Until those voices.
I’m still wrapped around my man when I start to comprehend what’s going on in the hallway, inches from our bedroom door.
“Margie, are you sure you didn’t hear that bang?”
“Hombre, no. You’re hearing things.”
“I’m going to look around,” my dad’s gruff voice whisper-yells to my mom. “Someone could be breaking in. Or maybe it’s that raccoon.” His voice lowers, but only barely. “It’s weird that they have a raccoon, right?”
I start to laugh, and Brady does too, but hello, we’re still connected while my parents have this little pow wow in the hall.
He rolls off me, still chuckling, and pulls me to him.
“I’m so traumatized right now,” I whisper in his ear, and he laughs harder. “They’re staying in a hotel next time.”
Brady wraps me in his strong arms and kisses my forehead. “Look on the bright side. At least we didn’t hear them having sex.”
Oh God.
“Okay, now I’m traumatized. Thanks, babe.”
Then Brady smacks my naked ass, and my dad calls out, “Margie, there! Did you hear that?”
* * *
I’ve barely been able to look my father in the eye all morning. Especially after my sister mumbles in my ear that she heard us having sex all the way in the living room.
Kill me now.
Thankfully, Brady mentions Bandit, and my dad goes off about how he thought our raccoon was rattling one of the doors last night.
When Brady and I make eye contact, he grins, and I know he’s thinking about what we did last night. I can’t help but smile as my cheeks flush. And then he mouths, “I love you,” and all of the anxiety I’ve been carrying around this morning melts away.
After a late breakfast with my parents, sister, and Brady’s parents, we settle around the Christmas tree.
Tori claps her hands. “Okay, everyone. The rest of the familia is coming over tonight, so we gotta get cracking here. Someone hand me my loot.”
Everyone chuckles, and I toss a gift to her with an eye roll.
We’re in the middle of opening gifts when I offer everyone a coffee refill.
As I head into the kitchen, Tori comes up behind me and whispers, “Hey, did you get into the bag with the sex toys?”
“No. I don’t even know where you put them. Please tell me you didn’t leave that in the office. I really don’t need Dad stumbling across an assortment of vibrators.”
“I mean, yeah, they were in there at first, but then I moved them into the back hallway.”
“Behind the coats?”
“Yup. You’re good, homie. I got your back. And your vag.” She makes a goofy face, and I push her playfully. Well, mostly playfully.
After coffee refills, I take my place on the arm of the sofa, between Brady and our outrageously large tree so I can continue handing out gifts.
My sister roams along the other side of the room, snapping pictures and keeping Izzy from running headlong into the trash bag that holds all of the used wrapping paper.
I reach for a red stocking, double check the name on it, and pass it down to Rebecca, Brady’s mom, who’s sitting on the far end of the couch.
“Oh sweetheart, this is beautiful,” she says as she studies the fabric design I applied to the front of the stocking. We can’t afford extravagant gifts, but I wanted each one to be special and come from the heart. Because our families mean the world to me and Brady.
She pulls out some bath salts, and she unscrews the lid to smell them.
“Delicious! Did you make this?”
I’m always delighted when my soon-to-be mother-in-law likes my products. “I did. But not everything in there is homemade. Only the ones with the Lovelace Lavender labels.”
She nods and pulls out a few more gifts. My mom leans over her shoulder and nods in approval of my choices. When it’s my mom’s turn, I hand her a stocking.
As she pulls out her gifts, I glance around, taking a moment to appreciate having everyone here. It isn’t until my sister gasps that my attention snaps back to my mom, who is holding up a white jar with a hot pink logo.
Huh. I don’t remember getting her that. Is it another lotion?
Rebecca and my mom huddle together, and my mom looks like she’s trying to read the container.
“Neeple Neeeblers.” Her words are choppy, her accent more prominent, because she’s trying to say unusual words. “Neeple Neeeblers.” She looks to Rebecca and blinks. “Is that how you say it?”
