of things. Never that. “Why?”
“Yes. You’re not really a grump. You’re a nice guy pretending to be a grump.”
I shrugged. I was both. “It’s not an act. What you see is what you get.”
“I see a lot of things,” she said. “And I like them.” Dakota moved in front of me and fingered one of the buttons on my shirt. “What do you see?”
Now was the time. Consequences be damned. I’d save the regrets for a day when she wasn’t bathed in holiday lights, her breath frosting in front of her.
I pulled out the mistletoe and tipped it back and forth in front of her. “I see a woman I would really, really like to kiss.”
“Where did you get that, you devious man?” She looked delighted and intrigued.
“Coffeeshop.” I held it up over our heads. Then with my free hand I stroked her cheek, running my thumb over her lip. “You’re very beautiful.”
She didn’t respond, just raised herself up, lips parting in an open invitation.
I bent down and covered her mouth with my own. Our lips teased and tasted, a perfect fit. She closed her eyes, which I’d been warned never to do in public in New York. But there, in the crowd, I did the same, wanting to experience her completely and thoroughly.
It was a slow, smooth, delicious kiss. Her hands wrapped around my neck. I pulled her closer against me, lowering the mistletoe so I could cup both of her cheeks with my palms. It was perfect. We fit together perfectly and as our tongues teased each other, the kiss grew hotter, more urgent.
I wanted more.
I wanted her.
But she broke away and stared up at me, breathing a little hard. She opened her mouth to speak, but then turned when we heard a voice yelling, “Dakota! Dakota!”
There was a woman with dark hair, hand wrapped around the arm of a man in a suit. She was waving vigorously with the other hand.
Dakota waved back. “I texted my friend,” she said. “I’m going to stay with her and her husband tonight. They have a huge townhouse.”
“I’m glad you have someone to stay with.” Even though I wished it could be me, which it couldn’t. My girls were at my apartment with a sitter.
I wanted to say something else, but I said nothing.
She said nothing.
Finally she glanced back at her friend again. “I should go.”
“Of course. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime. If fate allows it.” I tucked the mistletoe into her coat pocket and gave her a smile.
“Merry Christmas, Brandon,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Dakota.” I brushed my lips briefly across hers.
Then she went one way and I went the other.
Why the hell hadn’t I gotten her number? It was all I could think about as I went up the elevator for the second time that night. No, I didn’t need any entanglements right now, but if she was fresh off a relationship, she might have been all on board with some casual sex at a later date. I liked her and she was incredibly attractive. What more could I ask for right now in a bed partner?
Except I would never know if she would have said yes or not because I was a fucking idiot and hadn’t asked.
The party was in full swing. I was met almost immediately at the door by our star quarterback. I was excited to work with him even further. I’d been pulled in at the tail end of a disastrous season. “Coach, hey, what’s up?” He held his hand out.
I shook it. “Hey, North, how’s it going?”
He shook his head, long blond hair spilling over his suit collar. “You missed all the action, man. Marksman tried to surprise his girl tonight with a wedding, but she rolled. Just took off running.”
“What?” I frowned, gesturing to a waiter who was walking around with a tray of drinks. I grabbed a flute of champagne, sipped it, then made a face. Not my thing. I wanted a whiskey. “Come to the bar with me. I can’t drink this shit.”
We went to the bar and he got a beer, me a whiskey. “So how do you surprise someone with a wedding?”
Sinclair, a veteran running back, had joined us. “Everyone thinks it's a party, including your girlfriend, and then she shows up and it’s a wedding.”
That sounded like hell. “I don’t know why anyone would ever want to do that. Seriously.”
Sinclair had a laugh that was infectious. Then he caught himself. “I shouldn’t laugh. Marksman got left at the altar. But you gotta know one hundred percent she’s saying yes to do it like this.”
“Where is Marksman?” I scanned the room but didn’t see him. It looked like a wedding reception that had gone on without a happy couple.
“I think he went to find her. You should have seen it. Those doors opened, she saw the room all set up, and just turned and ran.”
“I guess she wasn’t expecting to walk down the aisle tonight.” I sipped my whisky. The whole thing seemed insane to me, and I couldn’t say I blamed the unknowing bride at all. Plus, I was preoccupied anyway with thoughts of Dakota.
“They’ve only been dating a few months,” North said. “I’ve never met her, and I still didn’t. I just saw a tall blonde in a red dress and then she was gone.”
Wait a minute.
Sinclair cracked his hands together. “Bam. Gone.”
“A tall blonde?” In a red dress. “What’s her name?”
“Dakota.” Sinclair turned and pointed. There was a giant floral arrangement that spelled out Dakota and Dante. “Last anyone saw she was jumping in a carriage with some dude.”
Well, fuck.
I had helped a runaway bride escape.
And I had kissed her.
I downed the rest of my whisky in one straight shot.
* * *
“I cannot believe that Dante just sprang a wedding on you,” Felicia said, shaking her head as we settled onto the sectional in her glamorous living room. “That’s just bonkers.”
“Very bonkers. I didn’t mean to panic and run away, but what was I supposed to do? Just marry him? Storm up the aisle and tell him no? Running seemed like the best option.”
“Given his texts it’s obvious that was the right choi
ce.” She shook her head. “Bastard.” She turned to her husband, Michael, who had sat down beside her. “Why are men so ridiculous?”
“I’m not answering that,” he said, calmly. “But for what it’s worth, I’m not a fan of surprises.”
Felicia grinned. “Oh, you mean like finding out we were having a baby about five minutes after we met?”
He laughed. “No. That was an amazing surprise.” He stood up. “I’ll let you ladies trash Dante and men in general. I’m going to bed.”
“We only trash people who deserve it,” she told him, as he kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Michael,” I said. “Sorry for cockblocking tonight when your baby is at your parents.”
He laughed. “You better be. You owe me one.”
“I’ll babysit anytime you want.”
“Deal.” Michael gave a wave and left the room. He was a good guy and Felicia was insanely happy with him.
Their domestic bliss was reassuring after a tumultuous few weeks in my own life. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had been about breaking up with Dante until I had spent the night ignoring his rude ass texts. While being charmed by Brandon, who hadn’t asked for my number, which sucked. I could have offered it, but the moment felt perfect exactly the way it was, to be honest. I hadn’t wanted to ruin it.
“You were conned into sitting,” Felicia said. “I’m still going to shag my husband as soon as I go to bed.”
“Won’t he be asleep?”
“When has that ever stopped a man? I’ll just wake him up.”
“Very true. Good plan.”
I thought about my conversation with Brandon, a nagging question popping back up.
“Hey, what does it mean when a guy says he likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?” I asked Felicia, bending over to unstrap my high heels one at a time. “And something about sex at midnight on the dunes.”
“It’s a song,” she said. “From the seventies, I think. My mum loved it. But more recently I remember it from Shrek.”
“Ooooh, that’s where I’ve heard that before, oh my God. On the dating game bit in the first movie.” Though I still wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. Was he just avoiding telling me anything personal about himself? Had it just been a joke?
Holiday Husband Page 3
