by Jess Epps
“Oh! Merry Christmas, my son,” she says as she pats my back. “I’m going to make us a full Christmas morning breakfast. Is there anything in particular that you would like to eat?”
“Yeah…bacon,” I say, smiling. “Are we expecting anyone to stop by today?”
“No, not that I am aware of. We both know that we are all that each other have. I wish I had a family to bring you up in, but I had to make do with what I had.”
I squeeze her shoulder to comfort her. “I know, Mae. I couldn’t have asked for more. Let’s go get breakfast going. I’m starving.” She steps back and walks back down the hallway to the kitchen to start a Christmas breakfast for two.
It’s been just the two of us for as long as I can remember. I’ve never known any of Mae’s family members and she detests speaking of them. I try not to bring them up, but not having family around during the holidays has proven to be fairly lonesome throughout the years. Ridding the conversation from my mind, I sit down at the kitchen island as Mae moves around the room preparing breakfast.
“Mae?” I ask as I pull my phone out to play Christmas music—an attempt to drown out the thunder outside. Sinatra’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas starts playing as she gestures for me to continue. “What was your favorite part of the ballet?” I query. I already know the answer but I want Mae to talk about her, to tell me more about Heather Lane.
Heather
AFTER MANAGING TO escape my dressing room unnoticed, I make my way out the back and onto the busy street, blending in with people exiting the theatre. I hate the fact that I'm constantly looking over my shoulder as I walk, but I can’t help it. I just know that any second, Nik is going to come out of nowhere and this time I'll be on my own.
Two blocks later, I arrive at my hotel and slide my keycard into the slot to open the double doors of my suite. I set my ballet bag onto the plush couch and grab my phone off of the charger. Thirteen missed calls, three voicemails, and seven text messages from Dani. In each text she’s demanding that I call her as soon as I’m done with the show. I don’t bother listening to the voicemails, but instead I hit call and I’m taken straight to her voicemail. Thinking it’s rather odd for Dani to not have her phone on, I listen to the voicemails she’s left me.
She sounds excited and disappointed at the same time in the first voicemail as she asks that I call her ASAP. In the second one she tells me that Brannon surprised her with a trip to the Greek Islands. Oh my. The third and final message is her apologizing profusely as she tells me she’s at the airport and about to board the plane. I hear a flight announcement in the background and hang up; I’m not interested in hearing the rest of the voicemail.
“Looks like it’s fake snow and hot chocolate for me this Christmas,” I mumble as I cross the living room to the bedroom, fishing out my makeup remover to scrub my face with.
After an hour of trying to remove all of the makeup, I collapse onto my bed, groaning in relief when I’m off of my feet. A giant weight seems to be lifted off my shoulders now that the tour has officially come to an end. I’m safe and alone in my room, and able to think about whatever I want. Of course, I'm thinking of him. I don't even know his name and yet…just thinking about the sound of his voice has my body buzzing.
I shut my eyes, hoping to see him. His ocean green eyes consume me, just as they had when I was standing a few feet in front of him. Willingly, I replay his words in my head, “Smile for me.” I squirm on the bed and grab a pillow, covering my head so the next suite over can’t hear me scream.
What in the F, Heather?
My mind is running on overdrive while I think about him and the way he wore that suit… and his cologne…he smelled so good. Suddenly I feel like I’m wearing too many clothes and I sit up and toss the pillow aside. I grasp the hem of my tank and pull it up. A small, shy smile plays at my lips as I wonder what it'd be like to undress in front of him.
Get a grip, Heather!
I peel off my tights and lie on the king-sized bed in my favorite pair of white lace panties. Before I know it, I’m thinking about the Greek god again. Even though he wore a suit, I could tell he has a broad chest and trim waist. If he had only taken off the suit jacket, I would have been able to see how his white button-down hugged his body in ways I can only dream of. Oh my, I bet he has the sexiest feet.
Stop it, Heather!
