Dirty Christmas (The Dirty Suburbs Book 9)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I should be in the Valley right now, trying to arrange meetings, working out the bugs in my code. Instead, I’m on my way to Reyfield, to drink apple cider and eat gingerbread cookies and pretend that all is well in my world. Jingle Fucking Bells!

  Yeh, yeh. Heading to your hometown for Christmas is a long-standing, time-honored American tradition but I haven't been back to Reyfield for the Holidays since I left. Never saw any reason to. I'm not a fan of all the fanfare. Too much fuss and excitement and artificial cheer. Makes my skin crawl.

  But this year is different.

  Y’see—this year, everything changed.

  My flannel-and-beanie-hat-loving sister shocked the hell out of us when she up and married her best friend's brother. It’s hard to imagine the messy, disorganized girl I grew up with as the wifely type but now, she's suddenly Suzy Homemaker, baking pies and having babies and throwing Christmas dinner parties. I don’t even know who she is anymore.

  I think I liked her better when I thought she was a lesbian.

  I don’t buy in to love and other social constructs. Because that shit always implodes, like dynamite in the underbelly of a crowded city. And I'm not willing to lose a limb—or a vital organ like my heart—just to try and convince myself that the delusion of happily-ever-after is real.

  Same thing with Christmas. It confounds me to no end that perfectly logical, capable adults would willingly continue to be complicit in the propaganda of Christmas. That’s just dumb.

  Yeh—I said it…Come at me, bruh!

  Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I've seen too much. Maybe I've still got scars from things that happened so long ago I shouldn't even be able to remember them.

  Anyway, I have no intention of investing in the delusion of Christmas because Christmas punched me straight in the nose when I was just a skinny, little 10-year-old with knock-knees and high hopes.

  My feet are planted firmly in reality. My sole focus is on getting my next app to market. That’s it.

  Hefting the strap of my backpack onto my shoulder, I let my gaze travel over the crowd, searching for Annaleigh's long, messy bangs. But as my eyes move over the mob of shuffling bodies jovially ducking in and out of the airport terminal, they snag on a face that makes me do a double-take.

  A mass of thick, glossy waves bounces around the face of a fairy. Full bow lips stained in the brightest shade of red. Sharp cheekbones riding high on smooth, brown sugar skin. Smiling almond-shaped eyes focused directly on me.

  Something electric sputters in my chest.

  She's moving toward me, pushing through the crowd with disarming grace. Awareness scatters topsy-turvy inside me, my body becoming a circuit board gone haywire. I clench my fists, determined to keep my damn wits as she approaches like something from out of a mirage.

  And now she's standing in front of me, cheeks swollen from her grin, eyes glistening like amber stones. "You're Wesley." Her tone is playful, almost frisky. My skin tightens, the cold forgotten when her voice ignites a fire in the pit of my stomach.

  My eyes go jaunting down her body. She's wearing an interesting, little outfit—a shimmery white blazer over a tiny gold curve-hugging dress covered in sequins, thick black pantyhose under the tall, fuck-me boots that run all the way up her long calves. She's got glitter and accessories adorning her ears and her wrists and her long slender throat.

  All spangles and bangles.

  Gorgeous and breathtaking.

  My cock spasms and now, I’m even more annoyed. Who the fuck is this woman?

  Her smile dims a fraction when she examines my rancid expression. A perfectly-groomed eyebrow inches up faintly. But she recovers quickly. She throws her shoulders back confidently and juts out her chin. "I'm Sanaya, Prescott’s administrative assistant." She extends her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

  I glare down at her fingers, small and soft-looking, perfectly-manicured. I stomp my foot and growl. "Where's Annaleigh?"

  Her pleasant demeanour crumbles completely. Feels like a small victory to me. She retracts her hand and plants a fist on her wide hip. "Annaleigh couldn’t make it,” she says flatly and tilts her head to the side. “You're stuck with me."

  Well, this is just great!

  I knew that coming out here was a bad idea. Murphy’s Law is in full effect. Shit is already starting to go off the rails. How easy would it be to just march right up to the airline counter, pay the ticket change fee and catch the red eye back to California tonight? I throw a pensive glance over my shoulder as I assess the feasibility of that course of action.

  Turning my attention back to Sanaya, I run my fingers through my overlong hair. "No offense, lady, but I don't think that my being here is a good idea.” If Annaleigh—who's been harassing me for weeks to put my life on hold and come out here for Christmas—couldn't even come pick me up from the airport, I should probably just turn right around and go home. “I have more important things to do than sit around in front of a fireplace, singing Christmas carols and eating candied nuts—"

  A pointy red fingernail stabs me right in the center of the chest. "Look asshole, before you start hatching escape plans in your head, take stock of this—your sister is, like, a million months pregnant, ready to pop any second now and she's dying to see you for some reason I can't quite work out. Anyway, I promised her that I'd deliver you to her doorstep and I'm a girl who keeps my promises. So, tell me—are we doing this the easy way or the hard way? Your choice."

