by Amanda Aksel
“That’s good,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here too.”
Dahlia sits in one of the dining chairs and folds her legs in while she chows down on her eggs. “I was just telling Kent last night that when someone’s meant to be in your life, the universe will push them your way. I think that’s why we’re here. Maybe it’s why I met Kent.”
“That sounds like something my mom would say.” I sip my coffee.
She knits her brows, then flashes a look of recognition and snaps her fingers. “I remember her. She visited one time. Such a hippie. I thought she was adorable.”
A lot of people find my mother adorable and charming. To me she’s just my mom, the woman who skips Christmas with her daughter to go to an ashram with her boyfriend who’s named after an herb. And I don’t want to talk about her. “So you think we’re meant to be friends, huh? Even though I haven’t called you since I moved away.”
She waves her hand. “Of course. Besides, it’s not like I was knocking down your door. The point is that we’re here together now and when we get back to California, I want to plan a time to meet up. Maybe this summer we can drive down to La Jolla or something.”
I nod. “That sounds good.”
“No, but I mean like really do it. Not just talk about it.”
That’s the key. I grab my phone and pull up my calendar. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll put a reminder in my calendar in May to make plans for June or July. How does that sound?”
Dahlia gives me a thumbs up. “Perfect.”
I check my messages in case anything’s come in from Kent. But there’s nothing. “Can I talk to you about Kent? I know you two are friends so if it’s weird, then we don’t have to,” I say, praying that it’s not weird and I can gush and spill my guts the way I’ve been dying to all week.
“Of course.” She swallows her bite, and her mouth turns up into a devilish grin.
“Okay, because I really like him. And it’s weird because we haven’t known each other long, and we don’t know each other well. But from the moment we met, it’s been like . . .”
“Sparks?” she suggests.
“Yes. I don’t even know if I had this much natural chemistry with Jeff.”
“You didn’t,” she says matter-of-factly. “You were a cute couple but you didn’t have that thing, you know?”
I narrow my eyes, shaking my head. “No. What thing?”
“That thing, that soul-mate thing. Jeff was not your soul mate.”
“Obviously.”
Dahlia wiggles her finger. “But, Kent might be. He likes you a lot too.”
My stomach jumps and I feel my eyes light up. “He does?”
“Oh, yeah, you should have seen him yesterday when we were shopping. He literally wanted to buy you everything.” She motions her hands like Vanna White.
I blush. “That’s sweet.” But I’d much rather have him in bed than get a single gift from him. “I’m not sure if spending Christmas with him is a good idea.”
Dahlia looks at me like I’m nuts. “Why not?”
“I dunno.” I squirm in my chair. “What if we have a really amazing time and then I have to go home and it never amounts to anything. I missed him yesterday. I miss him right now.”
Dahlia sighs, leaning her head into her shoulder. “Well, then it’s already too late. You clearly have feelings for him. Spend Christmas with him and find out if there’s more.”
I bite my lower lip, feeling my forehead crinkle. “And what if it turns out to be more?”
“You’ll figure it out. It wouldn’t be the first curve ball in your life, would it?”
I shake my head, thinking of all the unplanned blessings in disguise I’ve run into throughout my life.
It’s after noon when Dahlia leaves my hotel. We hug each other tight since I probably won’t see her again until summer. When I close the door behind her, the warmth of her friendship lingers in the room and not just because it still smells like breakfast sausage.
I stay busy the rest of the afternoon with work. Every task takes ten times as long since I keep checking my phone every five minutes. Finally, closer to five, Kent calls.
“Hey, I’m still at the office. Any chance we can meet for a late dinner? Say, eight-thirty. I’ll pick you up?”
“Sure. But is it a good idea for us to be together at a restaurant?” I ask.
“Shit. I almost forgot about that. No, it’s probably not a good idea.”
“Why don’t I just come to you? Are you hungry?”