This stranger consumes my thoughts and I’m struggling to sleep. Tossing and turning under the white duvet, I decide it’s time to let this fantasy man go. Looking over at the clock, I see that it’s seventeen minutes after midnight. Reaching up, I turn off the side lamp and lie back down.
"Merry Christmas, mystery man."
I'M SPIRITED AWAY from the plush hotel bed in Phoenix and into a surreal world where he's waiting for me. The nameless Greek god is standing before me.
He's naked. Gloriously naked.
I swallow back a moan when he steps toward me and I want to touch his tanned, toned skin. His muscles flex as he approaches and he ducks his head to kiss my neck, but instead he teases me. He won’t touch me. I can feel his warm breath on my skin. I look down at my body and I'm naked too. I don’t remember getting undressed, but I decide not to fight against it. My body moves toward him, but I can never reach this gorgeous man. He says something, but I don't catch it. In order to get his attention, I move my hand down to my sex and start touching myself. I've never touched myself in front of anyone before, but this man has me so hot and needy.
He opens his mouth to speak again and mouths something. Why can’t I hear him? I want to hear the voice that made my head spin. I take an appreciative glance at his naked body again. My eyes move up from those sexy feet to his…oh, his manhood and then up to a coy, sensual smile that’s leisurely spread across his face.
His smile tells me he’s pleased and that for some reason he finds my tight, ballet-trained body attractive. Oh, I’m sure I’m something he’ll chase after if given a chance. That sultry grin he’s giving me is his tell-all. I’m ready to scale up his body and shove my tongue into his mouth violently, then beg for him to do me…take me like he’s never taken anyone else before. My toes curl as I move my fingers faster across my wet, sensitive skin and my mouth drops open as the pleasure is almost too much to take. I find his eyes again and he’s looking straight into me—straight into my soul. He hasn’t once glanced down to where my hand explores my folds, but I’m about to lose myself from my own touch when the whole lot vanishes.
I’m jolted awake.
The room is pitch black and I’m heaving, trying to fill my lungs with as much air as I possibly can. As my eyes adjust in the darkness, I look at the bedside clock. I blink a few times until my eyes fully focus. The blue numbers on the digital clock read 4:23 a.m.
I can only imagine how incredible he is in bed. The way his body would move over me... A girl can dream—literally.
I move my hand down to touch my panties and they are completely soaked, but I’m still so pent up with sexual tension. I know I was dreaming. I’ve had half a dozen wet dreams on this tour, but for some reason I don’t feel satisfied. I don’t think I…I don’t believe I had an orgasm this time.
My nipples are peaked and the sheets underneath me are damp with what can only be my perspiration. My overwhelming need to have a body-writhing orgasm is surfacing. I need one. I need an orgasm that is going to start in my toes and run up to my wet folds then penetrate into my core.
Swinging my legs off of the bed, I decide that a cold shower would be a better option than playing with myself when an eruption of electric light fills the room for a second. This bottled-up sexual need is going to have to be just that. Bottled up.
I sag back down onto the bed, deciding not to drive through the storms today and just spend this Christmas in Phoenix…heck, even smaller, in my hotel room. I don’t think anything will be open today.
I get up and walk to the windows when the thunder sounds again. Peeking through the curtains, I gasp at the downpour where a
man is running in the middle of the street. In this weather? What an idiot. My phone buzzes a few times with severe thunderstorm warnings and flash flooding. I watch the rain descend over the city of Phoenix before returning to bed for the night.
SUNLIGHT POURS THROUGH the window and onto my face. I open my eyes and check the digital clock. It reads 11:38 a.m. I make my way to the window and see that the storm has subsided and left a beautiful blue-skied day in its wake.
A grumbling stomach makes me realize I haven’t eaten since before the show. I grab a candy bar from my depleting collection, but put it back, deciding to order breakfast and hot chocolate instead. After a few hours of flipping through TV channels, I know I need to get out of this room. I simply cannot watch A Christmas Story anymore. No matter how hard I try, two hours of watching Ralphie seems to be all I can handle. After showering and making myself presentable, I go down to the lobby where only a few guests are meandering around.
