42. Hailey
The doorbell chimes a pretty song through Arlo’s home. Platters cover the island between us, but my chef shifts between a steaming pot and a simmering pan.
“Will you get that, please?”
I leave Dobson and his blond-headed, big-boobed CEO of some Fortune 500 company date at the breakfast nook with wine, and I round the island, grabbing a baby quiche as I go. “If you eat this.”
Arlo’s gaze leaves the pan and finds the snack, then my eyes. “Only if you give me your lips first.”
“Hard bargain.” I press my lips to his. I expect a quick kiss, but he drinks at my mouth for several pulls. Then pulls back. His eyes are bright. “I love you.”
The words slip out. I’ve been waiting until this evening, but later, much later, when I give him his early Christmas present to tell him after everyone leaves.
His grin is huge. Like the Big Apple huge. “I know.”
My mouth falls open.
“You know?” I practically shriek.
“Of course, I know.” He sets the spatula on the counter, scoops me into his arms, and plants a crushing kiss on my mouth, sure to grow into more if people weren’t at the door. “I can read you like my favorite book, Hailey. I’ve known for a while, but it’s still fucking amazing to hear you say it.” He smiles. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Arlo.” I run my hands through his hair and hug him tight. “I’ve loved you for a while.”
He holds me tight. “I knew it.”
“You know how I said my dragon protects my heart?”
“Yes.” He kisses my nose.
“You are my dragon.”
“Bet your ass, I am.” He crushes me into his arms again.
The doorbell chimes once more. He hisses out one of his famous dragon huffs.
“Must be Karris.” I shove the little quiche into his mouth before he can say he knows again. “Impatient as ever.”
Arlo slaps my ass as I head for the door. I adjust my outfit and check my hair in a mirror in the corridor.
In the weeks since our Crave orgy, I’d fully expected things to get weird. Unstable when we came home to just one another. Odd when we met the group at a bar after work for drinks. Uncomfortable when the group went out for dinner. Wobbly when the two of us fucked. Awkward when I showed up at his office for an in-house lunch. Distressing when planning a Christmas party before Arlo and I head to France tomorrow.
To my utter amazement, none of it happened.
We’ve had the most glorious sex, with some nights bordering on lovemaking. Somehow, I’ve blended with his friend group in such a way that they feel more like family. A wealthy, wild, slightly dysfunctional family, but family all the same. Even Astor met us all for dinner last week, and it was wonderful.
I open the door without checking the peephole since we’re expecting people. And then I scream.
My aunt screams too as she launches herself into my arms. Laurent covers his ears and mutters in French about how loud American women are.
“About as loud as you are when you come, Frenchie,” Nat quips.
“équitable.” Laurent grins and nods with a flourish of his hand. Behind him, Astor laughs.
I set my aunt on her feet and squeeze her shoulders. “You are a liar.”
“I’m a secret keeper.” She shrugs.
“Arlo,” I growl.
“He is a liar for the greater good,” Astor admits, tugging the hand of her date out from behind Laurent. I don’t know how I missed him; he’s stunning with dark, mischievous eyes. I know right away he’s Astor’s begrudging Crave guide.
While the guys file in, I hug Astor’s neck extra tight. “I cannot wait to hear details.”
“Shut up,” Astor snaps, then pushes back with a smile as innocent as the freshly fallen snow outside. I know differently. I think her date does too. “I’d like you to meet Nash.”
“Nash, it’s so nice to meet you.” I extend my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Astor kicks me gently.
“Really?” His dark brow goes high. “We might have to do lunch sometime. I can’t get any words out of this one.” He hikes a finger at Astor. “She can’t help but give me sounds, though.”
“I would love to,” I beam.
“She’s awfully busy these days.” Astor looks at me, then slides her gaze to Nat in a silent threat. Like she’ll tell my aunt about my newest sexual escapades.
“What’d I miss?” Nat demands.
“Nothing.” I glare at Astor, and she glares back.
Laurent closes the door and takes Nat’s coat. He heads for the closet as though he’s been here before. Then I remember he has, before the gala when he snuck into town to surprise my aunt. Nash takes Astor’s coat and follows him.
“What about Christmas in France?” I split a look between Laurent and my aunt, purposely avoiding Astor’s gaze.
“Next year, perhaps.” Laurent puts their coats away. “Mon amour needed New York this year.”
“I’m kinda glad.” My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “Sorry, Laurent.”
“Pas d’excuses.” He pulls Nat into his side and I’m struck by what a beautiful couple they make.
The doorbell chimes again.
“Arlo is finishing up in the kitchen. Dobson and his date, uh…Greta, Gertrude, something, is in there too.” I shoo them all that way.
