Damn it, Marlin.My lazy French bulldog that my mother considers her grandchild.
The fucker probably didn’t even need to go outside; she just worries too much.
I chose an old-man name for him, and it couldn’t have been more fitting.
“That’s because Riley is an over-the-top weirdo,” I deadpan, earning me a leveled stare.
“You have the day off. Christmas is six days away.” She gives me a tiny smile, as if testing the waters. “Jon’s is open. They probably still have some beautiful trees left to choose from.”
I don’t know why I continue to fight it each year when I know that I’ll end up putting one up at the last minute. But this way, I at least put it off as long as I can. I don’t mind having a tree, and I do like Christmas as much as any single grown-ass man can, but I hate fucking with the tree. It’s a pain in my ass.
“So, you want me to put a real one in and then catch my house on fire?” I say, like we don’t have this same conversation every single year. “And Marlin’s gonna piss on it, you know. He always does.”
She almost looks amused because she knows that when it comes to her kids and my dad, she gets her way. She puts up with too much shit from all of us to not.
“It’s been fine all the other years you’ve lived alone, hasn’t it?” She lifts a questioning brow. “That’s what I thought. So, it’ll be fine now.” She pats my arm. “Do it for your mama. You were a colicky little asshole when you were a child, and your labor wasthe longest out of all four of you. So, don’t make me ask again, love.”
She knows my ass will be in my truck in the next few minutes, headed to Crabby Jon’s Tree Farm to get a damn Christmas tree that I don’t actually give a shit about.
“Fine,” I utter. “I’ll go get a damn tree. It’ll shed all over my house and make a mess.”
My mom knows my house will never be a mess. Riley and Easton? The tree could drop its pine needles all through their house, and they wouldn’t care. But they also still ask my mom to do their laundry sometimes, and she’s hired housekeepers for them before because they are so damn messy. Tucker and I are the clean ones. Everything has a place.
“That’s my boy.” She winks but then moves her gaze behind me. Appearing entertained, she wiggles her brows. “Oh, look at that. It seems we have company.”
Shifting my body slightly, I crane my neck to look in the direction my mom is staring, and of course, I find Stella bundled up and walking toward us. Even from here, I can tell she’s shivering, and in her hands—her very bare hands that should have gloves or mittens on—she holds a box.
“Be nice,” my mother mumbles with a hint of warning in her tone before giving my shoulder a small pat.
“She’s not nice,” I point out. “She’s the opposite of nice.”
My mom’s elbow nudges into my side. “That may be true, but she’s also very smart and obviously pretty.” She chuckles. “Your brothers all seemed to notice, too, because, my Lord, those boys couldn’t keep their eyes off her the other night. Then again, neither could you.”
My eyes stay on the redhead, her hair spilling from her beanie down past her shoulders, as she gets closer to us, but I can’t stop the scowl that overtakes my face. “No, I wasn’t. And whatdo you mean, my brothers all noticed? Don’t they know she’s the enemy?”
Yeah, because that’s the only reason why I care if they look at her. It has nothing to do with me thinking she’s the most beautiful creature in the world. Or me wanting to do wicked things to her mouthy lips. Not at all.
“Well …” She snickers. “It’s just … Riley was up her ass the entire night, and poor Tuck turned beet red every time she looked his way.” She laughs. “Easton was the only one who didn’t seem to care that she was there. He hardly looked at her at all actually. But you, Ridge? Don’t even try to stand there and say you weren’t watching her all night.”
A harsh scowl forms on my face, and I can’t wipe it off. I don’t know if it’s because I’m pissed that my mom is accusing me of being into this bitchy city girl or if it’s because my brothers are too. The only reason I should be pissed is hearing that my brothers seem interested when we all need to be ice cold to her so that she leaves.
Me included.
“Hi, guys!” Stella says cheerfully, beaming at us as she tries to play it off like she’s this ray of fucking sunshine when I know she’s not.
When she got out of my truck the other night, after I led her to believe I wanted to fuck her, she was pissed. Now, she’s plastering this wholeI am not angryact. But I’m not buying it. She’s two-faced as fuck.
Both faces are pretty. But either way, she’s awful.
“Hi there,” my mom greets her warmly. “Did you walk here from the rental? It’s awfully cold out today for that.” She stops, looking Stella all over. “And you don’t even have mittens on! You must be freezing.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine.” Her lip trembles, and her teeth chatter. Looking down at the box, she holds it up. “I went to thatadorable bakery in town, and they just had so many options. I figured I’d get some things for you and your family for being so kind and inviting me to dinner the other night.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” my mom says, slowly taking the box. “That was sweet of you though. This looks great,” she says, peeking through the clear plastic top at the arrangement of pastries.
“It’s the least I could do, really.”
Stella’s sickly-sweet tone makes me want to throw the box onto the ground and stomp over it. She can fool a lot of people, I’m sure. But she isn’t fooling me. It’s in her job description to charm people. But underneath that charm? There’s a reason for it. A selfish reason, just so that she can get what she wants.
