Shit.
26
Annie runs her hands down Matthew’s firm, sculpted torso, biting her lip as she admires the impressive bulge in his pants. She knows what’s in there and she wants it all.
Her hands are quivering as she—
Wait, should that be quivering or quavering? I halt my frantic typing to double-check.
Writing a romance novel isn’t how I’d usually spend Christmas Day, but it feels like it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now. It’s been five days since Michael kissed me under the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza—five days since I told him I needed time to figure out what I wanted to do—and he’s been nothing but patient and understanding. He’s texted once to ask how I am, but he hasn’t asked what’s going on and why I can’t just sort myself the fuck out—a question I’ve been asking myself repeatedly.
Since meeting with Justin I’ve worked my butt off on two articles, which I sent through yesterday. They’re some of my best work, I think, and I’m super excited to see them published on Bliss Edition. Every time I think about what this could mean for my career, I get a rush unlike anything else.
Well, except the rush I get when I think of Michael: his lips brushing over mine, his hands on my waist, the desire in his eyes. That feeling is intoxicating, and it’s making it a lot harder to figure this out.
I thought I’d decided, to be honest. I sent my articles off to Justin, proud of what I’d done, but ultimately knowing my heart wasn’t soaring in quite the same way it did when Michael kissed me. But then I got an email from Justin. He said the pieces were “funny and relatable—just what we’re looking for,” and that he’d be in touch soon. Reading that, my heart picked itself up and did a happy dance, and I realized that no, I wasn’t quite as certain as I’d thought.
There’s a ding from my browser and I turn back to my laptop with a sigh. The chat box pops up in Facebook and I smile when I see it’s Harriet. I’ve been so pleased to get some space from my family these past few months, but Christmas Day without them has been a bit of a bummer. Despite my last discouraging phone call with Mum, I’ve spent the whole day under a strange cloud of homesickness. Even Matthew and Annie couldn’t distract me from that.
Harriet: Merry Christmas!
Alex: Merry Christmas. Miss you!
Harriet: Miss you too. Christmas hasn’t been the same without you here. How’s the writing? Have you heard any more about that job?
Guilt gnaws at me. Harriet has been so encouraging ever since I told her about the meeting with Justin, texting to check in, and I haven’t replied. I’ve been… distracted.
Alex: I sent through a few articles and they loved them, said they’d be in touch.
Harriet: That sounds promising! See? Mum and Dad don’t know anything. You’re not living in a fantasy world—you’re making things happen!
She’s right. Mum was on at me about “getting back to the real world,” but this is the real world—my writing, the possibility of working with Justin.
Alex: Thanks :)
I’m going to make more of an effort with Harriet, I decide. She’s been so supportive since I moved over here. I never knew how much I needed that from my sister, but I do.
I’m about to ask her how things are back home when there’s a knock at the door.
Alex: Sorry, got to go. Chat soon x
When I look through the peephole, Michael’s face is on the other side. Joy zips through me like an electrical current, lighting me from head to toe. I just want to pull him inside and kiss him senseless.
Instead, with inexplicable restraint, I swing the door open and offer a casual, “Hey.”
His cheeks dimple into a smile. “Merry Christmas!”
“You too,” I say, grinning like an idiot and immediately losing my cool. Shit, I know it’s only been a few days but I’ve missed him. Is that crazy?
Well, I don’t care. Because looking into those gorgeous eyes right now, I realize I have missed him. A lot.
Fuck.
He leans against the door frame. “What are you up to for Christmas dinner?”
“Not much. It’s dinner for one, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, come on. Your first Christmas in America and you’re spending it alone?”
“Yep.” Cat invited me to join her family lunch, but I didn’t want to spend the day with people I don’t know. I figured she’d be home tonight, but apparently she’s seeing Kyle again.
Michael’s brow knits. “I was worried about that. You spent Thanksgiving alone as well.”
He was worried about me being down here alone? Of course he was. He’s the sweet guy who took me to the greatest bookstore on earth, who remembered how much I wanted to see the Rockefeller tree at night. My heart swells at the thought and a smile springs to my lips.
“Henry and I made too much food. He made the gravy and he’s very proud.” Michael gives a chuckle. “If you’re not doing anything, would you like to join us?”
My smile falters. “I… don’t know.” I glance down at my hands, shifting my weight. “I haven’t, er, figured out, um…” I grimace, unsure how to phrase it. Our kiss now feels like a long time ago and, given how relaxed Michael seems to be right now, I find myself wondering if he’s just moved on from the whole thing.
But when I glance up he gives me an understanding smile. “It’s okay. That’s not why I’m asking. I’m not expecting anything, Alex. Just come and have a nice meal with us, as friends. Agnes will be there too.”
A cocktail of relief and disappointment swirls inside me. Because as much as he’s absolutely saying the right thing, apparently part of me is wishing he wasn’t.
“Okay,” I say at last. “I’ll just change and be up.”
He grins, pushing away from the door frame and heading back upstairs.
I pad into my bedroom nook
