by A. D. Ryan
I get up off the couch and pad into the kitchen in my sweats and T-shirt, the smell of coffee growing stronger with every step. Alan’s always been an early riser, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s up already.
“Hey,” I greet, rubbing my hands over my weary face, blocking my view.
“Oh!” Amelia exclaims, shocking me; I’d automatically assumed it was Alan. I hadn’t expected to find her here this early. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Shaking my head in response to her question, I smile, letting it widen genuinely as I pull up a seat at the counter. She’s still in her gray sleep shorts and a white tank top with a red flannel long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned overtop. Unfortunately for me, I also notice that she’s without a bra, and this does little to keep my mind out of the gutter. “How was your sleep?” I ask in a hushed tone, hoping to keep my mind in a clean place.
“Restless.” Amelia grabs a second mug from the cupboard above the coffee maker and pours me a cup, adding cream and sugar before handing it to me. She grabs her own mug and then leans across the countertop, facing me, the backs of her fingers brushing mine. The look in her eyes tells me it’s on purpose, and I return the gesture softly, relishing in the feeling of her soft skin.
When she lifts her mug to her lips, I do the same. “Mine, too.” The tightness returns to my neck, and I bring my hand up to rub it, alerting Amelia to my discomfort.
“Your neck’s sore.” She looks somewhat conflicted, her face showing her struggle. “I wish I could…”
Smiling, I nod. “I know. Me too. I’ll probably just grab a hot shower in a few. Hopefully that’ll help.” She smirks, arching an eyebrow, and I suppress a chuckle, shaking my head. “You don’t want to go there,” I warn her.
“Actually,” she says, scrunching her nose up adorably, “I kind of do…but I won’t for the sole fact that my father will probably be up very soon to start on breakfast.”
As if waiting in the wings for his cue, we hear Alan’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, and soon he’s in the kitchen with us. He’s also in his sweats and a T-shirt as he pulls up the seat next to me, and Amelia grabs him a cup of coffee, too.
“Good morning, you two. Been up long?”
“Uh, about ten minutes, maybe?” I tell him.
“I’ve been up since about six,” Amelia says, surprising me. “Down here since seven-forty-five.” She catches my quizzical look and shrugs. “Figured you two grumpy bears could use some coffee, so I got a head start on it.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” Alan declares, raising his mug to Amelia.
After finishing her coffee, Amelia puts her mug in the sink. “I’m going to go and wash up. I’ll be back down shortly.”
When we hear the shower start upstairs, Alan decides to get started on preparing breakfast. I offer to help, but he kicks me out of the kitchen, and I decide to go fix the living room back up. I’m just putting away the spare bedding when the front door opens and Carla and the kids walk through.
“Merry Christmas!” she calls out happily, the smile on her face fading the minute she sees me. “Good morning, Owen.” She sets what looks like an overnight bag down next to the door, and the kids do the same.
Interesting.
“Carla.” I turn to the kids and smile. “Ethan, Hayley. Merry Christmas.”
They return my greeting before rushing past me, collapsing on the couch and turning the TV on. Teenagers.
With Ethan and Hayley occupied, Carla heads off to the kitchen in search of Alan, and I grab my bag so I can take it upstairs with me when I go shower. I’d heard the shower stop a little while ago, so I figure it’s safe to go upstairs since Amelia’s probably already in her room.
I really should know better than to assume anything, because the minute I reach for the door handle, the door opens into the bathroom, steam rolling out, revealing Amelia wrapped in nothing more than a towel. Her long hair falls wet around her shoulders, water rivulets dripping down her arms as she holds her towel to her chest, and she looks up at me with a bashful smile.
“Oh, hey.” Her voice cracks slightly, so she clears her throat. “I should, um, go get dressed.”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t momentarily contemplate dragging her back into that bathroom and kissing her. Images of me pressing her against the closed bathroom door as I wrap her legs around my waist and have my way with her are far too prominent in my mind, and I have to rein them in before…
“Oh,” Carla says, coming up the stairs behind me. “I was just coming to put my bag in Alan’s room.”
