Jingle Belled & Mistletoed
By
Jeanette Lynn
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
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© Jeanette Lynn 2013
Republished 2017
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Table of Contents
I’ll be home for Christmas
Here’s Jinny
Mother knows best…
And in this corner of the ring…
Hark the Geralds…
Could you please pass the…
Stuck in the middle with you
Don’t ask…
Did someone say bacon?
The Jinnish Inquisition
Sure… when pigs fly…
It’s going down!
Twenty eight bottles of beer…
Porcelain Queen
Preserves me
Sweet Peaches
Paging Dr. Jinny…
I love you, man!
And then…
Parcheesi anyone?
Timber!
Let’s make an…
If all else fails…
Sugar and spice and everything nice
Brrrr…
I’m too sexy for my…
Seven months later
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit material intended for readers 18 and older, and foul language.
˙˜˙˜˙
I'll be home for Christmas
˙˜˙˜˙
"You are coming, right?"
"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?" I grumbled as my mother made a sound of annoyance in the back of her throat, the sound echoing across the line.
I wonder if she knows she sounds like Chewbacca with a cold when she does that...?
"Well," she huffed out, already exasperated with me, "there's no need to be so rude. I was only asking, you know."
"Yes, I do know, all too well," I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, "You've asked me every single day for the past month, Mom," I reminded.
Using my shoulder to hold the phone to my ear while I painted my toenails a very eye catching blood red, I sighed. Gotta get into the Christmas spirit, you know? And every holiday I spent at home, or wherever my parents decided we should go that year, was sure to be a long and torturous event, so why not commemorate my mental anguish with blood red painted tootsies? Shoulda added tiny lumps of black for coal to go with, I thought to myself.
I didn’t think Mom would see it quite that way, any of it, but we’ve never seen eye to eye, so nothing new there.
"Are you listening to me?" she huffed and puffed, blustering indignantly.
"Would you hang up on me if I said yes?" Smart ass that I am, I chuckled hopefully, picturing my mom pursing her lips at me in irritation, her hand on her hip as she looked at me like she thought I was the mailman's kid.
"Really, Jinny Belle, I wish you'd act like a lady. No man is going to want to be with a woman like you with the way that you are."
"Mom." I groaned out loud. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it when you call me that," I complained, pretending her jab about me ever finding a man hadn't dampened my spirits a little.
"Why ever not? It is your name, you know," she snootily reminded me.
"How could I forget?" I mocked sweetly. "Everyone teased me and called me Jingle bells until I had Dad start filling out my school forms for me."
"Well, your father always has been, and always will be, a meddler," she replied primly, authoritatively, in that I am all-knowing tone of hers.
My phone beeped, and with a half eye roll at my mother I pulled it away from my ear to watch for the caller beeping in’s number to flash across the screen. Another beep sounded between Mom’s never ending chatter and I smiled as a familiar number finally popped up.
"Gotta go, Mom. Got someone on the other line. See you soon, okay?" I relayed cheerfully, glad of the excuse. “I need to take this call.” Lord, did I ever.
"B-b-but... but..." Mom sputtered.
"Love ya, bye!" I said and clicked off.
"Well, hello, sweet cheeks," I called out saucily, clicking over and answering the other line.
"What up, big butt?" my best friend Dean greeted, his deep baritone a warm welcome after the super fun chit chat with Mom. "So… are you coming? Or do I have to drive down to your place and help you dig a bomb shelter to help shield you from the fall out?" he rumbled out, only half joking.
I laughed, picturing Dean and myself trying to dig a shelter under my dinky apartment. Now that would really give my neighbors something to talk about.
"I'll be there, Deanie Wienie." Smiling, my lips tipping up into a crooked smirk, I chuckled, reverting to our childish nicknames from elementary school.
"Hey! That's Mr. Deanie Wienie to you, Jingle Bells," he said decisively.
"You know? I was just talking to my mom about that. She still insists on calling me Jinny Belle."
Dean's big belly laugh boomed over the line and I couldn't help but giggle along with him.
"You'd think she'd just admit she'd picked an odd name for a child," he said after a moment, "but then again, this is your mother we're talking about here and she never really makes all that much sense anyway."
"Oh? Like your mom is any better?" I cackled, the sound loud even to my own ears, knowing exactly how Mrs. Miller could be.
"My mother is a saint!" he shot out defensively, then ruined it by bursting out laughing.
"I think your brother would disagree," I croaked out between laughs, thinking of Dean's brother's middle name.
"Remember when we were kids and she tried to get us to take Stuffy with us everywhere?" he said reminiscently, referring to his younger brother.
"Um, no," I replied slowly, completely confused. "I never knew he wanted to hang out with us, let alone interested in the things we did as kids."
"Oh yeah...” I could hear the shrug to his words, the nonchalance. “Guess you wouldn't. I usually lost him long before I ever got to your house," he said wistfully.