Heading over to the concierge desk where a young blonde woman is seated, I politely wish her a Merry Christmas before asking if there is anything that’s open today. I’m expecting to hear a no, but when she answers me, I’m taken by surprise.
“Oh yes, Miss Lane. There are a few local diners open if you’d rather not eat in our dining room.”
“I ordered room service earlier. Is there anything else that is open? Perhaps something other than a restaurant?” I ask.
Her fingers dance across the keyboard as she looks for an answer, “Um. Mainly just restaurants and movie theatres, Miss Lane. Here’s one: it’s a small movie theatre about twenty minutes northwest of the city.” In the neatest handwriting, she jots down the address of the theatre on a pink sticky-note.
Taking the note from her outstretched hand, I say, “Great. Thank you.” Smiling, I walk to the valet men at the lobby doors. I hand them my ticket and minutes later I’m in my convertible with the top down…in December. I end up exploring the mostly abandoned city for the day.
The twenty-minute drive to the theatre flies by as I take in the warm air and gorgeous sunset. I ease down on the brake as my GPS informs me I have arrived at my destination. I look around with a scowl on my face. I don’t see any sign of a movie theatre. I’ve pulled up behind a line of cars and I sit up to see what is causing the holdup. Then I see it: a huge movie screen out in the open. Oh my God, how cute is this? It’s a drive-in theatre. The line moves agonizingly slowly as I wait to find out what movie I’ll be watching.
When it’s my turn to purchase a ticket, I’m told that the theatre’s annual Christmas Day show is the 1953 black-and-white movie Roman Holiday. The ticket salesman tells me that I will be parked in spot number thirty-one, then hands me a flyer with information on what radio station to tune my radio to. I nod and pay, then follow the signs until I find my parking bay.
Looking at my watch, I decide I still have time to go visit the concession stand that I passed when I entered so I get out of the car and walk back to the guy behind the window.
"Hi. Uhm...I'd like some Milk Duds and some Twizzlers, please. Oh…and a bag of Swedish Fish." I try to hold back a giggle when the guy’s eyes go wide. "Oh, and a Coke, please." Giving him the sweetest smile I can muster up before paying, I head back to my car.
Settling into my seat, I open the bag of Twizzlers first. I still can't believe I'm sitting in my convertible on Christmas Day, about to watch a movie in a drive-in theatre. Maybe I can survive without snow on Christmas after all. The screen comes alive and I turn on my radio to the designated station. Glancing over to my left, I see a couple that looks like they're very much in love. She cuddles into his side and he wraps an arm around her shoulder. I almost melt.
"Awww," I say to myself.
With a heavy sigh, I turn back to the screen and watch the opening scene.
Noah
HOURS AFTER I’VE first laid eyes on her, I am still unable to get her out of my mind. Mae and I have had Christmas dinner and she has fallen asleep, just like every other Christmas. Ever since I got my driver’s license, I’ve been going to the theatre on Christmas Day. It has been my reprieve for as long as I can remember. I love Mae, but I need my time alone, time away from her ongoing questions.
Every year the privately owned drive-in theatre has shown Roman Holiday at seven in the evening. It is pretty much the only thing that is open on Christmas Day in a fifty-mile radius of Scottsdale. I’d say it has become a part of who I am. I could recite the damn film to anyone who asks. Deciding it’s time to leave, I grab some healthy snacks and a liter of water before heading out to my truck and driving the thirty-two miles to get to this theatre. Once I pay, I’m given my spot, number forty. I’m usually about ten spots closer, but fuck it. I’m here and I can kick back and enjoy something that is not all about Christmas.
Growing up with Mae has made me rely on my peers for my entire social life, as well as to get by and get the hell away from the house. I’ve got one close friend, but the motherfucker is a damned manwhore. He’d rather be banging chicks on Christmas than watching these old films. He would kick my ass for coming to these damned black-and-white romance movies once a year.
