We did the same things we always do there. We ate the stale cheese puffs and danced together during the fast songs and made a bet on which teenager would be the first to spike the punch. Just normal every year stuff.
“I don’t want anything,” she finally mumbles. She’s staring at the kitchen counter, not looking me in the eye.
Fuck, we don’t lie to each other. OK, if you don’t count the fact that I’m in love with her. Or that she’s the only woman I want. Or my obsession with knowing where she is at all times and putting a tracker on her phone. A guy has to watch out for his best friend.
The timer dings, and she reaches to pull the cookies from the oven. Her long shirt sleeve rides up, revealing the colorful ink that decorates her skin.
No one knows the tattoos are mine. They’re my drawings. Every year for Christmas, she puts a different piece of my art on her body. It’s her gift to me.
It started years ago when she asked me what I wanted, and I told her I’d like to see my art somewhere. To know that it meant something to somebody. She tried to submit it to contests and magazines and stuff. But she quickly figured out what I already knew. My art wasn’t good.
So, she did the one thing I couldn’t believe. She got one of my designs as a tattoo. Visual proof to a teenage artist that his work mattered.
Now my art is featured in galleries, and I’ve won awards. I substitute for the art class at the high school, encouraging teenagers not to give up on their dreams. But none of it means as much to me as knowing that my drawings adorn her curvy body.
“Then I’ll use my brilliant powers of deduction to learn what you want,” I answer, giving her a teasing smile. It’s not just that she’s been acting strange. She seems sad lately and I don’t ever want my Peyton to be sad. I’ll do anything to make this woman smile. “Is it something you can use to make food?”
“Maybe we’re a little old for the gift exchange,” she says.
“Answer the question, Peyton.” I don’t normally tell her what to do. After all, I do have some sense of self-preservation. But I live for this time of year. It’s not just the festivities or the decorations.
It’s getting to be her hero. For one minute, she looks at me with such delight and joy. I want to earn that look from her every day for the rest of our lives. That would tip my hand though, so I settle for this. Delighting her at Christmas.
She transfers the cookies to a cooling rack and blows out a frustrated breath. “No.”
The last few years she’s asked for a kitchen gadget. She loves the bar, but food is a major passion. I think she’ll probably turn Liquid Courage into a bar and restaurant if she can get the capital together. Dammit, why won’t this stubborn woman let me help her? We could do it together, spend our days and nights building her business and creating something she’d love.
I pause to think. “Does it need electricity?”
“Let it go, Ledger.”
I bristle at the harsh note in her voice. It’s the one that she uses when she’s shutting me out and even though I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, it stings. She can push everyone else away. Hell, she has pushed everyone else away. But not me. I get to be different. I get to see behind the walls she normally puts up. “Why? Why should I let it go?”
She steps close, so close I can feel the heat coming from her body. Something flashes across her face. I can’t tell if it’s annoyance or lust but then she’s on her tip toes.
I drop my head close to hers. If she makes a move—the slightest indication that she feels even an ounce of what I feel for her—then I’ll kiss her. I’ll set fire to our friendship in a heartbeat and never look back again. I’ll finally have Peyton as more than just my friend. She’ll be my woman and the whole world will know. I’ll never have to hide anything from her again.
But Peyton doesn’t go in to kiss me. Instead, she leans close to my ear. Her breath is hot against my skin and everything in me is silently begging for her to press those plump lips to my neck. “If I told you what I really want, it’d blow your mind.”
2
PEYTON
I thoughtI’d feel better if I baked some dicks. Well, gingerbread dicks. But I didn’t think that Ledger would show up today.
I should have known that when I texted him I was baking he’d show up. He’d appear in my tiny apartment with his tall, lean frame making it feel even smaller in there. His scent would surround me and everything in my body would want to reach for him.
Of course, I didn’t. We’ve been friends for ten years. If he wanted to make a move, he would have by now.
Cassie giggles at something West, Ledger’s brother, said and I pull myself from my misery long enough to remember I’m at work. It’s been hours since Ledger stopped into my apartment, and I sent him on his way. I could tell he was annoyed when he left, but it’s not like we argued.
Squaring my shoulders, I approach the end of the bar where West and Cassie are cuddled up together. They knew each other for ten years before they finally admitted to their feelings recently. Maybe that should give me some hope, but it’s only made me more depressed.
I’m twenty-six. Hardly old enough to give up on love. But Ledger is it for me. He was the first person to give me a Christmas gift, the first person to make me feel safe after a lifetime of violence and abuse.
Even now, he’s at the opposite end of the bar keeping watch. None of the drunken patrons will dare cause me trouble with him sitting there. I’ve tried to joke that he should ask Harry for a job as a bouncer, but he always just shrugs off my words.
He must have gotten done at his actual job earlier. He works at his family Christmas tree ranch. He gives tours to the families that visit the place, showing them how the trees start as little saplings until they become the beautiful trees that are harvested to bring holiday joy.