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"Well, there's a lot of post-production editing to do back at the studio, and I'll need to talk to the hosts to give them some insights about each home. So I'll probably be in Los Angeles."
Disappointment washed through me. I hated the thought of her leaving. "You don't work on Christmas though, right?"
"The show airs Christmas Eve, but I'll be done just before that," she said. "I guess I'll hang out with my mom for Christmas."
I nodded, feeling a wild urge to ask her to come back here, to spend Christmas with me—or just not to leave at all. But I kept my lips sealed shut. Our lives were on opposite coasts, and whatever the warm encouragement I felt in the space between us might be, it wasn't likely to be the kind of thing that warranted cross-country flights and late-night long distance phone calls and texts. It was just what it was right now, and that would be enough.
Or that's what I kept telling myself. Because the only thing I was sure of was that there wassomething between us.
April put her glass down and stared into the fire for a long moment, her eyes hazy and half-lidded as she pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
"Long day?" I suggested, knowing that she would excuse herself at any moment, and wishing I could make her stay.
She glanced at me with a warm smile. "It was, but it's not that. I was just thinking how nice it is here, now that you've got actual furniture and everything. You've got a really nice home for yourself. And with your family close by…” she trailed off, wistful maybe.
"Yeah, I guess so," I said, looking around. The house didn't feel like mine exactly, though I knew it was. It felt a little bit like I’d moved into someone else's home—I hadn't had time yet to settle into this new furniture, to get used to the art on the walls, to connect to any of it. "It might as well be a hotel right now," I said.
A little smile flickered across April's lips, and I raised an eyebrow at the wicked light in her eyes as my insides jumped and tightened.
Seeing the question in my gaze, she laughed, and then in a low sultry voice, she said, "I was just thinking we'd been spending a lot of time together in hotels, then."
I felt everything south of my waist tighten up as I wondered if that was an offhanded remark or something more suggestive, more playful. I knew what I wanted it to be. My fingers ached to slide into the dark mantle of hair hanging over April's shoulder, and I’d been thinking of kissing her again all night. "I like being in hotels with you," I said. It was honest, no matter how she took it.
The rosy hue climbed higher up her cheeks, and she turned her head to me fully, her pink lips open just a little bit.
I leaned toward her, tentative, and she closed the space between us. Her lips met mine, and when I slid my arms around her, pulling her body into mine and letting one hand finally weave through the silky dark hair I loved, it felt like coming home. I sighed, and let instinct take over, my mind stilling and my body coming to life in her arms. Kissing April wasn't like playing soccer, but it was the first time since leaving the pitch that I felt like my body had a purpose.
* * *
It had been a while since I had taken the time to just make out with someone, and every second I spent on the couch with April was perfect. Her body stretched out on the leather beneath me, soft and warm and curvy, and all that amazing hair spread around her in a dark shiny halo. I lay to the side of her, one arm beneath her and the other hand free to explore her incredible body, to feel the soft heat of the skin at her waist, to trace the curve of her thigh over the tight fabric of her leggings, to feel her mouth opening to mine, over and over, accepting and welcoming, insistent and pleading.
April's hands were exploring too, sliding up the planes of my back, my fingers working through the fabric on my chest, seeking, and smoothing beneath my shirt, around the waist of my jeans. When her hands pressed lower, grasping the curve of my ass over my jeans, I felt myself harden to the point of near-pain, my clear interest in moving past second base with April pressing insistently into her hip.
"So, um," she said, pulling her head back to look at me. "Have you decorated any of the bedrooms? I might want to check. You know, for the show."
A little zing of excitement flew up my spine, and I eyed her with amusement. "For the show. Sure, yes. I understand." I made my face serious and stepped off the sofa, extending a hand to her.
April stood, a little unsteadily at first, and then she followed me up the stairs, her hand in mine.
Lighted garlands draped the banisters, and a ball of mistletoe hung at the top of the stairs, so I stopped her there and took her in my arms again, kissing her gently. "I think it's bad luck not to kiss under mistletoe."
She nodded, still holding me tightly, but then stepped back. "That's a stupid superstition though, right?"
I glanced overhead at the little ball of greenery wrapped in white ribbon. "I don't know, it's working out pretty well for me right now."
"But, I mean…bad luck? For who? What if the person who walks under it has no one to kiss? Is it bad luck for them?"
I bit one side of my lip and shrugged, not caring too much about mistletoe at that moment.
"This is what's so annoying about holiday traditions like this," April went on. "Things that are supposed to be cute or charming or whatever just end up being anxiety inducing."
"Well you don't have to worry. You're kissing me."
"What if I wasn't? What about your brother? You're so ready to condemn him to bad luck just because he's single."
"Hey, this isn't my tradition," I pointed out. April's voice was light and her eyes were shining and soft, so I knew she was still kidding, but maybe she kind of had a point. "Maybe it works if you just kiss anyone," I suggested. "Even yourself. Like, your hand."
"Okay then," April said, nodding with satisfaction. "That makes sense. They need to explain these things better."