Amelia’s face fills with color, and she drops her eyes to her bare feet, shaking her head. “Th-that’s okay. I was just finishing up. Bathroom’s all yours, Owen.”
Carla’s quick to drop off her bag and then retreats back downstairs, and just before I step into the washroom, I take one more glance over my shoulder, my eyes catching Amelia’s once more as she slowly pushes the door closed. Our morning might have started a little awkwardly in the wake of a rough first night in her dad’s house, but seeing her smile at me—even if only in passing or as she closes herself in her room and away from me—reaffirms how she feels deep down.
Of course, then I’m reminded about how much of an awful tease she is, because just before her door closes all the way, she pulls off her towel, giving me an inch-wide sneak peak of the lean length of her body. There’s no way she did this accidentally, and I definitely don’t see nearly as much as I’d like, but even just seeing that strip of skin from her waist to her ankle is enough to make my pulse race and my dick react accordingly. I’m trying to stay in place instead of going to her door and slipping inside—again my imagination running away from me—when I hear the click of her door locking and a dull buzz from the pocket of my bag. I dig my phone out and shake my head as I read the text message:
Have a good shower… I know I did. xoxo ;)
Having her confirm having sent the message so I could get my rocks off makes me want her just a little bit more. As if that were even possible.
17. Silent Night
I’m not going to lie. I’m pretty proud of myself for my little striptease before locking my bedroom door. Was it inappropriate? Absolutely, but I just couldn’t help myself. After what happened last night—being caught groping and dry-humping each other on my dad’s washing machine—I figured maybe he’d like a little spank-bank material to help us get through today.
Hmm…maybe I should send him a picture of my tits.
When I hear the shower start up, I figure I’m too late for that idea, so I decide to save it for another time. I’m sure it’ll come in handy later on.
Digging through my bag, I pull out a pair of dark skinny jeans and a deep red V-neck sweater and toss them on my bed while I fish out some underwear and a bra. I decide on the lacy red set, even though they’ll go unappreciated.
Unless I send Owen that cleavage shot I was just thinking about.
Yeah, I’m totally going to do that. He’ll probably need to get right back in the shower afterward, but I’m sure he’ll be all right with that.
After putting my bra and panties on, I grab my phone and take said picture. I’ve never been the girl who sends racy photos to a guy for fear he’ll show them off to his buddies, but something tells me that won’t be a problem with Owen.
I shudder having even entertained that thought for a millisecond.
I’m practically bouncing with excitement, my smile stretching so wide it makes my cheeks hurt, as I attach the picture to a text and send it with the message:
Don’t you wish you could open
your present?
I know I probably shouldn’t be doing this—really, I do—but I’m starting to think that playing it 100% safe is just going to get us in trouble again. There’s far too much sexual tension between us when we pretend like nothing’s going on, and when it explodes, it’s just too intense to walk away from. No, I’m thinking this might be better. I hope so anyway.
I put my phone on m
y bed and then pull on my jeans and sweater. The jeans are slim-fitted to my lower body, accentuating my ass and thighs, and my sweater shows off my curves while boasting a modest V-neckline that won’t risk flashing the girls. I’d say I look pretty damn hot, but not hot enough to risk Owen losing all self-control.
At least, I hope not—which feels foreign and weird, because I’ve become a fan of him losing control sexually speaking.
I push my phone into my back pocket and sit on my bed, grabbing my knee-high brown leather boots from the floor and pulling them on. They slouch a little around my calves, and they have a lower heel, which will allow me to remain comfortable throughout the day.
I’m just pulling the second one on when there’s a knock at the door, so I get up to unlock it, and when I open it, I’m surprised to see Carla standing there with two cups of tea and a small smile.
“Can I come in?” she asks softly.
I step out of the way and hold out my arm, granting her access. “Of course,” I reply.
