19
Someone is shaking me.
“Merry Christmas, sugarlips,” an eager voice says, and I roll over to find a man straight out of Outlander casting looking down at me. Thick, dark wavy hair; large, friendly brown eyes; broad, muscular shoulders; and a Superman tattoo peeking out of a gray workout pinny.
“Jamie!” I exclaim. There’s no way I’d forget my on-again-off-again situationship post-Flynn. Mainly for one very important reason: He’s fantastic in bed.
“The one and only.” He runs a hand through his hair. A fire smolders in his eyes. “Are you interested in some reindeer games?” I giggle at his reference to Yuletide Court.
I reach down to my phone to silence the alarm before it blares. Then I yelp in surprise as he rolls on top of me.
“Jamie—” I start to protest before clamping my mouth shut.
Don’t ruin this for me now, brain, I lecture myself.
After the horrible days with Anthony, Flynn, and Dale, the universe does owe me a consolation prize for all the pain and hurt they put me through, right?
The area between my legs practically throbs as I feel him pressing against me.
And the minute he leans forward and nuzzles my neck with his lips and warm breath, all my senses instantly leave me and I turn into a puddle in his arms as his hands rove up and down my body.
I’m not thinking about Madam Lunas or even Robbie’s harsh words right now. No, I need to empty my mind, free myself from all those messy, complicated feelings. I press my mouth against his and wrap my legs around his waist. I’m ready to do some damage.
I’m still riding my orgasm high when Jamie shudders atop me. “Damn, sugarlips.” He removes his condom and tosses it next to the two or three others in the trash bin by his bed. “You know we’re permanently on the naughty list now.” His laugh is loud and joyful.
“Worth every minute,” I say, stretching. “This is one of the better Christmas Eves I’ve had recently.”
To his credit, he doesn’t even question my statement, he just tosses me a towel from his side of the bed before getting up. I sneak a peek at his tan, rock-hard ass, then shamelessly watch his muscular body as he pads across the room and opens a door leading to a bathroom.
I smile to myself. Thank you, Universe. You might be royally abusing me, but a visit with Jamie has at least got my endorphins back up.
Is this what Madam Lunas meant when she said she’d help me?
As I listen to the shower squeak on, I make a promise to myself: I am not going to be anyone’s hype person but my own. I take a deep breath. Starting with Jamie.
If I can’t find a way to break this time loop, I am going to at least find a way to change myself.
And when I do break the time loops for good, I’m going to do it without having to be chameleon Marygrace.
I sit up and finally take in my surroundings.
Yep, those are old Sports Illustrated posters on the walls.
I make eye contact with all the greats: Tyra Banks, Christie Brinkley, Kate Upton.
Then my gaze drops to the bed, and I nearly laugh out loud.
Football sheets. Not just a pillowcase or a blanket, but the whole bedding set.
It looks like the footballs are playing a scrimmage game with each other.
On the other side of the room, a small desk sits beside a bookcase that could double as a shrine to Jamie’s glory days. Several shiny trophies and sun-faded ribbons proudly announce victories in football, wrestling, and just about every other sport his schools and county leagues had to offer.
I met Jamie at the gym when I was in my post-Flynn glow-up mode. He was originally my personal trainer until things got much more personal and we started seeing each other for a whole different kind of workout. He was such a fitness buff, I’m not surprised to see childhood Jamie was much the same.
Wait.
The realization hits me in the gut and I sit ramrod straight. This is Jamie’s childhood bedroom.
Does he still live at home? Or are we visiting for the holiday?
But the even bigger, more horrible question: Does this mean his family is home?
I squeeze my eyes shut as I run through the last hour and a half we spent unwrapping each other like X-rated Christmas gifts.
How loud were we? No wonder he said we’re on the naughty list. Doing it when your parents might be in the next room over is about as bad as it gets.
The shower starts running in the bathroom and I have half the mind to do some running myself, running right out of Jamie’s house. But the thought of bumping into his parents on the way out makes me cringe.
Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Morales. Did you sleep well? All that thumping was just Santa coming down the chimney.
I slide off Jamie’s bed, anxious to get dressed.
My mind scrambles, recalling that Jamie’s family lives near the lakes, so about an hour from my grad school and my current-day apartment.
Please let that apartment still exist in this time cycle, because I am out of here.
