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“It wouldn't work between us. We're too different. Besides the whole celebrity/normal person thing, he doesn't like Christmas. And who doesn't like Christmas? The Grinch.”
“But then he turned it around and actually had a good heart.” Corinne pointed out, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“You're saying that's Eli? You know him even less than I do!” He did craft a Christmas gift for his mom, though. A total grinch wouldn’t do such a wholesome thing, right?
“Maybe.” She shrugs.
“Whatever.” Dreaming of what definitely won’t happen is giving me a headache when tonight’s supposed to be fun. “Did you sign yourself up for karaoke tonight? Because I can’t be the only one embarrassing myself up there.”
“You were great!”
“Thanks, but what was up with the song choice?” My voice raises. “Freaking Santa Baby?”
“What? I like that song.”
“Mm-hmm… So, is your name on the list?”
“Yep. I’ll be performing the international classic, Silver Bells. It doesn't get enough love, and I figured people would like something different from All I Want for Christmas is You or White Christmas or the other usuals.”
An hour passes and I laugh and cheer Corinne on as she sings her song, and before long, it's time to call it a night since I have to be up early to prepare for tomorrow. I need to restock my booth, and I'm contemplating bringing some extra wreaths for fun after Eli's interest.
Corinne and I part ways outside the bar as I head down the sidewalk of Main Street. Thankfully, it's not super late. This is a safe area and well lit, but I appreciate that there's still a fair amount of people roaming the walkway checking out all of the Main Street window displays.
I huddle deeper in my jacket as a light dusting of snow begins to fall. The forecast had called for some white weather, though it’s too early for a white Christmas. Hopefully, it comes back around in time for the holiday two weeks from now.
When I cross an alley between two shops, a hand darts out and tugs me back. My vocal cords freeze up. Before they can loosen enough to scream, a familiar voice whispers near my ear, “It's okay, it's me.”
All of my fear coalesces into annoyance when he drops my arm. Twisting, I slap his chest. “What the hell, Eli? You scared me to death. What are you doing creeping around in dark alleyways?”
“I was waiting for you to leave with your friend. You girls sure know how to have a good time.”
“How long have you been out here? It's freezing.”
“Not too long.” He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Well, what was so important that you risked hypothermia? I didn't forget that I need to wrap the wreath you made, and I'll drop it by your booth tomorrow.”
“No, it's not that,” he says. It's hard to make out his expression in the dark. The street may be glowing with brightness, but the twinkling lights don't reach very far into the alley.
“It's about the kiss.”
“Oh.” I blush, wondering if he's going to chastise me for accosting him against his will. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it—”
“No.” His finger reaches up to cover my lips. “The only problem with the kiss was that it wasn't long enough,” he admits.
My eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of my head. Um, what? This can't be real. Eli Cooper didn't think the kiss was long enough? I didn't think he wanted it in the first place!
There’s no time to process this new information, however, because Eli's mouth replaces his finger, obliterating any chance at rational thought. Eli Cooper, former teen heartthrob, current holiday rom-com star is kissing me under the snowfall.
It'd be romantic if I knew it meant anything to him. But I'm sure he's left a string of broken hearts around the country with as many women that probably throw themselves at him.
Don't think about it. Enjoy the moment for what it is.
Just because it's not serious doesn't mean I can't enjoy a Christmas fling. Where's the harm as long as I know the score? With that in mind, my body relaxes into Eli's warm and firm chest.
One of his hands cups my cheek while the other grips my waist and clenches the abundant flesh. He moans, and it's the hottest sound I've ever heard. I made him sound like that. I'm the one giving him pleasure, and it makes me inordinately proud.
He tastes like brown sugar and Christmas—evidence of the buttered rum he must have ordered at O’Malley’s. It’s delicious and comforting, like the weight of his large palm carefully holding my cold-flushed cheek. My hands burrow beneath his jacket to skim the ridged muscles of his abdomen, and everything takes on a hazy quality.