Brady’s mom presses her lips together. Her playful eyes dart to me and then back to the jar. “Yes, that’s very close.” She leans toward my mom and lowers her voice. “I think it’s pronounced Nipple Nibblers.”
Wait. What? What did she say?
“Nipple Nibblers?” my dad asks, confused. “What’s that?”
I watch, frozen, as my mom holds up the container a moment, whisks off the lid, dabs it on her finger and swipes some of it across her lips.
Before anyone can say another word, I bolt to the other side of the room and grab the offending product and silently read the label, which features the naked silhouette of a woman with little hearts on her boobs. It says it’s for nipple play. “To enhance the sensitivity of your nipples and increase arousal. Safe to use on your lips. Edible.”
What the fuck is this?
Beside me, my mother smacks her mouth and beams me a smile. “It tingles.”
My sister folds in half with laughter, and I turn to her. “Tori, what is going on?” Because of course, my sister has to be responsible.
She’s laughing so hard, tears are streaming down her face. “It’s for the bachelorette party,” she snorts.
“Mija, what’s so funny?” my dad asks, still clueless.
“Maybe…” Tori wipes the tears. “Maybe Izzy got into that bag.”
Fucking lovely. Our two-year-old got into the bag of vibrators, nipple cream, and cock rings.
She snort-laughs, “Or maybe it was Bandit!” I’m shooting death rays at my sister, who holds up her hands. “I went through everything this morning. It was all there. I swear.”
“Except for this.” I wave the offending container in her face as she laughs harder.
A moment later, two big hands rest on my shoulders and pull me back until I feel Brady’s warm chest.
“Babe, it’s okay,” he whispers before he kisses my temple. “This isn’t the end of the world. It was mistake. Let’s pass out the rest of the gifts. It’ll be fine.”
I take a deep, cleansing breath. This isn’t a big deal. It was simply a mistake.
“You’re right. It’s no big deal.”
But just as I’m finding some zen, Izzy twirls in front of us and chants, “Neepples! Neepples! Neeeeeepples!”
Yeah. Not awkward at all.
My sister gives me a wide grin and yells, “Hey, that’s not so bad. At least she didn’t say dicks!”
The End
* * *
About the Author
Lex Martin is the USA Today bestselling author of Shameless and The Dearest Series. She loves printing black and white photos, listening to music on vinyl, and getting lost in a great book. Bitten by wanderlust, she's lived all over the country but currently resides in the City of Angels with her husband and twin daughters.
* * *
Grab Lex’s USA Today’s bestselling book, Shameless, to read Brady and Kat’s story—> lexmartinwrites.com
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Not So Secret Santa
Lindsey Iler
The smell of Pine-Sol in Rico's room is extreme. The scent nearly gags me as I pace up and down the length of the space. I roll my eyes at the Christmas tree tucked in the back corner. Why the hell he has a fully decorated
tree is beyond me.
"Do you have something against Christmas, Amanda?" Rico asks. He's perched on his computer chair, arms folded over his tight, broad chest. Completely disregarding his question, my eyes fixate on its movement as he breathes. "Earth to Amanda." He waves his hand in my direction to garner my attention.
"Nothing against Christmas. Something against having you as my Secret Santa," I explain.
We both know this is only partially true. I had the perfect gift lined up if I’d miraculously picked Kennedy or Violet, but no, I pulled this wise guy.
We've been in limbo as of lately. For the better half of a year, we've spent it in and out of the bedroom. At first, to each other, we were nothing but body parts. A means to an end. A scratcher for each other's itch. Then something shifted, and we found ourselves divulging information you only expose to someone you truly trust.
The only problem is, while traveling down the road of this ‘getting to know each other’ journey, we've somehow managed to screw it up more times than I'm willing to admit to. He's pulled me in, only to ignore my existence the next day. I'm not innocent in the rise and fall of our ‘relationship’ either. This much I know. Why set myself for a mountain of hurt when we can continue to dabble in a ‘friends with benefits’ type of relationship? I haven't verbalized my own complicated feelings, which has left Rico in the dark.
