by Anders Grey
“Relax. I’m just gonna bring some stuff over. Think of it as a gift for the hot chocolate.”
Nash shook his head. “No, no, no. The hot chocolate was for you, for helping clear the snow. The exchange is already done.”
“Nah. The hot chocolate was just sooo good that I have to make it up to you.” I grinned. I had big plans in store for him and no amount of begging would make me go away.
“It really wasn’t,” Nash argued. “You said it yourself. It didn’t even have marshmallows.”
“I changed my mind. It was better without them.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to do anything else for me,” Nash said, sounding increasingly desperate.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I said. “I swear you’ll like it. And if you don’t, you can—I don’t know, burn it or something.”
He let out a groan. “God, you really are a pest. You’re not going to stop until I say yes, are you?”
“Nope.”
His eyebrow twitched. “Fine,” he growled. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.”
“Great! Stay put, I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I said excitedly. “Can I leave Barley with you? It’s easier than taking her back and forth.”
Nash blinked in surprise. “You trust me alone with your dog?”
“Huh? What kinda dumb question is that? Of course, I do.”
“Why?”
I laughed. “Aww, are you one of those overprotective dog parents who’d never leave their baby with anyone?”
Nash scowled. “I hold my dog to a high standard of care that not everyone can meet.”
I nodded. “That’s valid. But Barley eats garbage out of the can and sleeps twenty hours a day. I’m sure she’ll be fine staying with you until I get back.”
Nash glanced over at my dog, who had curled up on the kitchen floor after her heavy romp outside as if this was her own house. I saw the warmth in Nash’s expression when he looked at her. A man who obviously loved dogs as much as Nash did couldn’t be a bad person at his core.
“Be right back,” I called. “Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone!”
“We’ll try not to.”
Even as I headed back outside, I couldn’t stop grinning. This was going to be fun.
3
Nash
The golden retriever curled up innocently at my feet looked exactly like her owner—blond, sweet, bright and sunny. Maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed, but inexplicably cute.
I frowned. Wait a second. Nope. Not thinking about Dylan like that.
I veered my train of thought away from that set of tracks. I’d met Dylan many times at the dog park, but never really known him until now. He was always one of those familiar faces that I didn’t take the time to know personally. After all, what was the point? I wasn’t there to socialize with people—I was there to throw a ball around for my dog. But if people could be as kind as Dylan, was I missing out by being standoffish?
No. I’m just protecting myself.
Barley woke up with a yawn. She lifted her head and looked at me curiously, then wagged her feathery golden tail. I gave her a pat, and she replied with an enthusiastic lick of my hand. I was surprised by how trusting she was, given that she was in an unfamiliar environment and I was practically a stranger.
“Dylan raised you to be as naïve as he is, didn’t he?” I asked her.
Barley’s tongue lolled out of her mouth and she licked me again.
As I stroked her fur, I noticed how beautiful it was—free of tangles, obviously well groomed. It was clear that Dylan did a good job of taking care of her. He was a good dog owner. I liked that in a man.
Once again, my thoughts ground to a screeching halt.
Why the hell am I thinking about him like that? I’m not attracted to men… am I?
I bit my lip. Up until a few months ago, the answer would’ve been a resounding no. But with everything that happened recently, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
The front door burst open and Dylan’s cheery voice called out, “Honey, I’m home!”
I went to meet him halfway and crossed my arms. He carried a huge load of boxes in his arms.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” I asked, going over to help him.
“A little.”
The boxes were heavy. I huffed with effort as I helped lower one to the ground.
“What the hell is in these?” I asked. “Did you carry these all the way yourself?”
“Sure did. I mean, I drove over from my place, but I didn’t wanna make multiple trips to the car, so…”
When the boxes were all safely on the ground, Dylan bent back up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He breathed heavily from exertion. He stripped his coat off and I hung it on the rack, but I noticed the sweat had seeped into his shirt, too.
“You’re soaked,” I said. “Let me get you a change of clothes.”
“Oh, if you’re doing that,” Dylan began with a grin, “don’t forget what you said earlier.”
I paused on the step. “What?”
“The pajama pants? You promised me a pair, remember?”
I couldn’t believe Dylan was actually serious about that.
“Right,” I mumbled. “Coming right up…”
I hurried up the stairs so he couldn’t see the blush creeping on my cheeks. My hands flew in the drawers, picking out a shirt and—ugh—a pair of flannel pajama bottoms for him. When I found him downstairs, he had carried all the boxes to the kitchen by himself already and worked up another sweat. When I stared at his biceps rippling beneath his shirt, I reminded myself to focus.
“You could’ve waited for me to help, you know,” I mumbled.
“It was easier this way. Besides, you were busy being a pal.” He smiled and took the clothes from me. “Thanks. Mind if I just put ‘em on here, since we’re both guys?”
My brain short circuited. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Yeah as in you mind, or yeah as in go ahead?”
I nodded, averting my gaze. “Whatever, just—yes, fine.”
