by J. M. Paul
Prying one eye open, I realize I’m in my condo and still on the couch with Trey. I’m shoved into the corner, thanks to his huge feet pressing against my butt. I glance toward the other side of the sofa, expecting to see Cami and Connor, but it’s empty. The television’s turned off, and the sun is shining through the living room blinds.
I stretch my sore limbs and back—no thanks to Trey, the couch hog—and reach for my phone. It’s 8:19 in the morning—time I get up and moving. My article won’t write itself, and it’s due first thing tomorrow.
Standing, I stretch again and then walk into the kitchen. For some odd reason, I feel like I’m hungover even though I didn’t drink last night.
As my Keurig performs the important task of providing me with my lifeline, I tap my fingers against the counter and get lost in thought over my article.
This is the hardest and most honest piece I’ve had to write. It deals with a very sticky subject—one I know all too well.
The holidays.
To many people, this is the season of cheer, wonderment, and joy. It signifies time with loved ones who mean the most—family and friends. But what happens when family is taken out of the equation because of an accident, a disease, or stupidity? This magical time of year becomes anything but delightful. The cheer is quickly replaced with gloom. The wonderment is overtaken by apathy. Joy becomes sorrow.
When everything someone knows and loves is taken away in the blink of an eye, the holidays convert into a time of year when they remember everything they took for granted. How they should have loved, appreciated, and treasured every moment harder.
Becoming an orphan put a completely different twist on every aspect of my life. I dread every holiday, every experience—good or bad—and wish, hope, beg to have everything go back to the way it once was.
How do I put all of that into a short article with an uplifting swing, so I don’t depress and anger the masses?
No one wants to read the truth this time of year. They want gumdrops, sugarplums, and candy canes—to believe everything is wonderful and enchanting.
Bah humbug.
“Is there enough to share?” Connor’s deep voice rumbles behind me.
“Holy crap!” I jump before my hand flies to my throat, and I swing around. “What the hell? Do you like scaring the shit out of people?”
Connor stands at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. His hair is a mess, and he’s removed his sweatshirt, so he’s only wearing a fitted white T-shirt and jeans. My eyes roam over his figure, and I notice the button on his pants is left undone.
Fuck me. Literally.
I swallow deeply and lift my gaze back to his, which is twinkling with humor.
He pushes against the wall to stand and slowly strides over in sexy-as-hell bare feet.
“Not particularly.” Connor stops in front of me. “But you’re extremely cute when you’re taken off guard.”
“Hmph.” I turn to pull my mug from the coffeemaker.
“What, no witty comeback?” His tone is filled with sarcasm.
“I haven’t had coffee yet. Give me a minute, and I’ll slay you with my tongue.” I give him an over-the-shoulder evil eye.
“You can do whatever the hell you want to me with that tongue,” he murmurs in my ear.
I close my eyes and hold back a shiver at his close proximity. And then I curse myself for never thinking before I speak. I have to stop with comments that can be taken as innuendos because Connor takes them to the lowest gutter possible.
“Which will be nothing.” I turn to glare at him. “Especially considering where yours was last night.” My gaze travels over his shoulder to peer down the hallway toward Cami’s closed door, so he knows exactly what I’m hinting at.
And who were you on the phone with in the middle of the night?
His head swivels toward the hallway, and a V forms between his brows. When he regards me again, his eyes are serious. “Nothing happened with her.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ll wait to see how big of a smile she’s wearing when she comes out here.” I blow on my cup of coffee, which causes the steam to reach out toward Connor.
He closes his lids and inhales deeply. When his eyes open, they seem to be laced with desire.
As it always does when I’m this close to Connor, my stomach ties itself into knots.
“If we’re going to do this now, can I at least have a cup?” He nods his chin toward my coffee.
“Help yourself.” I point to the cupboard behind me. “The mugs are in there, and the K-Cups are next to the Keurig.”
I stroll out of the kitchen and can feel his attention on me the entire way to the table.
It’s rude of me not to offer to make his beverage, but I want to set his standards straight. If he’s going to visit Cami frequently, I’m not his servant; that’s Cami’s job.
“If you want milk or cream, they’re in the fridge. The sugar’s on the counter.” I root around in my bag until I find my journal and flop it along with several colored pens on the table.
I’m focused on my writing when Connor pulls out the chair next to me and sits.
“What are you working on?” He holds his mug in both hands, as if he’s cold.
“None of your business.”
“Why are you so secretive about your writing?” He sets his coffee on the table.
I note he’s not a cream or milk guy. To my disappointment, that’s one point in his favor. People who drink their coffee black are real enthusiasts, which I am. I’ll have to find out if he uses sugar before I really let him into my inner coffee circle.
“Because I’m a writer.”
“Isn’t the point of writing to let others read it, so they can enjoy it?” His face is screwed up in confusion.
“That’s not how it always works.” I spin a pen on the table.
He remains quiet, waiting for me to clarify.
“Of course some of my articles are penned for others to read. But, most of the time, I write as an outlet—to figure out my thoughts or how I feel about something. When it comes to a situation I’m unsure about, I can usually find my answer in here.” I pat the cover of my journal.