She sits on the edge of my bed and offers me one of the cups. “A peace offering,” she says. “I came to apologize. For last night. Honestly, I was up half the night trying to wrap my head around everything, and I realized just how wrong I’d been to say those things. I think the surprise of finding the two of you like that just threw me.”
My eyes widen with shock, and I stare at her, feeling somewhat bewildered by her apology. “An apology’s not necessary. You were absolutely right to—”
“No,” she interrupts. “I wasn’t. I had no right to give you a timeframe on when you should tell your father or to have behaved the way I did. I’m not your mother, Amy.”
“But you’re a mother,” I remind her. “So I get it. You saw…” I pause, not wanting to voice what she’d witnessed in case my father comes traipsing up the stairs at the worst possible moment—wouldn’t that be just my luck? “You saw something happening, and you reacted.”
Carla sighs, and I sit next to her on my bed. “You’re being far more forgiving than I thought you’d be.”
I laugh lightly. “I can admit when I’ve messed up, Carla. What you saw last night…well, as I’d said then, it wasn’t supposed to happen. I was upset about what my dad had said, and we both just…” I stop talking, because I’m on the verge of crossing a line. If I give her too much information, I’m asking her to keep even more from my dad. “I needed reassurance.”
Carla eyes me carefully, one dark eyebrow rising inquiringly. “Reassurance? So this…what’s going on is…?”
“Serious?” I conclude and then nod. “Yeah. It’s, uh, it wasn’t at first, but it’s getting there.” Pausing, I look at the steam rising off my tea. “I know Dad’s not going to be thrilled, but you can’t help who you’re attracted to, you know?”
“I didn’t realize,” she says softly, drawing my focus back to her and away from my bumbling. “And you’re right. Your father isn’t going to accept this right away. This is a very complicated web you’ve spun, Amy.”
“I know.”
“But if you truly feel as you say you do, who’s to tell you that you shouldn’t pursue it?” There’s a beat of silence as I stare at her, and just as I’m about to say something, the bathroom door opens and Owen steps out, freshly showered, shaven, and his hair a damp, tousled mess.
What was I saying again?
“Owen, can you spare a moment?” Carla asks.
Owen eyes her almost suspiciously, looking downstairs as though he’s about to be Punk’d or something.
“Ethan’s got Alan occupied with the new game system he got this morning. He’s not going to be up here for some time,” Carla explains, and Owen nods, stepping into the room but staying by the door, playing it safe. “I want to apologize to you, as well.”
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed casually in front of him, Owen looks at me, eyebrows arching slightly, and I shrug.
“As I was telling Amy, I’m sorry for how I reacted when I found the two of you. I should never have given you an ultimatum for when you had to come clean to Alan. I was just taken a little by surprise is all.”
“It’s understandable,” Owen replies, accepting her apology. “We do plan to tell him, and we really never meant for anything to happen last night.”
“I know that,” Carla says, standing up and heading for the door. “I meant what I said about keeping this to myself, but I won’t lie for you. If he suspects something and asks…”
“Then tell him,” I interject, gaining a nod from Owen. We can’t ask her to lie to my dad; that would be pushing it. “We were going to tell him in the New Year, anyway. You won’t have to keep this from him much longer.”
Carla steps past Owen and out into the hallway before stopping and turning to us both. “Do me a favor, though?” We both nod in unison, and she continues. “Tell him before he finds out the way I did. I don’t doubt that he’ll be upset when you tell him, but I think he’d be more apt to listen than he would be if he found out by accident.”
“That’s always been the plan,” I assure her quietly. “Thank you.”
Owen turns to follow Carla out of my room when she stops him. “Take a few minutes. Behave, but take a bit of time together. I’ll keep him downstairs.”
We both stare after her, stunned, and then Owen enters the room further, closing the door most of the way and holding his hand out for me. Smiling, I set my teacup down on the bedside table and take his hand, letting him pull me off the bed and into his arms.
