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I’m feeling more than warm, but I’m well aware my “indoor task” for today is to keep the fire stoked up and the house toasty; I wriggle around, get to my knees, and lean over to carefully pluck a piece of wood from the stack beside the fireplace.

Just as I toss it into the flames, my phone starts ringing. I’m flailing, a clumsy, completely off-balance mess, while trying to keep myself partially covered up, and despite my best efforts to the contrary, I somehow manage to hit the green button by accident.

To my utter mortification, the screen immediately fills with the beaming smile of my mother.

I watch on in horror as she juggles the phone and puts on her reading glasses. All while my tits are hanging out and I’ve got a blanket pooled around my waist.

I am oh so very naked.

And I’m very obviously seated on the living room floor of my best friend’s father’s house.

This is a situation I absolutely cannot explain, in any universe.

I do some sort of part-screech, part-commando roll and dive away from the camera on my phone.

“Sky? Do you have service? Is the call connecting?” I hear my mom mutter, and I swear to god I’m about to combust like the flames beside me.

Crawling on my belly, I slither across the carpet until I can reach out very carefully from my hidden position of shame and tap the “end call” button. As soon as the call disconnects, I promptly flop onto my back with relief.

That does it. No more phone for the rest of Christmas Day. Not while I’ve got Lucas Rhodes to myself for such a short window of time—and plans to spend the day without a stitch of clothing and at his mercy.

I very efficiently and briefly text my confused mother, informing her that I’m just getting in the shower and I’ll call her back later, then turn my phone on Do Not Disturb.

I’ll deal with her much, much later.

Wrapping the blanket around me, I get to my feet and proceed to waddle like the world’s most embarrassed penguin in the direction of the kitchen.

Other than tossing my phone straight into the freezer, I’m not quite sure how to prevent a repeat of my full-frontal, nipple-shaped Christmas Day greeting. So I plug it into my charger on the counter and back away like the entire device is liable to explode.

My plans for today involve nothing more than the cowboy I’ve fantasized about for years.

If there was ever a convenient time to forget about the outside world beyond the snow piled up beyond those windows, today would be that day.

CHAPTER 17

A sultry moan drops out of Skylar. “Oh my god.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, and I have to fight the urge to toss our plates aside and give in to the perpetual need to have my mouth on her again.

“This … hands down … is the best Christmas lunch I’ve ever had,” she says through a mouthful.

Taking another big bite of the grilled cheese, she’s a gorgeous sight, bundled up in a blanket in front of my fireplace in the lounge. Hair damp and skin glowing after the bath. I got my wish to keep her naked, but Skylar reluctantly agreed to let me throw on some sweats while I made us a meal.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Biting into my own, the savory hit of melted cheese and caramelized edges of the bread do taste damn good. “But I will say, there’s an art to grilled cheese. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. You gotta do it properly. Crisp that motherfucker a little, ya know?”

Skylar chews quietly, then gestures at the sight beside us where we’ve camped out on the floor for this impromptu picnic.

“The tree looks so pretty. I didn’t think I’d want to see a single bauble or scrap of tinsel after the past few weeks of being neck deep in making everyone else’s Christmas look gorgeous, but I’m kinda glad to get to see some cute decorations and lights.”

I clear my throat because, if anything, the sight I’m looking at right here before me with her pink hair and gorgeous smile is a thousand times better than that goddamn tree. “It’s all Brad’s doing. Can’t say I’ve contributed anything really.”

“Bet you still chopped the tree down for him, though, just like you do every year?”

Giving her a wry smile, I reach forward to brush a crumb off the corner of her lips with my thumb. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t give away all my secrets. If I had it my way, I’d have nothing at all … I’ve never been much into Christmas, to be honest. Brad, however …”

The prettiest girl in the entire fucking world tips her head back and laughs, earning her a glare.

“What?” I huff.