Dylan chuckled and slipped his shirt over his head. I didn’t want to look—seriously, I didn’t mean to look at his muscular, smooth chest, but I fucking did it anyway because I was curious and holy shit.
I couldn’t stop myself from staring. The shirt was hiding his toned abs, and that golden-brown trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans…
Dylan slipped the jeans off, and I swear to god I didn’t mean to stare for this long, but as soon as I saw the little Santas dancing across his package, I started laughing.
“What?” Dylan asked, amused.
I quickly silenced my embarrassing laughter. “Nothing. Sorry.”
Dylan chuckled and wiggled his ass on purpose. “What, you don’t like my Santas?”
“Oh my god.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Stop that.”
Thankfully, he did stop. If he didn’t, my eyes would’ve been glued to the curve of his ass that were barely left to the imagination thanks to the tight boxer briefs.
You are staring at a man’s ass, I reminded myself. I pointedly looked away.
Dylan shimmied into the pajama pants. “A little tight, but they work.”
I looked back at him and my eyes widened. Dylan had been facing away before, but now, as he faced me directly, I saw the outline of his soft cock through the flannel.
Great. They’re tight on him directly in the dick area.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing these?” Dylan asked. “I know I asked for them, but if you don’t want me stretching your clothes…”
“Yes. Fine. It’s fine.”
He chuckled. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding looking at me?”
There was a teasing note in his voice that infuriated me. Was he doing this on purpose? He was clearly taunting me, trying to get a rise out of me. And it was fucking working.
“No,” I said firmly, gesturing to the boxes on the floor. “I’m t
rying to figure out what’s in all these damn boxes.”
“Open them and find out,” Dylan suggested.
I kneeled and warily picked at the cardboard.
“They’re fragile,” Dylan warned.
“Bombs?”
He laughed out loud. “What? No. Dumbass.”
“Calling me a dumbass doesn’t exactly seem like a nice, holiday-cheer thing to say.”
Dylan rolled his eyes, grinning. “Just open it.”
I opened it. For a second I didn’t recognize what I was looking at. It was a smorgasbord of colors and weird textures. They were gaudy, ugly, tacky things that had no place in a house.
“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered. “Christmas decorations?”
“Yup,” Dylan said cheerfully. “I brought some of mine over for you!”
I stood up and shook my head. “Thanks, Dylan, but no thanks. Seriously, I don’t need these.”
Dylan smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “C’mon, Nash. I know why you’re not in the holiday spirit. It’s ‘cause you don’t have any decorations up! Once you have some joy around the house, you’ll feel better. I promise.”
“I don’t—what? I don’t feel bad. I don’t need cheering up,” I insisted.
Dylan raised a brow, clearly not believing me. “Sure you do. You’re a grumpy Mr. Grinch.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me? I’m a what?”
“You heard me.” He grinned and poked my arm. “If you get any grumpier, you might even turn green. Oh, shit.” He leaned in closer, looking at my skin. “I think it’s starting to happen now.”
I swatted his hand away and growled. “I’m not a Grinch, I just don’t—” I felt myself working up into a flurry and paused to take a breath. “I just don’t celebrate holidays. Okay?”
“Why?” Dylan asked point-blank.
“Why do I need a reason? I just don’t.”
Dylan frowned sadly. “Come on. Don’t you have a family? I mean, not to sound cheesy, but that’s what the holidays are really about. Spending time with people you love.”
My jaw went taut. “My family and I aren’t exactly close.”
“Oh.” Dylan’s warm brown eyes were sympathetic. “Sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“What about a girlfriend?” Dylan asked.
“No.”
His brow twitched curiously. “Boyfriend?”
“No,” I said, a little quieter.
“A nonbinary or any other type of partner?”
“No,” I snapped. “I’m not seeing anyone, okay?”
Dylan winced and I immediately felt bad for raising my voice.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He gave me a friendly pat on the back. “No worries. Sorry if I poked you too hard. I know I can be a little nosy sometimes.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. He’d nosed his way right into my life.
I couldn’t stand seeing that sad puppy dog look on his face. I grunted. “Anyway, the boxes. If you really want to decorate my house, which I don’t know why you care, but whatever. It’s fine. Go ahead.”
Dylan brightened instantly. If he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging. “Really?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
“Sweet!”
Dylan threw himself to his knees by the boxes—and promptly ripped his pants.
My pants.
After the sharp tearing-fabric sound, a silence filled the air. Then we both burst out laughing.
It was childish, but I couldn’t stop. As Dylan laughed harder, so did I. Something about his joy was contagious. Damn him.
4
Dylan
I didn't even care that I ripped my pants because seeing the joy on Nash's face deeply warmed my heart. That was the first real laugh and smile I’d spoken to him—and I wanted more.
As the fit of laughter wore down, I wiped a tear from my eye. “Well, now that the most embarrassing thing that could happen to me has happened, things can only get better from here, right?”
Nash tried to stifle a laugh. “I guess so. Do you want me to get you another pair of pants?”