“Behave, remember?”
“Me?” he says, sounding somewhat appalled. “Care explaining this?” He removes one arm from around my waist and reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and turns it to me; I have to cover my mouth to keep my laugh from carrying through the house.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” I finally say, standing up on the tips of my toes and kissing him lightly.
“Oh, I more than liked it,” he assures me, putting the phone away and pulling me closer. “It just reminded me that we have another couple of days before I’ll get to unwrap my present.” As if to drive the point home, his right hand moves up my body until his index finger tugs at the neckline of my sweater so he can glimpse what’s underneath. “So the picture is from today,” he murmurs, his finger teasing the edge of my lace bra.
I sigh as a wave of goosebumps prickle up all over my body, and then I quickly come to my senses, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing him away. “Behave,” I repeat, my voice low and trembling.
“Fine,” he says, opening my door all the way. “I’ll behave. For now.” He lowers his voice and steps out into the hall. “But when we get back to the city”—his eyes grow intense as they burn into mine, and I shudder—“all bets are off.”
Owen slips out of my room, leaving me stunned as I stare after him, and just before his head disappears from sight through the stair banister, he winks. That cheeky bastard.
I shake off the quiver of desire that rushes through me, and steel my resolve before following him. I find everyone in the kitchen as Dad continues to work on breakfast while Ethan shows him his new Nintendo DS. While they’re busy, I decide to start prepping the turkey for dinner tonight, and by the time I’ve got it in the oven, it’s time for us to sit down to breakfast.
Like every year before this one, Christmas brunch is a feast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast, and, to balance it all out, a fruit salad. Everyone is always so damn full after eating, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing; this way we’re all satiated until dinner, and we’re less likely to snack and ruin our appetites before the turkey is ready.
Over breakfast, I learn that Carla and the kids will be staying over—not sure how I feel about this given my room is across from my dad’s and I remember all too well about his not-so-secret stash of condoms in his nightstand, but I smile because they’re happy, and I’m happy for them.
Plus, I’ve got music on my iPhone as well as my ear buds. I’m ready t
o drown out…that.
The sleeping arrangements have been decided, and while I’d secretly hoped that Dad would suggest I camp out on the living room floor—possibly right next to the couch where Owen would be sleeping soundly—I already knew that wouldn’t happen. Instead, Hayley will join me in my room (I hope she brought her iPod and ear buds, too) and Ethan will sleep in the living room.
After everyone has finished eating, I offer to clean up. There’s not much for leftovers since Ethan seems to be going through some kind of teenage growth spurt—that, or he actually does have a hollow leg like Carla says.
I put all of the dishes into the sink and fill it with hot, soapy water while I wipe down the counters. Once they’re clean and I start to wash the dishes, a familiar body brushes against my right side, dishtowel in-hand.
“Your dad suggested I come help,” Owen explains, grabbing the first plate from my hand, our fingers brushing and lingering a fraction of a second longer than should be normal. I’m sure no one would even notice if they were here…well, with the exception of Carla, of course.
I don’t know about Owen, but I’m still feeling all warm and tingly from earlier in my room, because every time he casts his stormy eyes my way, my knees threaten to give out and my heart races. And let’s not forget how every brush of his fingers against mine when he takes the dishes from me one at a time renders me momentarily breathless and unable to form a coherent thought.
It’s becoming more and more obvious that we probably shouldn’t be left alone together in this house—not ever—because I’m about three seconds away from pushing him up against the fridge and ripping his clothes off.
Thankfully for the both of us, Owen seems to have far more restraint than I do, and we finish the task at hand without slipping up again.
With the kitchen clean, Owen and I return to the living room where everyone else waits patiently—okay, so Ethan and Hayley, being teenagers, aren’t nearly as patient as Dad and Carla, who look awfully comfortable together on the recliner. Ethan and Hayley are sitting near the tree, their fingers practically twitching to start handing out gifts, which leaves the couch available for Owen and me.