“Have you written about me?” He eyes Trey’s sleeping figure on the couch to make sure he’s not listening. The soft snores rumbling from his chest is Connor’s answer, so he turns his attention back to me.
“I just met you a couple of days ago, Connor.”
“So?” He moves his hand to rest over mine and squeezes. “That means nothing.”
I try to pull my hand from under his, but he tightens his grip. He remains silent until I meet his jade gaze.
“Have you written about me?” he asks again in a serious voice.
“No.” But maybe I should.
“Why not?” Connor rubs his thumb over my knuckles.
My heart wants to grow two times too big for my chest, but I beat it down with my sheer will to remain unaffected by him.
Who are you kidding? You’re so totally affected.
I smack that voice in the face. Traitor.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit busy.” I scowl. “This article’s due tomorrow, and I can’t seem to find peace and quiet to complete it.” I flash him a pointed glare that doesn’t seem to disturb him at all.
“Noel—”
An obnoxious yawn interrupts whatever Connor was going to say. Feet pad down the hallway, and then Cami rounds the corner, rubbing her eyes.
Connor covertly removes his hand from mine.
“Hey,” Cami grumbles. She’s no morning person.
“Good morning, sunshine.” I grin.
“Shut your pie hole, Noles. None of that morning shit until after I’ve had my coffee.”
And that’s why she’s my person.
Whom you’re betraying.
That pesky little voice in my head talks too much. But the damn thing is right.
While Cami makes her coffee, I study her. She’s only wearing a long gray T-shirt that sc
reams, I rolled around and did dirty, dirty things in my new bedroom last night.
The thought of Cami and Connor christening her room makes me sick to my stomach.
How can Connor sit next to me, studying me the way he’s studying me, when he had naughty time with Cami last night? His little vixen is in the kitchen—looking sexy in her oversize shirt and mussed hair—yet he’s eating me alive with his eyes.
I don’t understand guys. Why do they always want what they can’t or don’t have? Is it only boys my age, or do they remain this way for eternity?
Shaking away those thoughts, I stare at the table. I can feel Connor’s prying eyes on me, willing me to regard him. I don’t know what he’s searching for, and I can’t be certain what expression I’m wearing, so the best offense is defense.
I stand, grab my stuff, and start to turn toward my bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Cami walks to the table with her drink.
“Deadline.” I hold up my notebook.
“But it’s our first morning living together.” She sticks out her bottom lip. “I thought we’d drink coffee, snuggle on the couch in our PJs, watch Christmas movies, order Chinese food, and you know”—she waves her hand, almost spilling the contents of her mug—“girl bonding.”
My gaze seeks Connor’s before addressing Cami again with a raised brow.
She swooshes her hand at him. “He doesn’t count. He’s like … a room ornament or something.”
Connor clears his throat, and Cami gives him an overly innocent smile and bats her lashes.
“As wonderful as that sounds, I’ll need a rain check until I finish.” I blow her a kiss.
“Well, hurry up, whore. Make your money and then come snuggle with us,” Cami yells as I pad down the hallway.
“Can you guys shut the hell up?” I hear Trey grumble.
Gently closing my bedroom door behind me, I lean against it. Bouncing the back of my head against the surface, I chide myself for my behavior concerning Connor. I need to find my grounding and keep both feet firmly planted in my beliefs that I shouldn’t chase a guy who’s involved with my closest friend—the person who is basically my only family.
So Connor’s cute and charming and interesting and funny and easy on the eyes—Dear goodness is he easy on the eyes—I need to move past all of that. I’m not some pathetic hussy, hard up for affection. My goals are defined, and encouraging Connor’s advances while betraying my best friend behind her back is not one of them.
I walk to my bed and set my mug on the nightstand. Climbing onto the mattress, I pull the covers up to my waist, open my notebook, and get lost in the written word.
My phone chirps and pulls me from my train of thought.
Connor: What are you doing in there, Journal Girl? Come out to play. I’m bored.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Play with Cami. Isn’t it her job to keep you entertained?
I toss my phone back onto the bed and scratch out the last sentence I wrote. I’m trying to pack the article with all the feels—because that’s what magazines want this time of year—yet not delve too deeply into my personal well because that sucker is deep. Keeping it personal without getting too intimate is a daunting task.
My phone lights up repeatedly next to my leg.
Connor: *rolls eyes*
Connor: Come out, come out, wherever you are!
Connor: Do I have to come drag you from your bedroom? Because that could be fun … ;)
Me: I’m working! Quit being a pest.
Connor: Quit being antisocial, and I’ll stop being a pest.
Me: I highly doubt that’s true. You wouldn’t know where to begin.
Connor: I’m sure you can teach me.
Me: My lessons don’t come cheap.
Connor: I don’t expect they do. Come school me, Journal Girl!
Connor: I dare ya. ;)
Me: Don’t throw down a dare unless you plan to pay up.
Connor: I never dare without care. When it comes to you, I’ll always pay up … and look forward to it.
There’s a knock at the door. My heart leaps into my throat, and I drop my phone in my lap.
