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Since I was a guest in Ellen’s house, I respected her rule. But since I was allowed to buy food, I bought lots of it—appetizers, nibbles, fancy cheeses, imported dark chocolate. I bought expensive meats from the butcher shop and fresh-baked loaves of bread from the bakery. Ellen would never dream of spending the money on those kinds of things for herself, so I hoped she would see it as the offering it was.
It was a dark, damp, cold winter night, and I was looking forward to some crackers and Brie—because fuck it, calories don’t count on Christmas Eve. I was in a good mood when I came through the front door. Ellen and I had set up her tree, which was fake and at least thirty years old, taken from its careful storage box in the basement. I didn’t care that it looked like a time traveler from the 1980s. It still looked festive to me.
When I’d changed my clothes in my bedroom and put on my fuzzy slippers, I went back downstairs to the kitchen, where I found Ellen at the counter, chopping romaine for a salad. I kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas. What are we going to cook?”
“Nothing,” she replied with a pleased smile. “Salad, appetizers, and dessert only. Axel is coming over and bringing the rest.”
I straightened in surprise. “Axel?”
“Yes.” Ellen moved to the fridge, where she dug out a green onion and some cherry tomatoes. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight, so he salted my front walk for me. It turns out he has no plans for the holiday, so I invited him for dinner. I assumed you wouldn’t object.”
Her tone was neutral. Aunt Ellen had stopped insinuating that Axel and I should have a relationship, that we were somehow matched. Maybe she thought the friendship we had was good enough. Maybe she’d given up hope that we’d ever be anything more.
“Object?” I looked down at myself—my fuzzy slippers, my comfy flannel pants, my washed-a-thousand-times tank top. Underneath the tank I’d put on a soft cotton bralette that was good enough to hold my double-D-cups while I was lounging around the house, but not nearly good enough for any member of the public—the male public—to see.
My hands flew to my boobs. The rock star next door was coming to dinner, and I was spilling out and flopping all over the place like a lazy stripper. “Oh, my god. When is he coming?”
The doorbell rang, and Ellen said, “Right now.”
“Jesus!” I sprinted for the stairs. “Warn a girl next time, Aunt Ellen!”
In my bedroom, I put on black leggings and a hip-length T-shirt with a proper bra under it. My washed-off makeup and just-finished-my-shift hair would have to do.
I found Axel in the kitchen with Ellen, replying to something she’d said as he reached for a dish on the top shelf. “This one?” he asked.
“No, the bigger bowl. To the left,” Ellen directed.
He moved his hands. “This one?”
His tall body was stretched up in a perfect line, his shirt riding a few inches above the waist of his low-slung cotton pants, revealing a sliver of his lower back. Underneath that sliver was the ass that had made me stupid the first time I’d ever seen him.
Ellen hesitated a fraction too long, and I shot her a glare, but she wasn’t looking at me.
“Yes, that will do,” she finally said. When he took down the bowl and handed it to her, she added, “I suppose men aren’t entirely useless.”
“Thanks,” Axel said without a trace of sarcasm. He turned to me. “Hey, Brit. I hope you don’t mind that I came over.”
“Why would I mind?” I asked.
“Because you were literally running away as I came through the door.”
I crossed my arms and shot another glare at Ellen, who was turning away. I could swear she was laughing at me. “I had to change my clothes,” I said pointedly. “I wasn’t dressed properly.”
“You look nice,” he said.
I looked back at him, and our gazes caught. He didn’t usually compliment my looks—or make any comment on them at all. I couldn’t exactly read his expression, but I could have sworn it was appreciative. I had no idea what he was appreciating, but my breath caught in my throat. A wild thought came into my mind, raw and unbidden.Push me against the counter right now and kiss me. Put your hands on me. Taste me. Do it. Do it.
Where had that come from? I felt my skin flush hot. In that moment I could practically feel the counter against my back, the press of Axel’s body against mine, and I wanted it. Deep down, I wanted it.
I could have sworn he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“This looks delicious,” Ellen said, turning around with a pan in her hands and carrying it to the stove. To me, she added, “Axel made pasta and meatballs.”
A slow smile touched Axel’s mouth, and his gaze didn’t leave me. “It’s homemade,” he said, as if he was talking only to me. “My own recipe.”
What was happening? My deep-frozen body wasn’t steeped in its usual numbness. There was a sliver of heat moving through me, earthy and unfamiliar. I got that Axel was hot—that was scientific fact. But since when had I started having middle-of-the-kitchen fantasies about him pushing me against the counter?
I forced my brain out of its lust stupor and made a circle with my finger in aget on with itmotion. “I’m waiting for the meatball joke,” I prompted him. “Let’s see. Extra-large balls? Spicy balls? Delicious balls? You must have one.”
