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And my anger was all directed at Drake.
Fuck Drake.
It had been my mantra for a whole week. Did Drake have a Christmas tree right now? No doubt he did. So why the hell couldn’t I have one?
Seeing the once-decorated corner of my loft so empty and devoid of decoration had made me furious last night. So much so that it was affecting my art.
So get a tree, bitch.
The answer had been so obvious I nearly bit off my own inner tongue.
What the hell are you waiting for?
And so here I was, wandering the biggest Christmas tree lot I’d ever seen in my life. Looking for a tree that would be even bigger, better, and more badass than the one I’d dragged in anger to the curb.
Oh yes, and sitting next to a mountain of a man. One who was so ruggedly handsome yet uncannily gentle, he could’ve been plucked from any of the last ten rom-coms I’d immersed myself in.
“I’m Kade, by the way,” the man said, extending a naked hand.
“Sloane,” I smiled. I pulled my glove off and shook with him, noticing how warm and perfect his calloused palm felt. “Nice to meet you.”
The machine rumbled on, rolling slowly along the fence. The lines of Christmas trees came into view again — hundreds of them, laid out in neat rows and columns. Immediately I could see where I’d made my wrong turn.
“Sloane, I’m going to put you on the biggest trees we have,” said Kade. “In fact… hang on.”
He killed the engine again, then put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. It was that loud, crazy whistle I’d always admired people could do. I’d tried it in the past, but could never do it.
Two men came over, both wearing the same sherpa-lined work jackets Kade had on. The Carhartt logo on the pocket was unmistakable.
“This is Sloane,” Kade said. “She needs a tree.”
“A big tree,” I added.
My side of the loader happened to be pressed up against the fence. Kade reached out and took me by the hand, helping me to climb over his body and slide past him on the seat.
Halfway through, my ass brushed his crotch.
Oh my God…
I felt a flash of instant embarrassment, but also a flush of prickly heat. Was that a knot I felt in his jeans? Or was it just the way his zipper happened to be arranged?
“Go on,” Kade urged, nodding toward the ground below. “They’ll take care of you.”
Still pleasantly rattled, I hopped down the first of the corrugated steps. Suddenly another pair of strong hands were gripping my waist. A mocha-skinned worker with cocoa-brown eyes lifted me easily away from the big truck, then swung me a few feet to the left.
Oh!
He deposited me effortlessly in front of what looked to be a blond-haired, blue-eyed viking
god.
“Hi Sloane,” the viking smiled. “I’m Brock. And that’s Valerio.”
His voice was warm and inviting, spoken from the depths of a broad, beautiful chest. He had an immaculately-trimmed beard, and a smile that forced my next few heartbeats to go off rhythm.
“Come,” he said, extending one big hand. “Let’s get you set up with a nice tree.”
Five