  I look down on the saucy woman planted fearlessly in front of me. She's tall enough (for a chick) but I tower over her. Yet she doesn't even flinch when I take a step closer and smirk blatantly at her threat. "What exactly does the hard way entail?"

  She puffs up her chest and takes a step closer, too. The challenge in her expression is streaked with subtle notes of amusement. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. But I'm creative and I think quick on my feet and I know you're not going to like what I come up with. So, don’t be a selfish jerk. Let's just get in the car and get on the road…And you get to keep your balls. Deal?"

  The mirth in her voice tickles at my chest. I've always had a weakness for feisty women and this one has gumption in spades. I keep quiet for a while just to draw out the suspense, to see if she really is as badass as she seems. She holds my stare until I spit out, "Deal."

  Satisfaction radiates from her eyes. She taps her heel, drawing my attention to her feet. "Good. Now, let’s get a move on. I'm just starting to realize that one night in these boots is gonna mean a lifetime of bunions." She spins toward the parking garage and marches that way, leaving me to follow after her. My eyes hook on the delicious sway of her hips.

  Fuck—I'm in trouble.

  Chapter 3

  Sanaya

  The cab of the car is silent as we skid along the snowy I-90 headed north with the darkened scenery whipping parallel to the highway. We've been on the road for nearly half an hour and my irritation at the unmannerly cretin in the passenger's seat hasn't subsided one bit. I keep stealing glances at him out of the corner of my eye.

  I’m mad at his face.

  He’s way too jerky to deserve such a pretty face. The thick, dark hair, flopping effortlessly over his brow. The angular jaw donning a generous sprinkling of stubble. The sinful lips that don’t seem to know how to smile.

  He hasn't even looked my way since we climbed into my cramped, little hatchback. His frowny attention has been set on whatever the hell is so riveting on the screen of his laptop. He’s obviously deeply committed to being as unpleasant as humanly possible.

  Self-important, anti-social Silicon Valley programmer-asshole type. Computer Boy thinks he’s so damn smart. I can tell. I know he doesn't want to be here but the polite thing to do would be to try and make a bit of small talk, right?

  Jerk!

  But unfortunately, I'm one of those people who can’t stand complete silence for too long. It makes me itchy. So, against my better judgment, I take a stab at conversation with him.

  I clear my throat. “D’you ha
ve a good flight?”

  He doesn’t shift his eyes. His fingers pound at his keyboard like mantis shrimp hammer-claws. “Had an awesome flight,” he says snidely. “I spent five hours squeezed into a flying lock-box next to a chatty, little newt who alternated between telling me stories about his career as a professional Magic: The Gathering player and coughing his lungs out like he’s ‘patient zero’ of the next human influenza pandemic. I should probably be quarantined as we speak...And also, I forgot my only sweatshirt in the overhead bin. So yeah—awesome flight.”

  All righty, then…

  Another long, drawn-out quiet stretches over the car. Let’s try this again.

  "So, Annaleigh mentioned that you're in tech?" I say with a playful lilt to my voice. “Any big inventions to brag about? Multi-million dollar IPOs? All that jazz?”

  His shoulders tense. His response is barely a grunt. "No."

  More silence.

  I’m almost at my wit’s end, but I give it one last shot. "My cousin's stepsister's roommate works at a startup in Silicon Valley. Like, in the cafeteria or something. ChoChoTrippers is the name of the company. They make shoe laces that tell the weather. Ever heard of them?"

  He presses his eyes shut and pinches the narrow bridge of his nose. He finally tears his eyes away from the laptop perched on the tops of his knees and glares at me. "Look—don't take this personally but I'm kind of sitting on a tight deadline, so..." His hand gestures toward his screen.

  Oh really? Thought you were sitting on a big, fat stick. With spikes. I barely manage to keep from saying that out loud. Remind me again why I’m trying to make conversation with him.

  It's true. Annaleigh warned me that her brother might be grumpy and petulant. I shouldn't be surprised. But the extent of his grumpy petulance is grating on my nerves. Get over yourself, dude!

  Still, I find myself glancing over at him again. It’s like an involuntary neck twitch. I can’t keep it under control. Trust me, I’m trying. With each stolen peek his way, my irritation with myself only increases.

  He’s oblivious, though. His chiseled face is focused on the screen of his computer like nothing else exists. He takes a brief intermission from bludgeoning his keyboard to run his knuckles along his strong, stubbly chin. I watch the way the swollen muscles of his bicep swell and roll with the slight movement. It only pisses me off further.

  Tearing my eyes from his striking profile, my eyes focus back on the road. Snowflakes thicken, tumbling from the sky and melting on my windshield. The temperature is dropping and the asphalt is starting to get slippery. Shoot!

  Desperate to fill the dead airtime, I thumb the volume control on the steering wheel and Tina Turner's voice spills into the car from all sides.

  Oh, girl—I can't stand the rain against my window, either.

  I drag in a deep breath and the tension in my shoulders releases the slightest touch. I drum my fingers on the leather wheel, the music chipping away at my annoyance. I start bobbing my head instinctually and switch lanes as our exit approaches in the distance.