Okay, more than once a year, but it’s my escape. I don’t have to worry about shit when I’m out here. I’m away from everyone and everything I know. I need this place the same way it needs patrons to survive.
I pull into my spot and tune my radio to the AM station. The film starts playing when I reach over and start chewing on my carrots and ranch, chugging my water when I get thirsty— healthy snacks after all the damn stuffing and slices of pie I ate tonight. I move my seat back to get comfortable, accidentally laying my hand on the horn. It releases a long, drawn-out beep.
Fuck.
All the couples and their mothers must be looking in my direction. I raise my hand to the couple parked in front of me as an apology.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to shut down your piece of ass.” Chuckling to myself, I add to my comment when he looks away, “Lucky asshole.”
I’ve been so consumed with studying for the bar exam that I haven’t had time for myself. Shit, I used to play football in high school and college. I knew my shit; it’s why I got a full scholarship to Arizona State. With the amount of scholarship money left over as well as my living-expense loan, I’ve been able to live a very comfortable lifestyle. I know I’ll be paying it off once I graduate, but fuck it. They forbid me to work the first year in law school, and I’ve got to live somehow. I’m grateful that I haven’t had to worry about working throughout my undergrad and grad career as it would have taken away from my study time.
Mae has always said that I would be surrounded by true friends and I found that friendship in Coen Reed. Coen and I played for Arizona for the four years of our college career. He’s the one asshole who I have kept in touch with in the almost three years since we graduated college. He went on to be a skydiving instructor while I headed to grad school to get my law degree. All he does is fucking play. I decide to text the motherfucker while the movie plays.
I type out a quick message: Hey ass-hat. What are you doing for New Year’s?
His reply comes almost instantly. Dipshit. I’ll be with your ass at a bar somewhere in Phoenix.
Chuckling, I respond: I’ll see you at Trione at 10 pm for NYE.
Thirty minutes into the movie, I need to piss. I climb out of my truck and head to the lavatories. There’s a long-ass line for the women’s bathroom and I laugh. Shit, sucks to have a vagina, I guess. As the thought enters my head, I pause to watch a woman who looks just like Heather Lane walk into the women’s bathroom. I freeze. There’s no way in hell that’s her. She’s probably long gone by now. Regardless, I decide to wait. I watch as woman after woman walks out of the bathroom while I wait to see if I’m hallucinating or not.
Finally, Heather Lane emerges from the bathroom and I can’t help but stare at her. She’s beautiful…possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She looks completely different from last night, with h
er hair down. I want her even more. My body automatically moves toward her.
Step by step.
She’s walking away so I have to quicken my pace in order to catch up to her. I’m attracted to her like a polar opposite. I need to say something—I can’t let her get away this time. I hear myself call out, “Excuse me, Miss Lane?”
She turns on her toes and I still when her eyes focus on mine.
I’m the man who tore the fucking asshole off of her last night. I’m the man she ran from.
What the hell are you doing, Ryan?
When she sees who is calling out her name, she stops walking away. I can’t tell if she’s delighted, scared, or pissed that it’s me. Hell, does she even recognize me?
I feel my world tilt again. I’ve been fighting all day to get it back on its normal axis but seeing her just fucked up every ounce of effort I put into it. I am taking a shot in the dark with this woman. I stand there like the fool I am for her as I wait for her to say something…anything.
Heather
AS I'M WALKING back to my car I'm watching the screen ahead of me, hoping I haven't missed too much of the movie, and out of nowhere, I hear my name being called. Out of reflex, I turn around to the sound of a deep, raspy voice. In the process of pivoting on my toes, I realize that nobody knows me around here. Who the heck could...? As soon as my eyes focus in the dark, my heart does its own pirouette. Oh...it's him...the Greek god.
I can’t move.
Not an inch.
I’m stuck.
He takes a step toward me and then another. How…how did he see me? I stand there and do nothing but take him in. Every movement he makes. Every time his lips crook up in the corner. Every single inch he moves toward me. My body becomes so much more aware of him. I tingle in places I didn’t know I could tingle just from a man’s eyes on me.