And somehow, the universe is screaming for us to connect by having me pull his name from that stupid velvet red hat. I'm kicking myself for not putting up more of a fight when everyone suggested a Secret Santa style Christmas. No, instead, I quietly went along with the charade, pretending I was into the idea because it's easier than admitting I don't exactly enjoy the beloved holiday.
"Okay, you dragged me up here. Now will you tell me why?" I perch on the edge of the bed. "You know I pulled your name, so do you mind at least telling me what you want since you neglected to write it on the piece of paper?"
"There's a reason why. I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out what to put down and every answer I came up with revolved around you. I'm tired of feeling this strange vibe between us. I like you, and I know it sounds super lame because we aren't in junior high anymore, but it's true. I like you." Rico's cheek pink under my scrutiny.
I don't know what to say. A mixture of emotions come to mind, and none of them can be conveyed through words. They sure as hell aren't coming across with the look I have on my face now. My eyes are narrowed with apprehension, a feeling I've grown familiar to when I think about our situation.
"I get it, Rico. I really do, but right now, things are too complicated with us. When I'm up, you're down. I don't know if we’re ready for what each other has to offer."
"So, what do you want to do? Pretend we aren't into each other? Cut the late night phone calls and jealousy?" He shakes his head because, just as I know, he's aware of how unlikely that idea will work out.
"What I need to know is what you want for your Secret Santa gift." Subject change. Always a safe route when talking about matters of the heart.
"Do you want to know? Because I don't think it's something you'll be willing to give me."
"Try me. Whatever it is, I'll do it, as long as we stop talking about us." I ghost a finger between us.
Rico taps a pencil on the top of his desk, but his eyes never leave mine. The wheel is turning, and I can practically see it in his eyes. He wants to say it, but he won't because, once again, I've pushed him away. It may be in my own way, but the evidence is clear.
"Whatever it is, I'll do it, or I'll buy it. Hell, I'll make it if I have to, but can we please stop pretending like we live in a world where someone like you is capable of committing to someone like me."
"You drive a hard bargain, but sure. I'm not going to tell you what I want. I'll show you." I start to protest, and he stops me before I can even utter a single word. "I have some planning to do, though, so you’ll have to be patient. I know that’s hard for you."
"Planning?"
"After this, you'll never have a reason to hate Christmas."
"One thing’s for certain, I'm starting to hate you." I stand from the bed and head toward the door. My need for fresh, cool air trumps my desire to figure out Rico's riddle. "I don't need clues. If whatever this is distracts us from the roller coaster ride we've been on, then once again, I'll do anything."
* * *
How in the sweet hell did I find myself in this situation?
Oh, that’s right. I’m a sucker for a crooked grin and a hot body.
Rico’s been a righteous ass, keeping his plan close to his chest. To say he’s enjoyed having one up on me is an understatement. Even the look in his eyes has challenged me. And I promise, a challenge is exactly what this is.
For a split second, I considered backing down when I laid eyes on what he expects me to wear. But hey, what’s a little bare skin, right? I’m completely okay with that. The cold countertop against the back of my thighs causes a chill to run up my spine. A fucking sweater would be nice, right about now. Or some jeans instead of these flimsy, white stockings.
Whatever. As if I’d ever back down. He should know better. We are both stubborn in our own way. The two of us are cut from the same cloth.
Of course, now I’m sort of hiding? No, hiding isn’t the right word. Maybe avoiding would be a better choice. Cause now I know what waits for me on the other side of the bathroom door.
I hear something in his bedroom, jump from the vanity, and place my ear against the door.
“Jesus Christ!” What is meant to be a whisper is actually much louder than I anticipated or wanted. Is that “Jingle Bell Rock”? I swear to everything holy, if he has Christmas music playing . . .