"You are a terrible big brother, Dean Miller," I half kidded, half scolded him.
"I told him once that you couldn't stand him," he admitted as he continued down his little trip through memory lane. Messed up memory lane.
I was silent for a moment as my jaw dropped.
He didn't! He wouldn't?!
Oh, but this was Dean we're talking about here, I had to remind myself.
Aw, shoot. He would.
"Dean! You are so mean! No wonder he hates me," I gasped out indignantly, a little relieved, in a way, that it wasn't something that I had actually done to cause his brother to hate me so much. But still.
"Aw, Jin Jin, that was ages ago, he doesn't hate you for that anymore," he responded smoothly, paused, and then added, "he hates you now because I told him you were the one who hid his car five years ago. You know, when he couldn't find it and had to walk five miles home in the rain? Yeah. A couple of other things, too, but I knew he wouldn't do anyth
ing to you if he thought you did it. Me, however, he wouldn't have rested until he'd had retribution. You took one for the team, you could say." He said this so agreeably, like somehow that made it all better.
"You what?!" I bellowed into the mouth piece of my phone, almost dislodging it from its precarious perch on my shoulder. "Dean Arthur Miller! Best friend or not! You better run when I see you! Run! Do you hear me? Because I am so going to get you!" I shrieked at him, then hung up the phone.
Growling under my breath, I set my nail polish down on my nightstand and lolled back on my bed, rolling a little to my side. Shoving my face into my pillow to muffle a growl of frustration, my cinnamon brown hair fanning out around me, I had a little mini meltdown.
I'd always wondered why he'd disliked me so much, and after Dean's little confession, who knows what else he's told him. The dirty looks and quiet disdain are totally making some sense for once now. Ugh. It's going to be so much harder to glare back at him now since I know his dislike, that barely hidden anger, in a way, is justified. I’d have been mad, too, were I in his shoes.
I am so not looking forward to this week, I thought with a good dose of dread.
"Please don't let him be there. Please don't let him be there," I pleaded aloud, begging to every higher deity I could think of, hoping the younger Miller sibling decides to skip out on our parents’ joint, yearly Christmas get together this year and save me the headache.
Now I'm going to have to play nice with him, I thought dejectedly and cringed.
I didn’t know if I could stand another Christmas sitting across from the cold, stone faced, quietly brooding, Vincent Mistletoe Miller, otherwise known as Stuffy, the apt nickname compliments of his older brother. And, yes, that was the poor guy's real name—Vincent Mistletoe Miller.
Our mothers were so excited to be having babies at the same time, their due dates only weeks apart, that even though we were due in September, not December, they’d decided to give us Christmas-y names. OH JOY! Not! I got the jingle bells and Stuffy got the mistletoe. In other words, we both got screwed.
I've asked my mother to explain her temporary fit of insanity to me, and all she could come up with was, "Well, sweetheart, it was like Christmas had come early. We were being... festive!"
Riiiggghhhttt, I thought sarcastically, much as I had back then. And unicorns mow the lawn in my front yard.
They probably thought something more along the lines of, 'Hey, let's see whose kid could actually live down an embarrassingly odd name! And while we're at it, let's make them festive!'
Not really, but it's my prerogative and I can think what I wanna think, right?
˙˜˙˜˙
Heerrrreee's Jinny!
˙˜˙˜˙
I followed the directions I'd looked up on the internet, printing the direction out before I left, and hoped I didn't get myself lost. Uhm, again.
This seemed to be a running theme with me. Get lost, get lost some more, then call Dean and have him get me turned around in the right direction.
Yeah, I'm pretty hopeless when it comes to following directions. I should really get one of those g.p.s. dealies, but then I'd have to figure out how to actually use the darned things.
I made a left turn at the sign, like my paper said, and crowed when I saw my parents’ car parked under the eave along the side of the cabin they'd rented for the week.
"Oh! Ho-ho! Score one for Jin-nay! Take that, Mom!" I shouted, grinning like a loon.
That woman had called me twice already to bitch about my inability to navigate my ass out of a paper bag. So, ha-ha, I thought, and fist pumped the air.
I pulled up next to my parents’ car, making sure my car was facing the opposite direction, intentionally parking too close to Mom's door so she'd have to crawl over Dad's side to get to her seat if she happened to leave before I did.
I could just picture it now, her ranting and raving about the indignity of it all, while Dad grinned and rolled his eyes at her.
Mentally building myself up for the week ahead, I parked and shut off my car.
"I can do this!" I said in my best prep school, pep voice, opening my car door to hop out and brave the wilds of winter.
˙˜˙˜˙
Mother knows best... heh!
