Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
COOPER
I ’m not sure if I’d rather have frozen to death in the car or if I’d rather be impaled by one of the enormous icicles hanging from the house. Either fate is better than what awaits me in this house.
“Well, it’s been nice knowing you,” I mutter as Liesel enters the code to her dad’s garage.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she says in a hushed voice as the garage door raises. “Come in.”
It’s almost 4 a.m., and I’m toting our bags as I walk between her dad’s Audi A8 and Toyota Tundra. Parked in the winding driveway are a Jeep and a Bronco. Her brothers’ vehicles, I’m sure.
“We both know that’s not true. Your dad is going to kill me.”
“He won’t kill you.”
“Yes, he will. I’m doing a walk of shame with his only daughter in the Home Alone house.“
“Stop. The Home Alone house was two blocks over. And this isn’t a walk of shame.”
She opens the garage door, and immediately, there’s a loud beeping.
“Crap! The alarm!” She rushes into an entry room with white lockers and a matching bench with slate tile. She enters a code into a wall keypad while I panic, looking past the dark room for signs of life.
And by life, I mean my imminent death.
“Alarm off,” a creepy robot voice says.
And a dog growls.
“You have a guard dog??” I whisper yell.
“That’s just Bear,” she says, removing her coat and hanging it up in one of the lockers.
Great. Bear. He’s probably a pit bull or German Shepherd. Something bred for fierce loyalty, protection, and eating punks named Cooper Kellogg.
I brace myself as the growling grows louder. The house is dark, and with all that beeping and now a freaking guard dog , I’m counting my final moments.
I open one of the lockers and try to fit inside of it, but I’m too big, so I hide behind the door, instead.
I did not want to go out like this!
The growling reaches a frenzy. I’m forcibly reminded of that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio where he gets attacked by a grizzly.
But Leo got off easy only getting mangled and shredded like that. Papa Bear—or his dog surrogate—is going to end me.
There’s a loud sniff, and then Liesel says, “There’s my big boy.” Next thing I know, my locker door is pulled from in front of me, and I see Liesel and … a purse pet.
It’s an actual Teacup Yorkie, dark brown, from what I can tell from the built in wall lighting.
“Give him a kiss,” Liesel says, holding up the dog—Bear.
“I’m not giving him a kiss.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she says. She shoves Bear into my face, and I turn my head so the dog’s cold nose hits my cheek. Then she snuggles the tiny creature and sets him down. After he gives my shoe a couple of sniffs, he returns back to wherever he came from.
“So that was Bruce Fischer’s dog. How old is he?” He has to have belonged to Liesel’s mom, right?
“One.”
“One? I assumed?—”
“That he was my mom’s?”
“Yeah.”
“My brothers got him for Dad last Christmas.”
“And your dad kept him? Your dad?”
“My dad’s a sweetheart!”
“Your dad could beat The Rock in an arm wrestle.”
Liesel grins. “Are we going to stay in the mudroom all night?”
“Yes. This is the closest exit.”
“Come with me,” she says with a quiet laugh. She grabs her purse, I grab my suitcase, and I let her tug me through a spacious kitchen, a formal dining room, a living room of some kind and into a …
Bedroom.
“I’m not sleeping here,” I say.
“I know you’re not, goofball. I am. I’m getting the spare linens from the closet so you can sleep on the couch.”
I want to protest. I’d rather try my luck in the garage or the gazebo I spotted through the kitchen’s bay windows. But I’m exhausted and my elbow hurts, and I need the sleep.
Liesel takes me through the dark house and into a family room with a long, low electric fireplace and a recessed niche above it where a wall mounted TV hangs. Across from it is a big plush sectional. I put a sheet down and she tosses a pillow and quilt on top of it.
Then she leans into me, bats those gorgeous baby blues up at me, and I sigh and wrap her in my arms.
Her hair is falling out of her ponytail, her mascara is smudged, and her lids are heavy. Her red blouse is wrinkled from wearing a parka over it all night.
She’s gorgeous.
She could be covered in slime and would still be objectively hot. Any dummy with eyes could see that. But she’s so much more than a pretty face and great legs. She’s sharp and quick-witted, and she cares about people with her whole heart.
And somehow, I’m one of those people.
Me.
I’m crazy about her. This woman who sees through me like glass and who laughs with me in spite of herself. This woman who would risk upsetting our boss, her dad, her brothers …
She angles her head up at me and her eyes flutter closed as she rises to her tiptoes.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Mistletoe.”
I glance up.
“There’s no mistlet?—”
Her lips land on my jaw, soft yet tantalizingly firm. My eyes start to close of their own accord, but something in the back of my head tries to force them back open.
Why is something in the back of my head trying to force my eyes open? I’m with a gorgeous, spunky girl I’m insanely into, and we’re about to make out. This is all green lights.
Her kisses trail up my jawline, and as much as I try to think, I can’t. Not with her warm breath against my skin, not with those lips . Her kisses get closer to my mouth. Man, I really want Liesel’s mouth on my mouth. When her bottom lip flaps against my own, my brain turns to mush and instinct—pure, unadulterated instinct—takes over. I put my mouth on hers and kiss her with a dizzying intensity.
