BE MY HO HO HO
DALTON
Timing has never been a friend of mine. At least not when the objective involved Lacy Conrad. The first time we met, she was sixteen and I was almost eighteen, so it felt strange to be attracted to her. I know it happens all the time, and no one bats an eye. I guess my hang-up was that I had plans after high school that didn’t involve having a girlfriend with two years to go. Something about it didn’t sit right with me.
I slip the last few items of clothing I packed for myself into the dresser drawer and turn to head to the kitchen. This cabin is exactly what I needed this week, and I was lucky to get it when I did. I doubt any other setting would’ve made sense for this occasion.
I got a text from Lacy this morning letting me know she was on her way and that she’d arrive maybe half an hour from now. Which is perfect timing. For once in our lives. The Christmas right after Lacy turned twenty-one, we all got drunk enough for me to be daring. Maybe I did it because I’d contemplated asking her out after she turned eighteen and discovered she was already with someone. Maybe I did it because on the same Christmas I made a bet, that guy had just dumped her, and as I briefly contemplated making a move, she announced at dinner—very loudly and proudly—that she was done with men for a while so she could focus on finishing school. And I didn’t want to be one last fuck before her vow of abstinence.
So later, when she was going on and on about the perfect life she saw for herself despite her current heartbreak, I couldn’t resist. Mind you, it’s not that I wanted her to lose. Had she gone on to have that very perfect life she was talking about, I would be happy for her. I’d also be jealous, but I’d have gotten over that eventually. Well, maybe. I also haven’t spent the last ten years waiting for this moment without trying again, but it never worked out. I got a girlfriend just as she was done with her education and, by extension, her abstinence. Once we broke up, she had already started dating someone. And on and on it went. An entire fucking decade and not a single opportunity to make my move. But that all changes today.
The thing is, I know we get along. We’ve laughed and talked and even found ourselves in heated but healthy debates. Our wishes and desires for life are remarkably similar. And since it’s taken ten years, we’re no longer struggling young twenty-somethings trying to figure out who we are.
I put the last few food items into the cabinet and look around, wanting everything to be perfect. I started a fire earlier, which is now burning slow and even. There’s hot chocolate and Bailey’s on the counter. And I’ve placed a black duffel bag of sex toys at the end of the bed.
Jesus, I know. That sounds weird. The thing is, it’s the one thing I don’t know about Lacy. Compatibility must extend to the bedroom, and while there’s always been an ignored heat between us, I have no idea what that means or how it will translate. This week is about finding out.
Of course, I can’t just say “Hey, let’s fuck for a week and also I’m a little kinky” without raising some concerns. I like to think I’m a little more suave than that, though I can’t say for sure. But a bet is a bet, and I know Lacy to be the type to always pay up. If she wants. Tension is not consent.
A noise from the front of the house snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look out the window in time to see her car come into view along the tree line.
As if this little cabin in the middle of the woods during the holiday wasn’t perfect enough, it also started lightly snowing this morning and has yet to stop, which means everything as far as you can see is coated in the fluffiest layer of powdery snow I’ve ever seen.
She parks her car next to my truck, and though it’s not too far away, I can’t make out much through the snow and windshield. Not knowing if her face holds excitement or dread fills me with the latter. But the moment she steps out of the car, the small smile she’s wearing replaces my dread with hope.
I press my hand against my sternum, hoping it might calm down my heart. It feels like I’m about to have a coronary, and she’s not even inside yet. God, I’m a lump of mush for her.
Her footsteps are light on the stairs as I make my way to the door, pausing long enough to hear her knock softly.
I inhale deeply, holding it for a moment before exhaling and sending a quick prayer up to anyone listening. And then I open the door.
“Hi.” It’s all I can manage as I take in her features.
The cold has pinked her cheeks and the tip of her nose just enough to accentuate her pale skin and the way her dark auburn hair frames her face perfectly. There’s a cliché holiday twinkle in her big brown eyes that her glasses have no hope of hiding. Oh, those glasses. I would definitely take a lump of coal in my stocking for every time I’ve had a naughty thought about watching her eyes over the rims as she pushes them back up onto her nose.
“Hi, Dalton,” she says, stepping inside.
Her eyes dart around, taking in the scene, and I know she must be nervous. I’ve invited her here under the guise of humiliation about her failed life plans. Honestly, that sounds terrible on the face of it.
She slowly unzips her coat, and I immediately step behind her to help remove it. I shamelessly inhale her scent from the garment as I hang it on a hook behind the door. It’s a warm vanilla aroma that makes me want to bite her.
“I need to get my bags from the car,” she says. “But I wanted to make sure I was willing to stay before I brought them in.”
That’s fair, and even though I think that, she’ll never know. “You know you’re going to stay, Lace.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Dalton Ford,” she quips.
I shrug my shoulders, running my hand back through my hair as I walk around to face her. “Maybe not, but I’m sure that will change by the end of the trip.”
Lacy’s eyes narrow at me. This is what we do. Banter and jab back and forth all the while knowing we both love it.
I check my watch. “I’ll get your bags for you in a little while. Unless you’d like to change before dinner?”
Lacy bites the inside of her cheek, considering my words as she pouts about losing this round of jousting.
“Should I change before dinner?” she asks, looking down at her outfit.
It’s a fine outfit. There’s nothing wrong with it at all aside from its lack of skin and accessibility.
“Actually,” I say, pausing to make eye contact with her. “The bedroom through that door right there is yours, and I did bring something for you to wear, if you’re up for it.”
Her eyebrows furrow with confusion, as I’m sure she’s wondering what the hell I’m up to.
“Well, you won the bet. It’s up to you,” she says. “You decide what I wear.”
My dick twitches in my pants, and I know if she says many more things like that, it won’t matter what she’s wearing, because I’m going to rip it off. Ten years of anticipation means a strong wind might make me orgasm at this point.
I swallow hard. “Wear what I laid out on the bed.”
She nods, turning to walk in the direction of the door I pointed to. Her perfect ass sways in such a way that I would swear she’s doing it on purpose.
God help me.