I’ll hunker down there until I can figure out what to do next.
After some rummaging around, I find my shirt on top of a couple honest-to-goodness Troll dolls. What in the early 2000s is this?
Just then, Jamie pads out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and drops of water still glistening on his massive body. He rubs another towel through his dark hair.
“Shower’s all yours,” he says graciously.
He doesn’t seem the least concerned about our morning activities. So maybe his family isn’t home?
I clear my throat. “Well, I wouldn’t want to use all the hot water. What if your… um, folks need to use it?”
“Too funny.” He roars. He looks at the Minecraft clock above his desk. “They’re still doing the 12 Days 12K.”
“The 12K,” I whisper. Saved by the super-healthy Morales fam.
“They were carbo-loading last night, remember?” He grins. “It’s our holiday tradition, but Mom knows I need to focus on low-impact cardio, so I’m excused.” He looks me up and down with a smolder in his eyes. “Besides, you and I got some cardio in this morning.”
I flush. “That we did.”
“Well”—he flexes a bicep the size of a grapefruit—“I’ve got to hit the weights, but feel free to have a slow morning. You deserve it.”
I freeze. Oh no, what did this version of Marygrace do last night? Did I organize a multimillion dollar gala? Host an Instagram live with a celebrity-wannabe chef? “Why do I deserve a slow morning?” I ask hesitantly.
Jamie tilts his head, a puzzled look on his face. “You need a reason to chillax?” He counts on his fingers. “Well, how about you’re a hard-working speech therapist, your clients love you, and you’re just an awesome human.”
I stare after him as he leaves the room.
I haven’t helped him open a business or organize a fundraiser, have I?
I take a deep breath. So far this morning has been low stress, but after my experiences with my other exes I’m ready for anything.
At least I know I won’t be hype-woman Marygrace.
I am my own person in this time loop, I promise myself.
After a shower, I find the rest of my clothes in an overnight bag near Jamie’s closet.
I slip on a pair of thick nude-colored leggings, a cute red skirt, and a red-and-white sweater with Christmas tree patterns on it.
I preen in Jamie’s floor length mirror. Of all the loops, this is by far my favorite fit. I’m peak holiday-date cute.
I wait a moment in the upstairs hallway, holding my breath to see if I hear anyone else in the house.
After a minute, I exhale. The house is quiet.
I guess they’re still doing their run. Even though I am going to do my best to not be “chameleon Marygrace” with my exes, I still want his family to like me.
As I pad down the hallway, I admire the walls covered in framed photos of Jamie and his family.
Jamie looks like a perfect mix of his parents: the large, friendly eyes of his dad and his mom’s thick glossy hair.
I didn’t know he had two sisters. I see a teenage girl with curly black hair and another girl with strong cheekbones like her brother.
I smile at the photos of the family on vacation and at parties and at home.
The Moraleses look like they enjoy hanging out together.
Our families have that in common. I palm my phone in my pocket, reminding myself I need to text them. I missed seeing them in Anthony’s loop.
I tiptoe down hardwood steps onto the house’s main floor. I notice a well-loved blue couch and a fireplace with more family photos. And standing by the living room window is a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. My eyes light up with delight. Finally, a Christmas tree in one of these time loops!
It can’t compare with my mom’s tree, but the love in Jamie’s family is evident by this tree alone.
I walk around a corner to the house’s cozy farmhouse-style kitchen, but find it empty as well. Where has Jamie gotten to?
At least someone has laid breakfast out on the counter: fruit, yogurt, and granola alongside a pot with a sweet corn porridge. I grab a slice of the delicious, fluffy-looking bread roll.
At the other end of the kitchen, I find an open door and a staircase leading down. The light is on and I hear the distinct sounds of weights and metal clanging.
I take the stairs, flinging open another door at the bottom, and enter a bright finished basement with recessed lights. Around the corner, I find an elaborate home gym with a couple of machines, free weights, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
“Wow,” I say, checking out Jamie’s setup. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
He’s facing me, sitting on a bench, doing arm curls with one of the biggest free weights I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing tight cotton shorts, no shirt, and a Santa hat on his head.
“Sugar!” Jamie grunts mid-set. “You’re in my shot!”
What?
I turn around to find a tripod and ring light right behind me where he’s recording his workout.