“Yeah?” I yell in a wobbly voice.
The door creaks open, and I find it hard to breathe until I see fiery-red hair and blue eyes.
“Is it safe to enter?” Cami asks.
“Of course.” I cross my legs in front of me. “What’s up?”
The phone vibrates in my lap, and I flip it over before I can read the text message. The last thing I need is for Cami to see that Connor and I have been texting back and forth.
“Are you almost done with your article?” Cami cautiously eyes my journal and then me. She knows how I can get when I’m in deadline mode.
My shoulders sag, and I sigh.
Cami’s brows scrunch together as she sits on the corner of my bed.
“You never have this much trouble with writing; it’s second nature to you.” She pinches my big toe. “What’s going on?”
I pick at my nails and bite my lip. The noise of the television drifts down the hallway to swirl in the quiet of my bedroom.
“It’s about the holidays.” I slouch back against my pillows. “Specifically about how to cope with being alone in a season of togetherness, how to find hope, and how to overcome the seasonal blues while everyone around you is full of merry.”
“Ouch. I see why that’s not working for you.” Cami climbs up the bed until she’s sitting next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Nah. I’ll power through it.” Once I decide to be truthful and stop beating around the safe-zone bush.
“You always do. But I’m here if you need me. You know that, right? You’re not alone during the holidays—or ever for that matter.”
“I know,” I say slowly.
“Connor and I are going to order Chinese food.” Cami lifts her head off my shoulder. “You want to come gorge yourself on questionable meat and grease with us? It’s like a staple food during the holidays.” She sits straight and excitedly taps my journal. “Hey! You should write about that!”
I chuckle and scratch my head. On cue, my stomach growls, and Cami takes that as a yes. Jumping off the bed, she sashays toward the door.
“An order of crab cheese appetizers and sweet and sour chicken?” She stops at the door and glances at me over her shoulder.
“Yes, please.” I bat my eyelashes.
“Good. We’ll order in ten, so the food should be here in an hour.” She points at my notebook and then me. “Write from your heart, Noles, and it’ll come to you. It’ll be great, I promise.” Cami taps against the doorframe before she disappears down the hallway.
I release a deep breath, close my eyes, and lean my head back against the headboard.
Cami’s right; I have to write from deep within me for this article to be any good and for readers to find anything useful. The problem is, I’m not sure I’ve figured out how to get through the holidays in one piece myself.
I push my notebook aside and grab my laptop. Without thinking, my fingers fly over the keys while I write from the dark depths of my soul—the places I don’t usually allow myself to dig into, feel, or acknowledge.
Emotions pour out of me, as if the laptop were directly fused to my feelings, and before I know it, the article is written. Without reading back through my words, I know it is by far the best piece of my career.
Damn feelings.
“Noles, the food’s here!” Cami yells down the hallway.
My nose is running, so I sniffle and wipe it with the back of my hand. It’s wetter than I expected, and I realize tears are streaming down my face.
I climb out of bed and decide to take a quick shower and try to pull myself together. After I eat, I’ll read over my work and edit, but something tells me it won’t take much effort.
I’m out of the shower, dressed, and heading down the hall in less than ten minutes.
“Ther
e she is,” Cami says as I round the corner. “I thought I was going to have to come drag you from your ivory tower.”
My eyes find Connor’s at Cami’s dragging me out of my room comment, and he smirks. Then, his eyes fall to the shirt I’m wearing, and his haughtiness turns into a scowl.
I look down and pat myself on the back for having clothing attire that will jab at his patience. My long-sleeved T-shirt is black and has a Santa hat, and under the hat, it says Resting Grinch Face with the Grinch’s smirk underneath the words. It’s one of my favorite articles of clothing. I paired the shirt with red leggings that say Bah Humbug in black.
His glower pins me to the spot, and I watch his expression turn from stern to determined.
I swallow deeply. What is he thinking?
“You look cute.” Cami hands me a to-go container of crab cheese appetizers and then heads toward the living room. “Trey had to leave, but I figured the three of us could watch another movie without falling asleep this time.”
I stuff an entire deep-fried goodness into my mouth and raise a brow at Connor as I crunch on my mouthful.
He stops in front of me. Bending down, he whispers, “You know, for someone who cares enough to purchase and wear anti-Christmas gear, that tells me you secretly love the holiday. Do you know why?” He slightly leans back and gazes at me with lazy eyes. “Because you’re trying too hard.”
He steals a crab cheese appetizer from my container, pops it in his mouth, and winks before he follows in Cami’s footsteps.
Asshole.
He’s good, which means I have to up my game.
Class with Sass
“Whore!” A door slams, and something thuds against the floor before heavy footsteps make their way toward my bedroom. “Whatever you’re doing, stop because we have plans.”
Cami bounds into my room, sprints, and jumps on my bed.
“Where are you?” She spins and finds me standing in the doorway of my en suite. “We’re going out.”
“No.” I have no idea what Cami has up her sleeve, but I’m programmed to immediately say no because it’s usually never good.
“Yes.” She stands and walks toward me, wiggling her finger around my head. “Wash off your jerk face and replace it with hottie Noles.”