Her splayed hands tug my hair between each finger, and that sends a wave of sensation from the tip of my head down my ears and cheeks and right to my mouth, where it meets hers.
This kiss.
How did I try to fight this?
Why?
No, seriously, why.
I hear a creak, and in a flash, my brain restores itself and I jump back with a hiss, almost tripping over the coffee table. “Devil woman!”
Shock drops her jaw. “What?”
“Are you trying to get me killed?” I whisper. “Get thee hence, Temptress!”
Her eyes pop. “Excuse me?”
“I will not kiss you in your dad’s house!”
“Stop!” She giggles. “It’s not like you’ve pressed me up against the counter in the middle of the kitchen.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, giving me a sly look, and if there’s anything I can’t resist, it’s this buttoned up woman wearing mischief as confidently as she wears my jersey. “Besides, you know you want to.”
“Of course I want to.” I cross my fingers at her like she’s a vampire. “But I also want to breathe. And, you know, survive Christmas.”
She swipes playfully at my hands, giving a breathy laugh. Then she takes a saucy step toward me. “Coop-er.”
“No!” I back up, and this time, I fall onto the couch.
She sits on my lap.
“Liesel Bratty Brat Fischer. No.”
I pick her up and remove her from my lap, and she pouts.
“I like you,” she says. Then she leans down and kisses my cheek.
“I like you more.” I grab her hips, spin her around, and then plant my socked foot to her butt and give her a small shove. “Now get away from me. And stop looking so cute.”
She beams, blows me a kiss, and vanishes.
I’m asleep as my head hits the pillow.
I awake to a pillow hitting my head.
Hard.
“What in the name of Father Christmas are you doing on our couch?”
I’m bleary eyed, my head is throbbing (from a headache, though the pillow didn’t help), and my arm aches like the dickens. But all of that pales in comparison to the feeling of dread as I look up at Logan and Lucas Fischer. Not even the Christmas tree in the background can make this feel anything less than intimidating.
But I’m me, so I yawn and prop myself up on my good elbow. “What’s up, Fischer Bros? How’s it going?”
Logan scowls while Lucas stands with his arms folded. They’re both tan and athletic with windswept blond hair, although Lucas’s is longer than mine and Logan’s is shorter. They look like they could be extras in a Point Break remake … that takes place at Christmas.
Because they’re wearing full length, white and blue abominable snowman footie pajamas. Complete with the fuzzy tummy.
“I got here in your sister’s car. And I was sleeping.”
Lucas lunges for me, and Logan barely manages to stop him. My pulse is already elevated from the abrupt awakening, but it hammers extra hard at the violence in the Fischer Brothers’ eyes.
“Chill,” Logan says.
Lucas sneers, and I grin. “And here I thought you two would be happy to see me.”
“You absolute piece of?—”
“Dude,” Logan says to Lucas. “Enough.” Logan sits on the coffee table, which has been pulled back a few feet. He rests his elbows on his knees and fixes his pale blue eyes on me. “Why did Lee bring you here?”
Her brothers’ eyes are a bit lighter than Liesel’s, but they resemble hers enough that I let some of my bravado slip. I sit up and rub my face. I’m wearing the same clothes I fell asleep in last night—jeans and a volunteer t-shirt. I point at the shirt. “The battery in my car died after we did Feeding Futures yesterday, so she offered to drive me to the airport. And then the storm hit. All flights out of Chicago have been canceled.”
Logan nods. Lucas stands behind him, arms still folded, looking like a bouncer at a yeti-themed bar.
“She should have left you on the side of the road,” Lucas says.
Logan’s eyes close in annoyance, and I bite back a smirk. “What’s your plan?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. Get an Uber to drive me to my place in Hindale?”
“Start walking,” Lucas says.
Logan and I both ignore him.
“The roads south are closed. You’re not going anywhere.” Logan looks like he wants to spit the words, but he’s doing an admirable job of, well, not.
It’s my turn to close my eyes in annoyance. As much as I want more time with Liesel, I don’t want it like this, in front of the menacing males in her life.
For the record, I could take either of her brothers in a fair fight, but I’m pretty sure they’re not the type to fight fair.
Also, her dad could snap me like a candy cane.
The cushions on either side of me sink heavily, and my eyes fly open to show Logan on one side of me and Lucas on the other. Lucas pulls the coffee table close while Logan turns on the TV.
“Uh, what are we doing, guys?”
“ Home Alone marathon,” Logan says. He puts his arm around me and grins like a wolf. “And don’t even think about finding our sister.”
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“You can go outside,” Lucas says.
I scoff. “Are you serious?” I point to the windows, where the glare of the sun from the thick snow is blinding. And it’s still snowing.
“I can escort you to the bathroom,” Logan says.
“I don’t need to go that badly.”
Lucas and Logan both smile and lean back into the couch. And because Logan’s muscled arm is around me, I lean back with them.
So, this is Christmas Eve.