Total pages in book: 10
Estimated words: 9281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 46(@200wpm)___ 37(@250wpm)___ 31(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 9281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 46(@200wpm)___ 37(@250wpm)___ 31(@300wpm)
We’re standing in front of the big evergreen tree in the middle of the gardens, lights draped along its branches, checking out the video he just took.
My verdict? “I look like I’m shooting red death rays from my eyes,” I say as I hit stop on the hellscape on his screen.
“What? No way. I fucking rock at shooting videos.” He peers at it again on his phone. “You look like…Oh, hell. You’re right, Katie. You are a Christmas demon.”
I try to wrestle the phone from him, but he tugs it away from me, holding it high above his head. Even with giraffe legs, I can’t reach him. “Troublemaker! You are forbidden from using cameras ever again.”
His eyes spark with mischief. “Maybe I should hold on to this. It might come in handy,” he says, musing like a villain.
“Delete that,” I beg.
He seems to mull that over. “I don’t know. Maybe the team and Little Friends like Christmas demons?”
I growl at him. “No one likes Christmas demons. You’re not shooting a Krampus series.”
Lowering the phone, he tosses his head back and laughs. “Krampus? You’re into Krampus?”
“I’m not into Krampus. But I do have a Krampus snow globe. He’s saying: I’m having a bad hair day, so fuck off.”
“That’s very you.”
“Well, it’s my favorite snow globe.”
Fisher’s jaw drops like he’s mortally offended. “Wait. What about the one I got you?”
I point at his phone. “When you delete that video, your squirrel snow globe will rise up in the ranks.”
“Fine, I just want to have the number-one ranked snow globe,” he says, then makes a show of erasing my demon video from his phone.
My shoulders relax, but I’m not sure Fisher’s off the hook. “Thank you. But you are cruel,” I say.
“I’m so terrible,” he says.
“And that’s why I’ll Spielberg this video.” I grab his phone from his big hand.
“What the lady wants,” he says. We walk around the tree as I scout for the right location to show off the twinkle and glow of the lights. As we circle, I hold the phone in front of us to get a good angle, but I can’t see Fisher in the frame. “You might need to come a little closer,” I say, stopping in place for him to make the adjustment.
He moves next to me, his shoulder bumping mine.
My breath catches.
And wow. He smells good. Soapy and fresh with a hint of pine that’s coming from him, not the tree. I’m tempted to bury my face in his neck, rub my cheek against that scruff, inhale him.
“Does this angle work? Or do you want me to get a little closer?” he asks, but I can’t answer just yet.
Since I’m enjoying his proximity far too much. It’s messing with my head. It’s screwing with my heart. I vowed to focus on our friendship tonight. I was sure his comment last night was simply a joke. I swore I wouldn’t linger on the kiss.
So I doubled down on friendship.
But now, I’m feeling longing. Want. Heat.
I swallow past a knot of emotions in my throat and do my best to concentrate on the shot and whether it’s the right one. Trouble is, he needs to be just a bit closer. “An inch or so,” I say, sounding breathier than I should. He slides closer. I shudder slightly.
What is happening? Why am I thinking naughty thoughts about Fisher?
But they’re not just naughty. I’ve been thinking romantic thoughts too. I’ve been wanting more. Of his lips, of his time, of him.
It’s dangerous, especially since our friendship means the world to me. And yet, I’m picturing Fisher’s test subject offer, and I’m picturing the next morning too. Maybe another one. And a few more.
That’s terrifying and exciting all at once.
But first, we have a video to do.
I clear my throat. “This is good,” I say crisply, then hit record, and dive into a fun question for our video. “Quick question for the Golden State Foxes winger. Why are Christmas lights so awesome?”
He rolls with it, answering immediately. “They just make everything feel sort of possible,” he says.
His answer sends tingles over my skin. I feel all new possibilities with him. “Yes. They’re full of promise,” I add.
“Like the night has some good secrets for you,” he continues, and holy shit. Is Fisher a Christmas poet? I like the way this is going. I want to tell him my latest secret. That I’m thinking of him in new ways.
“And you want to share those secrets with,” I continue, feeling a little bold tonight as I say to the camera, “a lover or a friend.”
For a dangerous second, it feels like we’re both thinking the same thing.
A lover and a friend—could that be you?
But we’re shooting a video for his team, not confessing our feelings on camera. Fisher looks at the screen and flashes his trademark grin, tilting his head as he signs off with, “That’s what she said.”