“Too busy to remember to plug in your car when it’s twenty below zero?” he asks, stripping out of his coat and boots and leaving them by the front door where I’ve hung a giant ornament-covered wreath.
“I thought it felt colder out there,” I mumble.
“I know it’s your first winter in Alaska sweetheart, but forgetting to plug in your vehicle in subzero temperatures could be a death sentence. You can’t be so careless.”
He called mesweetheart. And it didn’t completely sound like an insult. Or did it?
“Is your Jeep even properly winterized?” he asks, joining me in the living room area.
“Yes,Dad.” I roll my eyes at him, but he’s too busy glaring at the Christmas tree obstructing his bay window to notice.
I thought the tree looked better in the corner myself, where it could still be enjoyed but not block the gorgeous, frosty view of the mountains. But I was vetoed over FaceTime when Mandi insisted I show her my handiwork. After I drug that heavy monstrosity across the room, I intended to take a quick cat nap, then pack up the empty totes and get on my way long before Tripp was due home.
Another yawn escapes, and I cover my mouth with my hand to catch it.
“What’s the matter?” Tripp asks, dropping beside me on the couch. He leaves enough room for a dog or a small child between us. But not so much that I’m immune to the heat swirling in the gap. “Didn’t get a long enough Goldilocks moment?”
“If I was going for the Goldilocks angle, I’d have crawled into your bed,” I point out.
Our gazes lock and hold for several heated seconds. My nipples tingle at the sheer intensity in his dark eyes. If I wasn’t so certain that my very existence annoyed this man to his core, I’d think we were having a moment. That maybe this attraction isn’t entirely one-sided.
“Anyway,” I say, forcing my gaze away before he decides to call me out and embarrass me, “I’m not exactly happy about being stuck out here. I barely had time to grant Mandi her Christmas wish as it was. This is definitely going to make me late.”
“You have a hot date?” Tripp asks, his eyes going a shade darker. Or maybe I’m imagining that part. But I’m definitely not imagining the part about the gap between us shrinking. It’s barely enough to squeeze a small house cat into now. The only question is, who moved closer?
“In case you must know, I’m going to the singles mixer at the brewery. You should come.”
I inwardly cringe, wishing I could take that last part back.
“Not a chance in hell,” he grumbles.
“Why not?” I ask, clearly too stupid not to push my luck. Or maybe I just enjoy prodding him. “It could be fun.”
“Is that why you’re going? To havefun?”
“I’m not going there to be miserable,” I say on a laugh. For a fraction of a second, I see something akin to a half grin flash across his expression. He’s sexy enough with his resting grump face, but I bet he’d be irresistible if he actually tried a full on smile. “I’m going to get kissed under the mistletoe.”
“So you’re going to trap a man into some holiday relationship story you can tell your grandkids about?” Tripp says, but I can’t tell if he’s ribbing me or if he sounds mad. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Relationship, ha!” I let out a good, hearty laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m always chronically single at Christmas. Have been my whole life. It’s like a curse or something, so I don’t even try to break it anymore. I just go with it. A singles mixer sounded fun. Like, maybe I’ll get laid by some hottie who’s only home for the holidays and will never call me again.”
The gap between us has disappeared. Tripp’s thigh is pressed to mine, the heat of the contact almost unbearable. He reaches his hand to my cheek, and suddenly my throat goes dry.
Fuck, is he going to kiss me?
I want him to.
But this is a super, terrible, very bad, no good idea. So why am I wetting my lips and leaning in?
Tripp’s fingertips brush my hair, and he tugs free a strand of tinsel.
“Oh, I was looking for that,” I say, my weak laugh shaky with nerves.
“It’s fuckingeverywhere, Harley.”
