Audrey
The rest of the ride is silent. I feel as if my balloon has just been popped. The chemistry and connection I shared with Grant, those brief few moments where I didn’t feel so alone and like someone actually saw me for me, is gone.
Why? Because my mother had to go and be married to his brother.
His step-brother. What is the big deal? Why can’t Grant understand that boys my age don't treat me like he does? In just one day, I got to feel real potential in a relationship, but because he’s a few years older, we’re just going to throw that potential away.
I hate to act like a spoiled brat who didn’t just get her way, but that’s all I’m feeling at the moment. When we get back to the house, I don’t say anything to anyone. I just stomp off to my room, tearing off my wedges and throwing them in the corner. A few minutes later, a knock on my door startles me and keeps me from sobbing into my pillow like I want to.
“Come in,” I call, my heart jumping at the prospect of Grant standing behind the door, but when it opens my mother’s face comes into view and I scowl.
“What?” I say, a little too coldly.
“Can we talk?” She shuts the door behind her and walks toward me.
“Sure.” I sit down, waiting for her to apologize.
“You’ve been a little rude all day, and I hope you get in a better mood, .”
My jaw drops. “Me?” I cry.
“Yes. You disappeared all day, had to have Roger’s brother bring you home. Were you out drinking somewhere? Then you were late to dinner, and you didn't speak to anyone all evening.”
Unbelievable. I purse my lips and keep my eyes trained on the floor. I want to come out with everything I’m feeling, like how hypocritical it is to tell me to be polite when she’s the one who talks about me like I’m not there, dismisses my art as a hobby, and gets married without me even knowing.
Grant told me not to bite my tongue, but he doesn’t understand how hard it is to speak up around my mother. She is always right and no matter what comes out of my mouth, I have to be ready to defend it because she will argue with me. It’s the lawyer in her, and it’s exhausting. So I just stay quiet.
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Can we please have a better day? We’re going to the Christmas Market, your favorite.”
It’s not my favorite. It's crowded and cold, but I don’t tell her that.
“Yes,” I mutter, just wanting her to leave.
“And I know Roger’s brother is a little rough around the edges, maybe a little too much of a bully, but he means well. Just be nice to him.”
I look up at her with a curious expression on my face. “He’s not a bully,” I correct her.
“The way he talked about you at dinner, like he knew you better than me was a little bit much.”
The irony has me nearly seeing stars. She is so clueless it’s a miracle she can even function at the point. It’s all because of Roger. He has her so lovestruck, it’s turned her into an idiot.
“Okay, sure,” I say, not even certain as to what I’m agreeing too, but I just want her to leave.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she says, rubbing my arm. I wish my mother and I could have a better relationship. I wish that when she looked at me, she saw me, the real me. But I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for too long and she’s been putting words in my mouth my whole life.
After the house quiets, and I can’t seem to make my mind shut off, I hear a door closing. It sounds like the front door, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest. The only person using the front door would be Grant since he’s sleeping in his RV. I don’t know if he was coming or going when I heard the door, but I intend on finding out.
The hallway is silent when I tiptoe out of my bedroom and toward the kitchen. The only light in the house is from the white lights of the Christmas tree in the living room, but with the open floor plan, it bathes the entire main living area in warm light.
As I step into the kitchen, I slam into a wall—a warm, soft wall that smells like pine and musk. I put up my hands and they land against the thermal long sleeve shirt that is stretched tight over his broad chest and shoulders.
“Whoa there,” he whispers.
I gaze up into his eyes, my hands still on his chest.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, not knowing what to say, only that I want him to kiss me. I want to taste the minty toothpaste I can smell on his breath. I want to feel his beard against my face and how his large arms would embrace me if I were to lean into him.
Something above us catches my eye and I trail my sight upward to find the green ball of mistletoe hanging from the door frame.
Really, Christmas? How cheesy can you get?
Then again, his eyes trail up to see it too, and the space grows tense and quiet as I wait for his next move. He seems to be staring up at it as if he’s contemplating his next move. When he looks back down at me, I squeeze his shirt in my fingers and pull myself up on my toes to press my lips to his.
At first, he doesn’t move. Then his arms are around me, squeezing me tight to his body, and it’s as wonderful as I imagined it would be, like being swallowed up in a sexy blanket.
With our lips pressed together, we stay frozen like that for a moment before, on his next exhale, he licks his tongue against my lips and I open to let him in.
From there, things get blurry.
As soon as his tongue is against mine, I’m lost in the warm, arousal that rushes through my body like a tidal wave. I let out a soft hum as he squeezes me tighter. The kiss becomes intense, our tongues tangling in delicate friction, and our bodies struggle to be even closer to each other.
Finally, we pull away, both of us breathless and panting. My lips tingle from the coarse brush of his beard. Rather than look into his eyes and let him talk us out of this moment, I bury my face in his chest and wrap my arms around his waist.
Grant’s body is both hard and comfortable. He is built with thick muscle but there is a soft layer there as well, making it far too enticing to lose myself in his embrace.
“Don’t say anything,” I whisper.
“I won’t,” he answers, his lips gentle against the top of my head.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him.
“Neither could I. I don’t like you being mad at me,” he says.
“I don’t like being mad at you.”
“,” he whispers as he puts a hand under my chin and pulls my face up. “Let me kiss you again.”
And really, how could I say no to that?