Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“No. No way. That’s the last damn thing I’m going to do.”
“Fine.” I laugh. “What are your Christmas rules?”
“No, and I mean absolutely no gifts of white gold or silver,” Avery announces like it’s of the utmost importance. “Clearly, I’m a yellow gold girlie, and any failure to realize that on your part is willful ignorance at this point. Weaponized incompetence, even.”
June chews on her bottom lip, her mouth curving up intently. It’s one of her prettiest looks, and suddenly, letting Avery spin her wheels with ridiculous guidelines doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“All right. Yellow gold.” I sigh. “What else?”
“I’ll also only accept the watching of The Santa Clause, The Holiday, and A Christmas Story, in that order. None of that White Christmas 1950’s bullshit you tried to pull last time.”
“Of course,” I agree, watching June just as closely as before. Her blue eyes sparkle.
“Diane’s already got her shit lined up for the food, but I won’t be tolerating anything other than chocolate chip cookies left out for Santa either.” Avery points a serious finger at me and then June. “No healthy options, no crap about him not being real. You’ll leave them, and you’ll like it.”
“Is that all? Or is there something else?”
“I will also be the first to open gifts,” my sister states, and since it’s all about Avery and Avery getting gifts, I know she’s finally getting to the nuts and bolts of the matter. “And I reserve the right to return anything I see fit. Don’t even try to guilt-trip me into keeping something I don’t like.”
I shake my head on an amused sigh. “Fine.”
“June?” she questions. “Are we on the same page here?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sounds good to me,” she agrees easily, rolling her eyes at me and making Avery shove her.
“Glad we understand each other,” Avery says, turning on her heels and offering a little wave over her shoulder.
Whipping open my office door, she’s gone as quick as she came, leaving June and me alone once again. June turns to leave, but I whisper a “Pssst” before she gets out the door.
When she turns back toward me, her eyebrows are raised in question.
“Just so you know, I have a list of Christmas Eve requirements too.”
She quirks an adorable brow and crosses her arms over her chest. “Oh really?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“And what are they?”
“Well, for starters…” I tap my chin thoughtfully and make a show of glancing down at her skirt, my mind very much busy with what’s beneath it. “Absolutely no underwear allowed.”
She snorts. “Pretty sure Neil’s going to avoid going commando under his suit.”
“Ah-ah.” I waggle a finger at her. “These rules are just for you.”
“Right.” She nods, but her cheeks flush pink as thoughts I know are one hundred percent dirty start to fill her pretty little head. “And what are the other rules?”
“You think about me eating your pussy at least ninety percent of the day,” I say and lock my gaze with hers as my lips twitch into a smile. “If my math is correct, which, yeah, I think we can both agree it is, you’ll need to think about it for The Santa Clause, The Holiday, and at least half of A Christmas Story.”
“Beau…” She pauses, but I don’t miss the way her chest moves up and down with a shaky exhale of air.
“Yeah, June?”
She swallows, looks toward the windows of my office for a brief moment, and then her blue eyes are back on mine. “How about get back to work, Mr. Banks?” she chastises with a tsk. “Pretty sure you have much more important things to be worrying about than my panties.”
“Oh, I don’t know, June. Your panties—or lack thereof—are pretty fucking important.”
She laughs, shakes her head, and heads straight for my door. “Get back to work, Beau.”
I smile and waggle my eyebrows as she leaves the office, and even though there are a hundred dirty ideas rolling through my head, I drop it for now.
June is right. Today’s the last day before the office’s Christmas break, and I need to spend all the time working I can.
With the way I’m starting to feel about June, the rest of my time is likely to be filled by her.
I move my Escalade through the gate in front of my parents’ house and pull into the driveway, the bright lights of Christmas nearly blinding me. Clearly, my mother and her go-to Christmas décor company went a little overboard this year trying to beat out Martha May Whovier.
I pull to a stop in front of a large inflatable snowman, and Avery and June climb out the passenger’s side while I cut the engine and hop out. The sounds of actual Christmas carols coming from discreet outdoor speakers placed around the yard fill my ears, and I don’t know whether to be amused or horrified that the entire neighborhood has had to listen to “Jingle Bells” on a continuous loop since the day after Thanksgiving.