“No, it’s just me, but you can call me whatever you’d like,” Rico shouts from inside his room.
I glance back at the mirror and rub under my eyes to blend in my foundation. I keep telling myself if I’m going to do this, then I will do it right. Make-up. Costume. Fake confidence.
“It may not make any sense, but this is the guy you can’t get out of your mind. Remember that when you walk out of this bathroom and don’t let him win,” I chastise myself as I hike up my tits until I can practically feel them on my chin. The red, velvet crop top is minuscule. My breaths are shallow, and the intensity of my lack of oxygen eggs me on to leave the bathroom sooner than later.
Rico and I may not be pursuing a real adult-like relationship, but that doesn’t mean sex is out of the equation. I know it’s not a good idea, but hell, he’s hard to resist. He’s always been my kryptonite. From the moment I met him, I’ve been incapable of saying no to him.
“Are you going to hide in there all night?” Rico taps on the door. “Oh, Mrs. Claus. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” His voice is eager, and I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Is everything ready? Do I need to say something when I come out?” The panic in my voice is evident, even as I try to push it to the far depths of my throat.
Not going to be the only thing at the far depths of your throat tonight. I roll my eyes at the thought.
“Come out and act natural,” Rico instructs. This is easy for someone like Rico to say. He has no shame.
“Act natural? Nothing about this is natural. I’ll be a porn star after tonight.” I whisper-shout as I swing the door open and am stunned silent by the sight in front of me. All my trepidation slips away with one devious grin.
Rico’s chest is bare. My eyes don’t hesitate to skim over every tan inch. Somehow I’m still astounded by it. He’s hard and chiseled, proving he works hard for what he has to offer. With the way he cooks, how he stays fit is beyond me. The guy can make you think a grilled cheese is a Michelin three-star restaurant dining experience.
“Damn, you look sexy as hell.” Rico offers his hand, and I gladly take it. “You should dress like this all the time.” He twirls me around to get a fuller picture of the skirt and white stockings with the tiny, red bows at the top. His eyes burn into my skin, cau
sing an instant blush to appear on my cheeks.
“Yeah? Something tells me it’ll draw the wrong kind of attention in the city.” My arms wrap around his neck, and instinct to be close has his strong arms encompassing my waist. All my apprehension melts away.
“I had hoped you would pick my name,” he whispers.
“I’m sure. I doubt you would’ve gotten Dan or Graham in this outfit.”
“This,” he points behind him, “is an added bonus.”
Rico’s lived above the garage at Graham and Kennedy’s for quite a few months. I’ve been in this room before, but it looks different. The lights are dimmed. Candles line every flat surface, and in place of his neutral curtains, red fabric drapes to the floor. Twinkle lights hang behind the bed, helping to illuminate the space. The sight alone is magical.
“This looks . . .” My hand covers my mouth.
“Is it too much?” Rico’s nerves are evident. It’s okay to be nervous if he is.
His hand lands on my hip, and I instantly turn into his arms.
“So, we’re doing this?” I smile.
“Oh, yeah, we’re doing this.” His grin spreads across his face, baring his pearly white teeth.
Without hesitation, I lunge forward, covering Rico’s mouth with my own. With our lips playfully joined, he pushes me until my back hits the soft mattress. Our kiss grows more eager, and I latch onto his back, digging my fingernails into his flesh. I spread my legs, giving him enough space to move closer.
This may not be our first time, but I can’t help but feel self-conscious. Somewhere in the room is a laptop with a tiny camera, recording our every move. As we kiss, my mind runs through a list of reasons why we shouldn’t be here. Adult film star isn’t exactly something I’ve strived for. I’ve managed to make it twenty-one years without being filmed, yet somehow, I’m willing to throw that achievement away with one single request from Rico.
F*CKING AWKWARD HOLIDAYS: 25 Short Stories of Awkward Holiday Encounters Page 23