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
An hour later, I show up at his office wearing the outfit I picked out for him this morning, wearing a pair of fuzzy socks under my thigh-high boots. It’s the chilliest outfit that I’ve worn since arriving in London, but today I’m feeling pretty hot. Surprisingly, there are a few people working in the building, but his floor is vacant. I approach his door, straightening my posture and dusting off my shoulder before I knock.
“Come in!” his voice booms from inside.
I swing the door open, and the smell of his cologne wafts through the air as if he’s just sprayed it. The moment he sees me, he jumps to his feet and adjusts his belt, gazing down at my legs. “Oh, baby,” he says in a low growl. “Did you wear those for me?”
After I shut the door, I set our takeout on the chair, then strut up to him until my nose is half an inch from his. “Maybe.”
Kent puts his hand on my bare thigh and drags it up to my behind. “You look very sexy.”
I tease his mouth with mine, pressing my body against his, feeling his hard dick between us. I love that he’s already up for the occasion. He kisses me. A rush of ecstasy washes over my brain, and my legs begin to tremble. Kent pulls me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, moaning playfully into our kiss.
Setting me down on the desk, he unlocks his lips from mine. He looks down at my legs and squats in front of me. The side of his mouth turns up into a devious smile. “Let me see these boots.”
Still kneeling, Kent runs his hand up the suede from the ankles all the way to my thighs. He slips a digit inside the top, tickling my skin and sending a shiver through my body. Then he squints, like he’s spotted something. “What’s in here?” Kent spreads my legs wide, looking between my thighs. Damn! It would have been so hot if I hadn’t worn panties. He licks the inside of my thigh, trailing slow kisses all the way to the edge.
“Kent, someone could come in,” I say, hushed.
He glances up at me from between my legs and I wet my bottom lip. And that’s not the only thing that’s wet. “You weren’t worried about anyone coming in the other night.”
“I was too tipsy to care.”
“You’re right. Better safe than sorry.” He stands up and walks to the door. My insides burn for him and now I have to wait. Again! Why did I say anything?
Kent flicks the lock and turns back to me with a sexy smirk. “There, now it’s just us.”
A mix of nervousness and excitement swells inside of me. He walks back over and lowers down to his knees. Running his hands up the sides of my thighs, he tugs my lace thong down and slides it around my tall boots.
“You’ll get these back later,” he says, tucking the lace into his pocket. I lean back on my elbows and he dives in, nibbling and kissing the inside of my thighs. He pulls my hips forward and his head disappears beneath my dress.
“Ooh,” I coo quietly.
His soft tongue gently licks my clit and my head falls back. He presses his mouth hard against me like he wants to devour all of me. I let out a quiet moan, my breathing becoming heavy. Sliding two fingers inside, he works his magical tongue and my entire body tingles. “Ah, Kent,” I utter, grabbing a fist full of his hair. Kent stretches his hand up my body and places a finger over my mouth as if to say, “Shh, this is our little secret.”
I kiss his finger, then circle my tongue over the tip and take it into my mouth. “Mmm,” he moans, muffled between my legs as I suck it like a candy cane. I moan again a
nd grab his shoulder. His hand drops to my nipple and he takes turns fondling each one over my dress. What I wouldn’t give to just be naked with him right now. Then a rush of pleasure shoots through my body. Kent’s finger-tongue combo is almost too good.
I lay back on the desk and whisper, “Don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t. He keeps the steady pace and slides his free hand under my dress, pushing my bra up. His technique is even more incredible and soon I come to a head. “I’m coming,” I say quietly between panting breaths. Kent releases my nipple, taking his hand out from under my clothes and covers my mouth. I moan into it, his fingers muffling the volume of the sound.
He slows down, kissing my thighs again as I catch my breath. My mouth is actually numb. Damn, that was good. It takes a second before my head feels normal again. I look down at him squatting between my legs with a sultry smile on his face.
“That was . . .”
“I know,” he says. “I felt it.”
