ICARUS
Oh my god.
This is the BEST GIFT EVER!
ME
Really?
Sitting in front of a fireplace—six stockings hung across the mantle, expensive-looking garland and glass ornaments strung along the brick like something out of Pottery Barn—are Peyton and Mr. Bubbles. Both of them outlined in a soft orange glow from the fire crackling behind them.
Mr. Bubbles is proudly wearing his custom green Grizzlies jersey, reindeer antlers perched crookedly on his head. Beside him, Peyton is holding up her present.
The broken, jagged puck.
The smile on her face is cosmic. And she’s wearing a red and white sweater-patterned onesie that clings to her body like saran wrap, the zipper stopped halfway up her chest.
Peyton always wears baggy clothes. The tightest thing I’ve seen her in is her jersey when the wind tugs it against her chest. And don’t get me wrong, even in her dark baggy clothes, she’s beautiful. But seeing the way this outfit hugs her body, the dip inher waist visible, the broad outline of her shoulders, the cleavage on her chest?
It strikes a match between my thighs.
“Fuck,” I mutter to nobody but myself. My phone chimes.
ICARUS
I love it. Thank you.
My stomach flutters as I respond.
ME
Thank you.
The dancing dots pop back up on the screen, followed by another whooshing sound. I never thought I’d be the type of person to be smiling at my phone for hours, but with Peyton, I am.
ICARUS
Did you open any other presents?
ME
A throw pillow from Cleo, some pajamas and money from my parents.
Oh, and that photo of Yersie. Definitely a top contender.
ICARUS
That was a good gift.
ME
What about you?
ICARUS
Nothing from my parents yet, I’ll keep you posted in the morning.
But Harlowe and Bails pitched in and got me a giftcard.