“Greta Gertrude Something.” Laurent breathes. “These American names.” Nat pokes his ribs as they head for the kitchen. Astor stalks behind them, openly ignoring her date. I shoot him a grin before he chuckles, gives me a wink, and strides away.
I open the door, and my smile somehow multiplies. “You knew about Nat coming in, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Hota’s grin is stunning.
“I thought we were friends.” I cross my arms and give my biggest pout. It can’t compare to the man’s luscious lips.
“We are.” He steps inside, pulling the door behind him. “See.” He presents me with a bottle of wine in one hand and loops the other over my shoulders.
“Thank you.” I hug his middle, and we head for the kitchen too.
“What’s up, bitches!” Karris yells as he traipses through the back door with a man in tow. I’ve never seen him before. He’s tall and dressed in a floral print suit, has perfectly manicured hair, and a beard reminiscent of Dobson’s. In fact, minus the floral print and the narrow frame, he’s reminiscent of Dobson period.
Hota turns us, almost imperceptibly, toward the living room. “Did you decorate?”
I know he’s trying to avert my attention. He’s picked a damn good topic for it.
“Just a little,” I laugh.
There’s a massive tree in the grand entrance. It would’ve been most obvious to gape at. It would have also given us a front row seat to the drama no doubt unfurling in the kitchen, judging by the sheer volume of male voices.
There are also two less extravagant Christmas trees in the living room and two in the dining room. One in front of each window. There are wreaths on all the upstairs windows, and one a kid could get lost in hanging on the front door. I even hung lights in the solarium and put bobbles on some of the trees out there.
“You’ve made this old house a home.” He kisses my forehead, then releases me.
“Hota!” Arlo comes out of the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, wiping his hands on a dish towel, looking delicious as ever. He throws his arms wide and wraps them around his friend’s neck. “I see you made it in time for the fireworks.”
“Yeah.” Hota hugs Arlo’s middle, hunching over just a little, and tucking his head in under his jaw to accommodate their similar heights.
Hota is always bending, accommodating, and doing for others. Well, mostly Arlo. But me too, now. I want to give him more than the pretty tie and fancy wingtips I have wrapped under the largest tree.
“I made Hailey show me her decorations to avoid it,” Hota says, straightening and stepping back to a respectable distance.
“She went all-out,” Arlo beams. “It looks amazing.”
“If you think all-out is a few Christmas trees and wreaths, you might want to stop this now.” I point between us.
“Not a chance,” he says, narrowing his gaze. “I’d rather go bankrupt letting you decorate.”
Hota takes a step back, ready to face the fracas of the kitchen for us to have a moment alone.
“Come here.” I crook my finger. “Both of you.”
I set the wine on a side table.
They come forward like well-trained pups, a little wary, but obedient all the same. I hook my fingers in the waistbands of their pants and wrench them close. So close our hips meet in a small circle.
“You both forgot something.” I hike a brow.
They look at each other, then back at me, and back at each other. Arlo’s smile is sweet and calm. He tosses his arm over Hota’s shoulders and loops one around my waist. “I’m pretty sure we have everything important.”
Hota looks as though he doesn’t know what to say or do with himself.
I grin, then let my gaze slowly pan up.
“Mistletoe,” Arlo rasps.
I snake my hands up their arms and clamp onto their napes. Gently, I pull them closer and closer, and then pucker. Our three mouths meet at the center. My lips on both of theirs and theirs on each other’s. I hold them in the center and graze my lips over Arlo’s mouth, and then Hota’s. Where they meet, I let my tongue slip out and catch the edge between them, before I kiss them both once more.
When I lean back, they do the same, looking dazed but happier than I’ve ever seen them. My heart goes all gooey. “Merry Christmas, Hota.”
His cheeks go red. I didn’t think that was possible to make Mr. Sexual Adventurer blush. So there’s my Christmas gift. He nods.
“Would you mind putting this in the kitchen for me?” I grab the wine off the side table and hand it over.
He nods and turns on his heels for the kitchen. The second he enters the room, the volume erupts once more.
Arlo’s hands are on my hips, pulling me close. He grabs my chin, turning my head away from the ruckus. I meet his wide gaze and big smile.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to.” I use his excuse any time he does something super sweet or super kinky for me. There’s more to it than that, of course. I’m not going into detail about that tonight. But soon.
Arlo’s love for me is unconditional. He deserves to know my love for him is too.
“I love you, Hailey.” He smothers me with a kiss under the mistletoe. “My siren.” His sigh is heavy, and he presses his forehead to mine.
“I love you, Arlo Becker Judge.”