˙˜˙˜˙
"Holy catfish, Batman! That's freakin' cold!" I yelled too loudly as I slammed the front door shut behind me, hoping my mother would hear and come rushing in to try and berate me. She'd come running in, talking a mile a minute, and grab a couple of my bags as well as she ranted on, unknowingly assisting me with my luggage, which I’d intended by my outburst in the first place.
See? In a way, this can be oodles of fun for me, too!
"Jinny, dear, I wish you wouldn't do that," Mom chastised as she adjusted her perfectly coiffed pony tail, her hair the same shade of cinnamon brown as mine, and grabbed a couple of my bags, marching ahead of me as she nagged me down the hall.
I, of course, quietly followed, pulling the quietly subdued card as I tuned her out and mocked her behind her back.
How old am I again? I'm only immature where it counts. In all the fun ways! Mwahahaha!
Lead on Mistress, I thought, snickering, trying to imagine my mother dressed as a housemaid from a historical novel. Complete with a set of huge iron keys on an enormous ring that jangled from the belt on her waist, her hair pulled back impeccably into a tight bun, her dress a drab gray made of heavy wool.
Shaking my head, I giggled at the mental image I’d just created, quickly smoothing out my expression when Mom paused to glance at me over her shoulder.
Giving me a pursed-lipped stare as she eyed me suspiciously, those clear blue eyes attempted to stare me down shrewdly. "Are you even listening to me, Jinny Belle?"
"Every word," I said solemnly, lying through my pearly whites to the master manipulator herself.
She snorted and continued onward, naturally, not believing a word.
Smart woman.
Heave ho! And away!
Hey, is it childish to run a constant running commentary and mockumentary in my head? Of course, the little chorus in my head chimed in.
Is it rude? Absolutely, I cheered internally.
Is that going to stop me? Hell no, I crowed inwardly.
"Which room is mine?" I asked as she forged ahead, turning to the door at the far end of the hall, preceding me inside.
I followed docilely and eyeballed the twin beds that were set up side by side, a nightstand separating the two cowboy themed beds.
"Well, yee haw," I said under my breath. Dumping my stuff on the floor, I plopped down on the bed closest to the window, and, conveniently, farthest away from the door.
"Jinny Belle Reynolds," she muttered under her breath, "you are completely exasperating, did you know that?" Nudging my belongings with her foot, she made her way around the bed, sitting my bags carefully down next to the hodge podge excuse for a pile I'd started with the ones I’d just abandoned.
Rolling over onto my stomach, pulling myself up onto my elbows, I winked at her. "I try," I quipped cheekily, grinning as she rolled her eyes at me.
"You'd think you were ten, not almost thirty!"
"What can I say, madam, you bring out the inner ten in me," I joked, bouncing a little on the bed.
Mom picked up a pillow and bopped me on the head with it, an affectionate smile playing at her lips as she dumped it back on the bed and headed to the door.
"Jinny?" she said after a moment, pausing just outside the room.
"Yeah, Mom?" I looked up at her then, as I went to get up off the bed, watching as she nibbled at her lip nervously.
"You know I love you, don't you, sweetheart?" she asked earnestly.
"Yeah, I do," I told her honestly, smiling a little at her, wondering where she was going with this.
"Good." She grinned. "And now that we’ve got that settled, pick this crap up," she ordered cheerfully.
"Yes, ma’am." With a jerky nod I saluted her smartly, picking my
luggage up off the floor to put it away.
Even now, I stared after my mother's retreating back, shaking my head at her and yet another of her many quirks. Differences, squabbling and mocking aside, I knew my mom loved me, even if she had an odd way of showing it. And although she can be bossy, demanding, nosy, and a terrible, horrible, completely horrendous wanna be matchmaker at times, in her twisted little mind she always felt she had my best interests at heart. In some strange way, in her strange way, she thought she was helping, even if she truly isn't.
As for the jabs at my as of the moment dormant dating life, she was just trying to light a fire under my bum, thinking it would get me going somehow, which it wouldn’t. I was too much like good old Dad to point out to her that all she's really doing is hurting my feelings, but that was my failing to hers.
Maybe someday I’d let her have it, tell her to knock her crap off, let her know in great detail the way her nagging snipes made me feel, but I couldn’t say I was particularly a fan of her impression of a broken sprinkler system when upset.
"Mom, you are an odd duck," I muttered under my breath as I shook my head at the mystery that is my mother.
˙˜˙˜˙
And in this corner of the ring...
˙˜˙˜˙
I walked quietly down the hall, hoping to catch Dean off guard, so I could get some much needed revenge on my fibbing, supposed best friend.
Spotting two broad, muscular shoulders and a familiar mop of blonde hair in the spare bedroom down the hall and across from mine, and the target has been identified.
I walked on tip toe, as quietly as I could, waiting until I was right behind him before I jumped, hopping on his back. Locking my arm around his neck, my legs around his waist, I threw all my weight back, taking his ass with me.
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