I shake my head, trying to regain full consciousness. Oh, yeah, I’m gonna miss this when I go home.
“You okay?” he asks, offering his hand.
I take it and he pulls me upright. “I’m fabulous. How are you?”
He leans on the desk, nudging my nose with his. “Better now.”
A few minutes later, I sit on his sofa, quietly satisfied as he sets out the takeout containers of Thai food from a place he told me was his favorite.
“Do you mind if I take off my boots?” I ask, wanting to tuck my legs in.
“Darling,” he says, handing me a pair of chopsticks. “When you’re with me, feel free to take anything off.” I giggle, unzipping my shoes. He pretends to shiver, or maybe it’s real. “The sound of your zip going down is getting me hard.”
I pop the boots off and set them to the side. “Do these turn you on?” I lift my foot, showing off my purple fuzzy socks.
Kent rubs his hand on my leg, catching the fabric on my feet. “They’re not making me soft, so maybe.” He plops down on the sofa and pulls my feet into his lap, settling in with a container of pad thai.
I take a bite of the noodles. “Mmm, really good.”
“Right,” he says with a full mouth. “Oh, man. I didn’t realize I was starving until you got here.”
A noodle drops from his chopsticks and lands on his chest. I snicker, enjoying what feels like a very normal moment.
“What?” he asks.
I point at his mess. “You got food on your shirt.”
Kent glances down, looking slightly embarrassed. “I told you, I spill things.” Setting his food on the table, he pulls his half-buttoned shirt over his head.
“Ooh,” I call, staring at his beefy arms. “Take it off!”
He laughs and relaxes back on the sofa with his carton of Thai food. “So I was thinking about our Christmas together.”
Uh-oh. The way he says it I know there’s bad news on the other end. “Yeah?”
“It’s probably not a good idea for us to stay in the city. How would you feel about a little getaway? We can leave Monday night.” He wiggles his brows.
“Yes, I love that idea. Is this a getaway by car or by jet . . . ?” I string out the word jet, kinda hoping it’s an option.
“By car. I’ll drive us.”
“Where is this getaway?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise. But I think you’ll like it. At the very least, it’ll be good for both of us.”
I nod. “Okay, you know what else will be good for us?” My fuzzy-socked foot rubs over his pants, and as it turns out, my socks do make him hard.
He grins, making a sound like I’m gonna get it. And I want it. I want him now. Kent puts his food on the table and tugs on my legs, sliding me down on my back. He grabs my carton and hovers over me, looking into my eyes before we kiss. It’s the best dinner date ever.
EIGHTEEN
Kent
That evening, I walk into my flat after eight. My entire place is a mess. Dahlia’s left crumpled wrapping paper and stringy ribbons on the floor of the living room. There’s a messy pillow and blanket piled on the sofa. Leftover cups and plates litter the end tables. “Dahlia!”
“In here!” She calls from the kitchen. I walk slowly, knowing that it’s not going to be pretty when I get there. I’m right. It’s not. The counters are coated in dusty white flour, a dozen or so cracked egg shells, and Christmas-colored sprinkles are all over the floor. Dahlia looks up at me with a brilliant grin. “I’m baking!” she says with more flour on her smiling cheeks.
“I can see that.”
She stirs batter in a bowl with a wooden spoon. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. You want some cookies?”
“No, thanks,” I say, walking over to the half-empty bottle of wine I opened last night.
“How was your date with Liz?” She asks like she already knows we had sex. And we did. Damn, that woman is delicious.
“It was very good.” I pour myself a glass of red.
Dahlia smacks the flour off her hands. “Good. Hey! Did you see the article about us on what’s up dot-com?”
“Nope,” I say and take a sip.
“It was awesome. They spelled my name right and everything. My agent already called and said he’s been getting callbacks for me. Kent, do you know what that means? They’re calling me!”
I dust off the seat at the breakfast bar and sit down, watching her make a mess like a toddler. “That’s great,” I say, slightly unenthusiastic.