“To be honest, I don't really care. Do you?” I glanced down at the hole in my pants. There was a sizeable rip right in the crotch. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with some sewing, but still a hassle for him to deal with.
Nash glanced down at the hole in my pants, then a blush appeared on his cheeks as he quickly looked away.
“I don’t care what you do. You're the one with a hole in your crotch,” he mumbled.
I shrugged. “It's fine with me, I'll just go change into my normal pants when I'm leaving. Anyway, enough about the hole in my crotch. Let’s talk about something more interesting.”
I tore open the boxes and revealed the colorful contents. Just the sight of all the Christmas decorations made my spirits soar. I rummage through them, pulling out the wreaths, tinsel and lights. Nash sneered down his nose at them as if they smelled bad. God, he really was a Grinch. I couldn't help but chuckle at his unpleasant expression.
“Oooh, I’m gonna get you,” I teased while dangling tinsel in his direction.
“You're an idiot,” he muttered. He batted at it like a grumpy cat playing with yarn. “This is a lot of stuff. Do we really need to put all of this up?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Maybe once you see the house decorated, you'll change your mind about the festivities. In fact, I know you will.”
“That remains to be seen,” Nash mumbled. But at least he wasn't actively refusing the concept of decorations anymore.
“Here,” I said, handing him a box. It was one of the lighter ones with baubles in it. Nash glared at them like they were the devil.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You can do a lot of things,” I said patiently, pleased that he showed the slightest bit of interest. “You can put them up on the tree, you can hang them around the house, you can put them in a little glass bowl and set it on the table oh, and so on.”
“Put them in a glass bowl on the table? What the hell is the point of that?”
“Oh, you sweet child,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.
He frowned, but this time he didn't try to get away from my grasp. That gave me a moment to appreciate the warmth of his skin beneath my hand. He was close enough for me to take in his features. They were sharp and angular, and I could see how somebody who didn't know him might think he had resting bitch face—but he was also damn handsome. He had that bad boy look, but with less tattoos and motorcycles. His dirty blond hair fell over his forehead, and I wanted to run my fingers through it.
I didn't, obviously, because I didn't want to scare him off. but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it.
Nash grunted as he stood. “I don't get it, but if it'll make you happy, I guess I’ll do it.”
My heart fluttered. Make me happy? Why would he say that?
He grabbed a glass bowl like I'd recommended and began to gingerly place the baubles inside one by one. I snorted at the delicate way he handled them, as if they were exotic creature he'd never seen before that might break with any mishandling. It was so cute that I decided not to tell him they were made of cheap plastic.
This painstaking ritual went on for about five minutes before I got curious as to what was taking him so long. I got up and joined him by the table. I couldn't hold back a smile when I realized what he was doing. Nash taken out every single bauble from the box, arranged them by colour on the table, and was trying to put them in a rainbow gradient in the bowl to the best of his ability.
He scowled at me when he saw me trying to hold back a laugh. “What?”
“That’s an…interesting way to do things,” I remarked. “Usually people just dump them in it and call it a day.”
“What's the point of putting these things in a bowl for decoration if you're not even going to try to make it look good?” He asked, apparently riled up by the concept that other
people were bad bauble arrangers.
“Well, it's a good thing you're doing it your way in your own house, isn't it? Personally, I think it looks great.” I pointed down at the little swirl he was making. “Did you try to make it a rainbow on purpose or was that a happy accident?”
His eyes widened and he took a second look at what he had created. “That’s just the order that the colors go in. I didn't mean to—”
“I'm just pulling your leg,” I said. “Are you always this defensive?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly.
“Oh.” I gave him a gentle smile. “Well you don't have to be with me. I'm not out to get you.”
He gave me a wary look. Something I couldn't recognize flashed across his eyes. I knew I’d touched a nerve. I wanted to ask what was bothering him, but I also didn't want to press him too hard in case it pushed him further away.
“Why don't we go put the stuff outside?” I asked, gesturing to the outdoor wreath. “Those lights would look good next to it too.”
Nash nodded and stood up. He didn't comment, but I got the feeling he was glad I changed the subject.
The dogs tagged along as we carried the boxes outside. Their tails wagged, obviously ready for round two of playing in the snow.
“I’m glad our dogs get along,” I remarked as we put the boxes down by the porch.
“Me too.” Nash turned to watch Sheba and Barley with a hint of a smile. Sheba had disappeared among the snow, while Barley looked like an old-fashion glazed donut with all the snow powdering her yellow fur. Sheba was goading Barley into chasing her, and it was working.
“How was she when I was gone?” I asked, picking up a wreath.
“Perfect. She just fell asleep. I was surprised, since I’m a stranger and she was in my house without her owner.”
“That’s just like a golden retriever, ain’t it?” I laughed. “They’re the most trusting dogs on the planet. If a robber broke into my house, she’d let him clear the place out. Hell, she’d probably lead him right to the valuables.”
Nash raised an amused brow. “That’s where Sheba differs. She’d bite the robber in the ass.”
