Reindeer Games
Page 12

“Hogging all the hot water.” I smiled at her. “The spoils of victory.” We’d made snowmen all day and then bickered about who had the better snow person. It turned into a snowball fight, and when we ran out of easily accessible snow, the snowmen had been cannibalized.
The snowman match was declared a draw.
“I should go,” Kitty said. “Lots to do at the jury lodge. It’s busy as heck over there.”
“Oh? Who’s in there?” I gave her an innocent smile.
“You know I can’t say.” She wagged a cheery finger at me. “Nice try, though.”
“I always have to try,” I told her, and saw her out the door.
I didn’t touch the bag of Christmas crap. Instead, I returned to my favorite spot on the couches and continued working on my script. The ideas were coming hot and heavy now, and morphing (as they always did). Sugarbean was now a burly football player with the last name of ‘Sugarman’ and had a heart of gold. He was the chesty beefcake that the quiet, scholarly heroine would fall for – provided he didn’t die at the Termite’s clutches. I hadn’t decided yet. In the scene I was working on, Sugarman had just arrived at the lodge after a long, sweaty day of wood-chopping and was undressing to get into the shower. Then, of course, he heard a noise coming from the wall. Next–
“Hey, what’s all this stuff?”
I looked up to see Owen in the kitchen area, peeking through the bags that Kitty had left. I blinked, putting aside my notepad. I’d been so into my scene that I hadn’t even noticed he was downstairs. He was dressed in his usual – workout pants and one of those bakery t-shirts he always wore. I wondered if he’d packed them all to give his mom’s business a little boost by wearing them on camera, and then felt guilty that we were being removed from the Loser Lodge footage for our bad behavior. So much for that boost. “That stuff? Kitty brought over some Christmas garbage.”
His eyes lit up, and his whole gorgeous face broke into a grin. “You want to go get a tree?”
“Is this the part where I can say ‘Bah Humbug?’”
“You don’t like Christmas?”
“Like is such an…inadequate word,” I told him, moving to his side as he dug through the bag. It looked more like a bunch of craft junk than Christmas decorations. “I loathe Christmas.”
Owen stopped and looked at me, surprised. “Why?”
I shrugged, but even as I did, I felt a thick knot forming in my throat. “My Pops died a few years ago right before Christmas.” Hell, I couldn’t even make it through the words without getting all misty eyed. I swallowed hard and waved a hand, trying to make light of my tears. “It’s fine.”
“Ah, damn. It’s not fine. That sucks.” Owen grabbed me and before I could protest, he dragged me against his chest in a hug. “I’m sorry, Boston.”
I was stunned. He hadn’t seemed the most demonstrative of people when I’d met him, and having him hug me now threw me for a loop. He was big and warm, though, the top of my head brushing against his chin. And his arms felt great. I sighed, fighting tears. “Sorry. I keep telling myself every year it’ll be different and I won’t get upset this time.”
“I understand. You need a distraction.”
“A…distraction?”
“Yeah. You’re stuck in your memories, that’s all. You need new ones so you don’t think of the sad ones when you see a tree or a candy cane.”
It didn’t sound like a bad idea. “Maybe, but it’s kinda hard to do. I can’t suggest it to my mom,” I told him. “It’d be like trying to replace Pops.”
“Here’s the perfect time, then,” he said, and wrapped his arms around me. I could have sworn I felt his mouth press on the top of my head. He’d probably done it in the heat of the moment as a mistake, not realizing who I was. Then, his hand tapped my arm. “I know.”
“What?”
“We have an axe in the woodshed. I bet I can find a better Christmas tree than you can.”
I snorted. “Are you kidding? You have terrible taste. Look at your wardrobe.”
“Sounds like a challenge,” he said slowly.
And I knew I was being goaded into it, but I was grinning, so I didn’t much care. “You’re on. Hot water up on the table as the prize?”
“You bet.”
 
~~ * * * ~~
 
We bickered over trees for most of the afternoon. I wanted a huge one. After all, why not go in style? But Owen had argued (quite sensibly, curse him) that the last thing we wanted was to haul a massive tree all the way back to the lodge and try to put it up with just the two of us.
So we settled on a nicely sized tree, though neither of us could say for sure which one pointed it out first.
I let him chop down the tree, though I critiqued his swing. And we both dragged it back (which also turned into a race, because that was just how we were). Then, we managed to get it inside and placed in the corner of the lodge before dinner.
We had sandwiches, and then set to decorating. Kitty’s bag had included string and needles and a bag of popcorn for popcorn garlands, and construction paper for colorful chains and snowflakes. It was going to look like a kindergarten Christmas tree, but it would be one-hundred percent ours. And it would be fun to decorate.
“I’m totally making my chain longer than yours, Cupcake. Check this out.” I spread out the red and green links that I’d been chaining together for the past hour between bites of my sandwich. “You’re not going to be able to compete.”
“That’s because the popcorn’s so much smaller,” he protested. He had the needle and thread and was stringing the popcorn on. “We should time how long we get in a half hour and then switch, and see who comes out ahead.”
“You’re just jealous because mine’s bigger than yours,” I said archly.
He snorted. “Trust me, Luna, that is not a phrase most people say to me.”
My mind went to dirty, dirty places.
 
~~ * * * ~~
 
My mind remained in dirty places for the next day, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of Owen. Why had I hated the man? He was competitive, just like me. I understood that.
He was also flat-out gorgeous. Everything about him drove me wild with lust, from the way the corners of his eyes crinkled a little when he smiled, to the liquid gold color they seemed to be when he was concentrating, to the way his big hands moved when he cooked. I always made him cook, and it was mostly so I could watch him.
When he showered, I tried not to think about him soaping up his big body with those big hands…which meant, of course, I could think of nothing but that. When he went to sleep, I pictured him in bed, limbs twined in the sheets. Did he sleep naked? I pictured that, too, and found myself flustered and needing that cold shower before I slept.
I’d gone from despising the guy to having an amicable rivalry with him…to lusting after him. I was pretty sure the lust was purely one-sided, though, so I kept my dirty thoughts to myself.
Kitty showed up the next day with more groceries and a new bag of stuff for us. She looked pleased at the sight of our tree, and we spent the rest of the day making more garlands and festooning the lodge with them. The rivalry remained with Owen, but now there was a weird sort of tension behind it, and every time his fingers brushed mine, or his body brushed up against my own, I’d tense like a skittish cat.