I poke at the package, and something inside sloshes suspiciously. My smile widens, but then I make the mistake of looking at Damien as he tears the paper off the bottle of wine I got him. It’s the same wine we shared on our first date, and I only picked it because I knew he’d like it, but a shadow of regret passes over his face and then he searches the room for me.
Busted.
I offer Damien a small smile when he catches me staring, and his mouth parts like he wants to say something. No matter how awkward he made the conversation earlier, he still deserves his own happiness, and I want to think maybe I helped. But then Locke leans close to my ear, and my body reacts to his heat like a flower turning toward the sun.
“You going to open your gift, jingle girl?” The smooth, rich notes of Locke’s voice caress the shell of my ear, and I’m so damn glad things between us are natural today. We crossed every line last night, but Locke hasn’t run away, and it gives me hope that maybe I can have everything I want.
“Jingle girl?”
He reaches for the hem of my sweatshirt and tugs, making the soft sound of bells fill the air. He lets his fingers brush against my stomach and linger there like a promise.
And fuck me, my breath catches in my throat and I have to clamp my thighs together to tamp down the wave of arousal heating every inch of my skin.
“Right.” I nod, so distracted I can’t think straight. “Okay, yeah.”
I can feel alcohol and lust redden my cheeks, but I don’t care. I’m the swoopy, swoony kind of happy that comes from kissing Lachlan Mills and holiday parties and things finally turning out okay.
I slide the edge of my thumb under a flap of wrapping paper and peel it back. Inside the Amazon shipping box sits a six-pack of pineapple cider with one can missing from the plastic rings, a cassette tape, and two copies of The Feeling of Falling by Orion Crux.
“Oh my god.” I reach for one of the books and open it to the first page.
To Greer, reads the inscription. Love is the only language. Orion Crux
I hold it up to Locke in awe, knowing with absolute certainty it’s from him. “You got it signed?”
He nods. “One of them. The other one’s unsigned because I had a feeling you’d think the signed one was too precious to read.”
He knows me so well. So freaking well it hurts.
I return the book to the box and lift the cassette tape. “And this?”
He grins. “Me reading the poems for a surround-sound experience. There’s also my unofficial commentary.”
My heart grows so big it feels like my chest can’t quite hold it. “I’m assuming the cider is for me to drink while listening and reading?”
His grin catches in my chest like a spark. “Nailed it.”
“So why are there only five cans?”
“Ah.” Locke taps the side of the box. “Because I got thirsty when I was recording the tape.” He shrugs. “And also to keep it under the twenty-five-dollar limit.”
This man.
Locke’s gotten me the perfect gift, the one I didn’t even know I wanted. Because how could I have predicted this? He gave me an experience. A slice of his heart.
There is so much I want to say but can’t. Not here. So I gather everything back in the box and stand up from the table. Screw the party—every bit of Christmas cheer I need is right here, bundled into the man who’s quickly stealing my heart.
“Meet me at the front door in ten minutes,” I whisper in Locke’s ear, knowing he’ll follow.
Then I turn and make my escape.
18
Locke
I usually rely on the free office coffee to power me through my day, but when I roll out of bed an hour before my alarm on Friday, I have the sinking feeling that the caffeination needs to start early and needs to start strong. To say I’ve woken up early would be an exaggeration because I haven’t really slept at all. Instead, I spent the night in a half-dream state, my mind too busy reliving every moment of yesterday afternoon to let me cash in on the full potential of a REM cycle.
Yesterday, after we cut out of work early, Greer and I ran toward her house, collapsing into her bed like we were supposed to be there all along.
“That present was… god, Locke. How do you look at me and just know?” Greer’s mouth hovered over mine, lush and wanting.
“Sometimes the people who know you best aren’t the ones who know you longest.” I couldn’t hide how thick my voice became. “Do you think I just started caring about you now?”
Her eyes lit like candles in the dark. “There was more?”
I pushed a strand of hair out of her face to reveal the hickey on the beautiful curve of her neck. “There’s always been more, Greer.”
It was brave and vulnerable and too damn soon by any relationship playbook, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt exactly right.
I kissed Greer until we were both breathless, and then her lips curved into a smile and she lifted the hem of that stupid, ugly sweatshirt and filled the whole room with the sound of bells.
“Leave on the tacky sweatshirt,” I said as I slid her damp underwear down her thighs, releasing the scent of her lust.
“That’s what does it for you?” She threw back her head to accept the trail of kisses I swept down her neck.
I paused only long enough to bite her earlobe and whisper, “You’re what does it for me.” And then I needed to be inside her, to sink into her heat and live in the moment with the girl who had captured my heart.
The rest of the night sounded like music, and we came together in a shuddering burst of song.