  Just as I begin really lose myself to the rhythm, I feel Wesley shift beside me and his intense stare falls on the side of my face. "Do you have to listen to that right now?"

  My eyes spin into my skull. “Okay, Ebenezer. Would you prefer that I find a radio station with a children’s choir singing Christmas carols?”

  His taut features tell me he doesn’t appreciate the provocation. He makes a growling sound deep in his chest. And why the hell was that sexy? I push down the thought.

  “We’re about fifteen minutes from Annaleigh’s place where we will happily go our own separate ways. So, how about we keep it cordial until then, huh?”

  Slamming his computer shut, he sighs gruffly. “Fine.” He settles his skull against the headrest and stares out at the road. “So, you work for Prescott?” He couldn’t sound more uninterested if he tried. But still this is an improvement over the deafening silence so I’ll take it.

  I relax into my seat and my stomach unclenches. “Yeah, I’ve been working for him for a few years now. I actually started when he was an intern at the firm, believe it or not.”

  “That’s a long time.” He moves around in his seat, trying to get comfortable. No doubt a feat. He’s big. This car is small.

  “Tell me about it,” A bittersweet laugh shoots from my nose. “Up the corporate food chain. From intern to partner. They grow up so fast. I feel like a proud mama who watched her kid blossom. Except I’m two years younger than him.”

  Wesley’s eyes dart to me. I see the wheels turning as he does the age quick calculation. He’s quiet for a while and then he says, “So, you’re just gonna keep doing that? Being Prescott’s secretary?”

  His judgment hits hard. “I’m not a secretary. I’m an administrative assistant.”

  “Whichever title floats your boat.”

  “Hey—I resent the suggestion that I’m not ambitious. I am. I work hard and I have big dreams but not everybody can be a big shot lawyer.” He’s hit my sore spot.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because?”

  “Because.” My lips go flat and my eyes stick to the road. I am done pandering to this dude. Done.

  He makes that growly sound in his throat and scrubs his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” The words come out low, though sincere. But I don’t give. I was trying to make this trip into a pleasant experience but forget it. Wesley is a write-off. “I’m in a crap headspace today and I have no right to take it out on you. It’s just that Christmas just really isn’t my thing. Hasn’t been for a very long time.”

  Something tells me there’s more to that story. A lot more. But I hold onto my steely indifference. He gets no reaction out of me. No sympathy.

  He continues. “And on top of that, everything I touched this year has turned to shit. I put my heart and soul into two separate projects and they both tanked once they hit the market.” His frustration bleeds through his words. “I’m anxious. Stressed. Feels like time is ticking by while I’m stuck in mud. I should be back at home, making progress, working on something new. But here I am, on my way to Reyfield for the Holidays. The very last thing in the world I wanna do.” He pauses, his eyes on my profile. “But that’s no fault of yours and…I’m sorry.”

  Biting on the corner of my lip, I try to hold back but the words come swooping out. “I accept your apology.”

  A jet of air surges out of his nose and the tension in his body unknots. In an act of goodwill and civility, I turn down the volume to a murmur. I concede that Wesley and I are probably better off in silence anyway.

  The precipitation has morphed to near blizzard-like conditions. Through the haze of snow, I see bright orange traffic cones up and a parked squad car up ahead. I lean forward, peering through the windshield.

  "Shit!" I mutter, slapping a fist against the steering wheel.

  Wesley follows my line of vision. "Of course, Murphy. Of course…" I hear the exasperation in his voice. The same exasperation I feel when I see that our exit has been blocked off, a massive tree splayed diagonally across the road. A tow-truck works to cart away a sportscar that somehow managed to find itself under the debris.

  No, no, no!

  Throwing on my right turn signal, I veer onto the shoulder. The car lurches a little and Wesley grabs onto the edge of his seat. “Hey! Careful!”

  “Oops...” I give him an impish grin.

  Lowering my window, I bring my attention to the police officer hunched up and trying to keep warm on the side of the road. I flash a trophy-worthy smile

  "What the hell are you doing?" Wesley mutters out of the side of his mouth. He’s still all tensed up, cautiously adjusting his seatbelt. "The road is blocked. Don't you see that?"

  I ignore him. I’m a pretty convincing girl. It’s a long shot but maybe I can persuade the officer to let us through.

  I lean across Wesley’s lap and his overwhelming manly scent hits me straight in the
lady bits. Dragging in a breath, I disregard my body’s very exaggerated reaction (and Wesley’s very exaggerated protests). I have some serious shit to deal with right now.

  "Good evening, officer," I coo.

  The cop leans forward and his eyes glint at me even as the wind and snow whip around. “Good evening to you.”

  Oh, a flirtatious one…

  He’s attractive considering that the only visible part of his face is the reddened, narrow strip between the furry trim of his snow hat and the buttoned-up collar of his parka.

  I speak in a syrupy, sweet voice. “Do you think that maybe you could do me a favor and move these cones out of the way so I can drive through?—” I quickly grab a peek at his name plate. “—Officer Rigs?”