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)
“Oh my god, Trevor, I was sixteen.”
“I was quickly informed, and for the record, you looked way older. But I put you in the off-limits category, and I didn’t let you out. Ever. Not when you were nineteen and we were graduating college, not when you were twenty-five and crashed that bachelor party we had for—fuck, I don’t even remember who. And not when—”
Something bangs on my front door, and then it swings open. “Merry Christmas, motherfu—what?”
Meg shrieks and dives off me, leaving my half-hard dick exposed for her brother to see.
Her brother.
Her brother, my best friend, who’s supposed to be in Australia, who hasn’t answered my text message, which I had started hoping just hadn’t gone through.
“What the fuck?” Jude says.
I’m scrambling for the blanket.
Meg’s hovering behind the tree. “Oh my god, don’t you know you wait for people to answer the door?” she shrieks.
Fuck the blanket for me.
I toss it to her behind the tree, leap to my feet, feel something shift wrong in my shoulder, and cover my junk. “This isn’t—” I sputter.
“It’s exactly what it looks like, and get out!” she yells.
Jude looks at her.
Then he looks at me.
My heart tries to climb out of my chest.
Fuck.
My friendship with him is one of the longest of my life.
And it’s very, very obvious that I’ve been banging his sister.
His sister, who is the only person in the entire world who could’ve actually made Christmas not just bearable, but awesome. The only woman in the world that I want here with me, not just today, but tomorrow and the next day and the day after.
His sister, whom I very much want to seriously date.
“I—” I start.
“You serious about her?” he cuts me off.
I hold his gaze while I nod. “Yes.”
He studies me right back.
And then the bastard grins like this is the best news of his life. “Awesome. You two wanna throw on some clothes and go ice skating? Australia was way too hot for Christmas. I need snow. Meg, betcha fifty bucks my fudge recipe’s finally better than yours. If you’re not ready in ten, you’re paying for dinner too.”
He turns around, walks out the door, and shuts it quietly.
Meg peers at me from between the branches of the tree.
I stare back at her.
“I knew he’d do that,” she whispers.
I blink.
She chokes on a laugh.
And then a tear slips down her cheek.
And then she chortles again.
“Are you—are you okay?” I ask.
“I thought he’d approve, but I—are you okay?”
I stare at her a beat too long before I nod.
“And you still—even if he approves—you still want me?”
That one takes a minute to sink in.
And when it hits, it hits hard. “You’ve dated douchebags who only wanted to date you to piss off your brother?”
She pinches her lips together, then slowly nods.
“I can be an asshole, but I am not that kind of asshole.”
“Promise?” she whispers. “Because I really, really, really like it here. And not just because it’s Christmas and we have an awful, wonderful tree and the best worst holiday music. I like you. A lot. And I want to stay as long as you’ll let me.”
I shove the tree out of the way, toppling it sideways onto the couch, because it’s the fastest way to reach her. “I want you to stay forever.”
She drops her head to my chest and wraps her arms around my waist. “For real?”
“We’re both a little lost.” I kiss her hair, wish I had the strength right now to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, but settle for squeezing her tighter instead. “And there’s no one else I’d rather find myself again with than you.”
She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “This is like a dream come true.”
“It is a dream come true.”
The last thing I’ve ever believed in is Christmas miracles.
But I have my very own right here in my arms, and I’m never letting her go.
Jude bangs on the door. “Not kidding. I’m going ice skating without you if you don’t get your asses in gear, and I’m only buying funnel cake for people who are with me.”
Meg sucks in an outraged breath.
And I start laughing.
Of course she loves funnel cake.
Of course she does.
That’s so Meg.
And I love it.
“Alternatively, I could buy you your very own funnel cake maker for Christmas,” I murmur to her.
“How about we do both?” she replies.
God, this woman.
She’s brighter than all the holiday lights in the world put together.
And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days deserving her.
MEG
If you’d told me a month ago that I’d be falling asleep on Christmas Eve in the arms of the man I’ve secretly crushed on for years, who’s so much better as a boyfriend—yes, officially as my boyfriend—than I ever imagined he could be, I would’ve told you that you were crazy.