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We shower, and Carter can’t stop kissing me under the warm spray of water. His lips travel over my body. It’s the kind of night that feels like it should be illegal, nothing but pleasure, orgasm after orgasm. By the time we find our way to bed, I know there’s no way that Carter’s leaving tonight. Every time I think we’re done, Carter finds a new way to ‘make it up to me,’ as he said, for letting me take the lead earlier.
Hours later, I fall asleep. But I wake at some point because of the light coming from Carter’s phone. He fell asleep with it in his hand, and as I glance at the screen, my stomach drops.
His phone is lit up because of an incoming text from a number labeled ‘assistant.’
And fuck it, I look.
It’s a list of beach trip options for January.
He’s confirming beach reservations with his assistant hours after fucking me senseless.
Because he’s leaving as soon as he locks in that endorsement deal. Of course. I knew that, that was the plan.
Except now that plan sucks.
Carter’s had me, and now he’s done with me. Or he will be as soon as the ink is dry on his contract. He’ll find some beautiful girl to lie beside him on some exotic beach.
And I’ll be left here.
Alone.
Another Shepphoe he left behind.
Chapter Eight
All my life, whenever I’ve needed something, whether it’s someone to listen or a late-night grocery run for ice cream, I’ve always been able to count on my girl friends. And today, thankfully, isn’t any different.
After spending the rest of the night tossing and turning while Carter slept like a fucking baby, I hightailed it out of there before he could wake up. I did leave a note—telling him to walk Rudy, because it’s the least he can do. And then I slunk out of my own house because I didn’t want to look at him this morning. Not after last night, not knowing he’s already got a trip planned with some nameless Shepphoe the moment he can escape Reindeer Falls.
Which is fine.
It’s not fine.
We’re not a thing. We never said we were a thing. I don’t have any reason to be mad at him. Zero reason. And I know that. So why am I still feeling so hurt?
Thankfully, though, both Sutton and Maggie are available when I tell them I’m in desperate need of girl time. We meet up at Gingersnap’s for lattes, though Sutton adds chocolate croissants for each of us after she takes one look at my face.
“I can’t believe they got to you too, Lexi,” Sutton says, breaking off a chunk of croissant while shaking her head. “It’s like we’ve all been ensnared in some kind of Sheppard brother Christmas curse.”
“You make it sound like they’re intelligence operatives, Sutton,” I reply, happy to have something to laugh about. “Do you think they’re working undercover for the Grinch?”
“There’s no such thing as a Christmas curse,” Maggie interjects. “Take that back. Christmas is the most magical time of the—”
“I take it back,” Sutton cuts her off, rolling her eyes. “Don’t ticket me for blaspheming Christmas. I’ve got enough problems.”
“I was going to let you off with a verbal warning,” Maggie says, but then her eyes light up as she’s clearly been hit with some kind of inspiration. “Though now that you mention it, I bet we could find a Christmas curse romance novel for book club!”
Sutton and I exchange a look.
“Oh!” Maggie sets her eggnog latte down now, so excited she needs both hands in order to continue. “And a Christmas spy romance! I bet they exist, and don’t worry, I’ll make it my mission to find them. In fact, I’ll just pencil those in for April and May now,” she adds, already jotting this nonsense down into a notebook she’s whipped out of her purse.
“I can’t even be mad,” Sutton mutters with a resigned sigh. “I walked right into that one.”
“What’s that?” Maggie questions, looking up from her notebook.
“I said I can’t even finish this latte if Lexi doesn’t tell us what her emergency is,” Sutton lies, deflecting over to me with a grin.
“Oh, right.” I nod. “Emergency might’ve been a little dramatic,” I admit. “I’m just… having complications, and I needed some girl time. And maybe some shopping.”
“Fantastic,” Sutton agrees easily. “What are we shopping for?”
“I need to sex up my wardrobe,” I reply, while internally cringing over the memory of last night’s improvisation.
“Hmm,” Sutton murmurs, eyes dropping to my dress. “Something that doesn’t scream ‘Let me give you the perfect book recommendation.’”
“Excuse me,” I gasp, only partially joking. “This is a cute dress!” I gesture at it. It’s light green with a skinny black belt. Very vintage cute.
“Yeah, it’s adorable,” Sutton agrees. “For a romantic evening curled up with a Jane Austen novel.”
