Santa's Pet

by Rachelle Ayala

  “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.”

  ~ 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 couldn’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 Twenty-Nine

  ~ 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.

  I find the tin of chocolate powder while Ben digs out a bottle of whiskey. He’s quiet and I’m quiet as I stir the chocolate into the heated milk. I still can’t believe him, but I’m going to hear him out. His definition of sex could be very precise. It’s only sex when it happens during a blue moon within a week of the summer solstice. Or it’s only sex if the coyotes are howling outside and it happens on a day that doesn’t end in the letter “y” or a month that doesn’t end in the letter “r.”

  “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.

  “So it’s really true? You’ve never done it before?” I can feel the blood draining from my head. Maybe it’s the effect of the whiskey, or the chill creeping into the cabin from the fog outside. “How exactly do you define doing it?”

  “I’ve never told anyone, but …” he pauses and takes a huge breath. “Well, it’s embarrassing.”

  A million disquieting thoughts flick through my mind, but I swallow hard and take his hand. “You can tell me. I swear I won’t say anything.”

  “I can’t, can’t …” He coughs and clears his throat. “I’ve never entered a woman where it matters. I promised my mother I wouldn’t make love to a woman unless I was completely in love with her.”

  Which means he’s not in love with me—at least not completely.

  “How old were you when you promised?”

  “Ten. I was the youngest. Braden was eighteen, Nash was twelve and Damon was fifteen. She made all four of us promise her. It was part of her ‘birds and bees’ conversation. She said to save it for someone special.”

  Only ten. Now it makes sense. He was too young to feel the hormones stirring. As for his older brothers, they probably gave lip service and went on doing what they wanted.

  “Weren’t you a bit young to have this conversation?” I cast for something to say.

  “Not at all. They have that family life thing in fifth grade.” He pulls me closer and stares into my eyes. “You’re okay with this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s kind of shocking. I mean, with your reputation and all that. Or I just assumed since you’re an athlete. I’m sure women want to suck you off.”

  Yikes. Where’s my filter?

  “They do. All the time. But it’s just a way of getting my rocks off. It’s not really love making.”

  “It could be. I mean, if it’s someone you really cared about.”

  His gaze pinpoints my lips, and I can see the wheels churning in his mind.

  “Not that I’m offering.” I quickly back away from him and grab my mug of hot chocolate, putting it in front of my lips. If I thought I had issues, this guy takes the cake. Sex that is not really sex. No wonder he’s been teasing me forever with all the innuendo.

  But then again, the stakes are so high, I don’t think I want sex to mess up what we have. Ben feels like the real deal—the man I’ll look across the bed at in fifty years and still have my heart all a flutter and my breath flying away like a wild goose over a gunshot.

  “Are you going to run away screaming and never look back?” He tries to pass off this remark with a dry chuckle.

  I sip the warm whiskey spiked chocolate and inhale the alcoholic fumes for fortification. He’s spoken his heart and bared his soul for me. I owe him as much. Taking a deep breath, I say a prayer to myself, that Ben won’t run kicking and punching when I tell him my deep, dark secret.

  “You know when I said I had sex with those two guys?” I clutch the warm mug so hard my knuckles are probably bone white. The shit’s going to hit hard when I mention Nash’s name. But since we’re both sharing secrets, and we haven’t made an emotional commitment yet, it’ll be better to get it out of the way.

  “Are you saying you didn’t really do it either?” Ben tilts an eyebrow up, as if looking for a loophole.

  “Oh, I did. I mean as far as A goes into B.”

  Ben’s mouth draws down into a scowl. “I thought you were going to tell me it was only oral sex or a hand job. You did use condoms, didn�
�t you?”

  “Of course we did.”

  “Oh, some girls say it’s not real sex unless it’s going bareback.”

  He’s not making it easy. I’m not looking for excuses. I’m trying to get something off my chest. “It’s real sex whenever you have sexual contact with someone. Ben, I think you’re in a state of denial here. The truth is, I had penis to vaginal sex twice. And I’m not sure you’re going to like—”

  He cuts me off with his lips over mine. I gasp, but part of me is relieved I don’t have to go through with my confession. Ben knows the worst. By his definition, I’m not a virgin and he’s still kissing me as if I’m precious and adored.

  His lips massage mine tenderly as his fingers caress the back of my head. I can’t help but melt into his kiss, wanting so badly to make every barrier go away. Why should it matter whether I slept with Nash Powers or Joe Blow? It’s in the past and didn’t mean anything. It’s not like I spend any time thinking about it at all, and I’m sure Nash doesn’t either. In fact, the last time he visited, he never brought it up. He was seeing a woman he met at a gig and spent most of his nights at her place, only parking his guitar and amps at mine. I’ll just clue him in that I’m seeing Ben, and he’ll know what I mean and not bring it up ever. After all, part of being mature enough to hook up is to forget about it the next day. What happens after dark, stays in the dark. That’s the motto of my generation.

  As for Ben, I’m both elated and dejected at the same time. He’s so fucked up by not admitting sex is sex, but at the same time, he’s saving making love for when he’s truly in love.

  My body waxes both hot and cold. The side toward the fire burns from the way Ben kisses me, but the other side is chilled by the draft coming in under the front door.

  Ben breathes through his teeth and pulls back to look at me. “I like everything about you, Brittney, including the fact you’re more experienced than I am. Someday, when we’re both ready, I’ll open that gift of yours and it will be unforgettable.”

  Yes, unforgettable. Just like the day he finds out Nash has been there first. I draw away from him and close my eyes. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Maybe we were always meant to be friends. Good, close friends who love each other, but not in a way to let sex mess it up.”