“I had no idea this whole fiancée thing was going to help my career too.” She pops a cookie sheet in the oven.
“Where did you get all these baking supplies?” I gesture around the counters.
“You had most of this stuff. I just needed sprinkles and cookie-cutter shapes.” Dahlia holds up a red plastic shape of a stocking.
The doorbell rings and we shoot each other strange looks. “I’ll get it,” I say, sliding off the stool. When I open the front door, I half expect it to be Liz, or half hope it’s her. But it’s a guy with shaggy blonde hair, designer jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt. He takes a step back.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“You’re Kent, huh? I thought you’d be shorter.” The guy looks me up and down as I tower over him.
I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
He cranes his neck, trying to look inside, but I hold him back. “Where’s Dahlia?”
“Just hold on a minute, mate.” I push the guy back and he smacks my hand away, his face twisting.
“Don’t call me mate, dude. We’re not mates!” He exaggerates the word mates in the worst British accent I’ve ever heard. “Dahlia!” he yells, trying to charge past me. I block him, pushing him off like an American footballer.
“I said hold on,” I say, biting off the words. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“Kent, what’s going—” Dahlia enters the room. “Ryan?” She steps into the doorway. Ryan? Ex-boyfriend Ryan? She pushes past me. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” he says. I take a step back and Dahlia wipes her cheeks, but she’s only smeared the flour.
She gapes at the guy who dumped her for total freedom on set. “How did you know where to find me?” she asks.
“I saw the pictures of you online and got the address from your brother. You’re engaged already? To this guy?” He points at me like I’m some loser. And I’m seconds from telling him to piss off, but this isn’t about me. I give them some space but hover nearby in case he tries anything.
“What do you care if I’m engaged?” Dahlia has her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, and I smile inwardly because Dahlia’s not going to let him off the hook easily. “You broke up with me, remember?”
“I know and I’m an idiot!”
I snort. I’ll second that.
Ryan ignores me, giving Dahlia a pleading look. “I didn’t do anything on set. I couldn’t. I was going to tell you in person when we had a break for Christmas, but as soon as I found out
you were here, I knew I had to get to you as soon as possible. I love you, Dahlia. And I know you still love me.” He runs his thumb over her messy cheek, but she flinches away.
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to be with anyone else!”
He leans his arm on the doorframe. “You’re right. I don’t want you to be with anyone else. I want you to be with me. I can’t offer you a billion dollars, but I can offer you something else.” The bloke drops down to his knee holding up an open ring box. From here, I can hardly see the diamond. It must be really small, which according to Dahlia means the sex must be incredible.
Dahlia gasps, covering her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
“If you’re really happy here with that guy, then I’ll let you go. But I love you. And I won’t give you up without a fight. Marry me, Dahlia.”
She nods her head slowly as a tiny tear streaks down her cheek. “Yes,” she cries. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Ryan jumps to his feet and pulls her in, holding her as if he’ll never let her go. I glance around my flat at the mess she’s left and think to myself, “She’s your fiancée now, DUDE!”
Ryan stays the night with Dahlia in her room. She tells him the truth about us and he seems more relieved than pissed. But now Dahlia wants out of her agreement so she can start her life over again with Ryan. I tell her that we’ll figure it out after Christmas. The next day, Dahlia and Ryan travel to Italy for a romantic holiday. Before she leaves, she tells me two things: One, she and Ryan will ride a gondola under the Bridge of Sighs so they can guarantee they’ll be together forever, and two, don’t blow it with Liz. The next two and a half days will just be Liz and me in our little escape. So we’ll see how I do.
That evening, I pull up in front of her hotel, this time in my Range Rover. There’s a good chance we’ll have snow and four-wheel drive doesn’t hurt. She walks out to the curb, wheeling her two suitcases and a couple of extra bags. I jump out of the car and grab her luggage, opening the door for her.
