Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I rub my ear.
There’s no way I heard all of that right.
“Also, I found your Halloween lights, so I put those on the tree too,” she adds. “It’s a general-purpose festive eyesore.”
I glance into the living room.
Sure enough, there are jack-o-lanterns lit up all over the lopsided tree. And sure enough, the music just switched from “Penis of the Bells” to “Penis the Snowman.”
Or should I call it “Frosty the Penis”?
The only word anyone’s singing is penis, so it could go either way.
“Meg. You don’t have to ruin your Christmas on my behalf. Look, I was thinking I’d head up to—”
I cut myself off as her lush lips spread in a wide smile, and I swear I go light-headed at the beauty of it.
She literally made me forget how to talk because she smiled.
I have it bad. I’m pretty sure I always have. I’ve just been very good at denying it until this very minute.
And I don’t know what I’m going to do about this.
“I am not ruining my own Christmas,” she says. “I’m expanding into testing other ways of celebrating.”
“But tradition—”
“Can change. You want a birthday cinnamon roll? They’re best hot. Also, I think I need to take some to your neighbors. Or probably to Joey and Zeus, but Zeus could eat the entire pan himself, and that wouldn’t leave any for the rest of his family, so maybe not?”
“Do you always make cinnamon rolls for the holidays?”
“No, I’m a mood holidayer.”
“What does that mean?”
“Some years it’s cinnamon rolls, and some years it’s chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, and some years it’s honey puff pancakes, and some years it’s waffles, and this one year, Jude got an itch for breakfast soup.” She pauses and bites her lip, then adds in a rush, “But cinnamon rolls are my favorite.”
I swallow.
Hard.
They’re my favorite too.
Leave, I order myself. Do not sit and have cinnamon rolls with this woman who always believes the best of everyone.
But she makes me believe in myself in ways I haven’t in months. Maybe years, my heart whispers back.
Fuck.
Meg’s gaze wavers as she studies me. “You…don’t like cinnamon rolls either,” she says softly.
The oh, god, I fucked up again in her voice breaks me.
She hasn’t fucked up.
I have.
And I’m done fucking up.
“I want three.” Preferably served on her bare belly so I can feast on everything I’d like to devour at once. My voice goes a little hoarse. “Put them on a plate like they’re a snowman.”
She scratches her nose as she studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious, leaving behind a smear of icing right at the tip.
I want to lick it.
I want to lick the icing off her nose, and then I want to kiss her until I can’t breathe, and then I want to feed her cinnamon rolls while I strip her naked and do things to her body that are probably illegal but that will make us both feel so, so good.
And she’s your best friend’s little sister, dummy.
Finally, she turns to the pan of cinnamon rolls with Happy Birthday, Jennifer scrawled across it in pink frosting. “If you’re doing this just for me, you really don’t have to. But if you’re doing it so that you can make some happy holiday memories and maybe one day look forward to them for yourself, I’m in.”
“You’re making this the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
The raw honesty is hard.
But it’s necessary.
I’ve been a dick.
She deserves better, and more, I want to be better.
I want to be the kind of guy who deserves to date his best friend’s sister.
She’s gone totally, completely still.
Fuck.
She doesn’t believe me.
“This year’s sucked,” I say over the penis carol. “I don’t feel like I earned that World Series ring. My career’s over. I know there’s more to come, but I’m not ready. I will be. One day. But I’m not done mourning what I had. And now we’re heading into the time of year when I remember all the ways the holidays never lived up to the hype and the expectation, and I wanted to hide from all of it, but you’re here, meeting me halfway, making it fun, pushing me to get the hell outside of my own head and let it be fun. So thank you. And I’m sorry I’ve been a dick.”
She slowly turns to face me, three stacked cinnamon rolls wobbling on my basic white plate. “I’ve had a crush on you since you gave me the last piece of fried chicken at Jude’s college graduation picnic,” she whispers.
“Meg—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to crush on me back. I won’t ever say anything about it again. I just wanted you to know, because people shouldn’t hide it when they think other people are awesome. But you’re down, and I’m trying too hard, so I’ll stop. I promise. I’ll see if Zeus and Joey will let me—oh.”