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Prologue
Chase
Two years ago…
There’ssomethingtobesaid about waking up to a beautiful girl on Christmas Day.
The T-shirt she stole from me before crawling under the covers last night swamps her petite frame, falling to her mid-thigh. Her chocolate-brown hair falls into messy tangles that end at her collarbone, and I smile, remembering how the silky strands wrapped around my fist as the clock chimed midnight, welcoming Christmas Day.
Now, she wears a pair of fluffy socks that muffle her steps as she flounders around the room. I lean against the headboard, humming a merry tune as she gathers up her discarded clothing.
“Oh, go on, Ryan. It’s Christmas Eve. Let’s finish this bottle,” she rambles, perfectly mimicking my sister’s tone. “Wine only leads to trouble. When will I ever learn…?” She grimaces as she finds my gaze.
My grin widens. “Don’t stop on my account, Ry. I’m really enjoying this. Keep going.”
“I don’t know why you’re so smug. Bailey is going to kill me if she finds out.”
“Bails won’t care—”
“Not to mention your parents…” She freezes, her eyes going wide. “Bloody hell. Your parents! They’ve treated me like a daughter for the last ten years, and how do I thank them? By fucking their son at Christmas. Jesus Christ.”
“It is his birthday, yes.” I chuckle, then dodge as she tosses a slipper at my head.
“This never happened.” She heads towards the door, then peels it open a sliver to glance up and down the hallway. “Yes, perfect. We pretend it never happened, go back to being friends, and nothing has to change. It’s going to be fine. Nobody has to know.”
She stares at me, and I smile indulgently.
I have no intention of pretending this never happened, but she doesn’t need to know that.
This is something I’ve been wanting to happen for a long time, and despite the steady thumping in my head—thanks to the sheer volume of booze we inhaled yesterday—I feel fucking fantastic this morning.
“Chase?” she asks, a wry grin on her face.
I cock my head, my heart racing as her eyes drag over my naked torso. As she stares, her lips fall open into a small O, and her eyes hood.
Ryan might not be ready to admit it yet, but she’s as in this as I am. I’ll let her have her freak-out. After all, I’ve been in love with the girl for the last eight years. I can wait a little longer for her to catch up.
“Anything for you, Ry.”
1
Ryan
It'sBeginningtoLooka Lot Like Christmas blares through the speakers, and while it certainly smells like Christmas inside my Mini Cooper, with the blended scent of cinnamon, cranberry, and orange rippling through the air, it’s obvious Mr. Bublé has never been stuck bumper to bumper on the M1 the first week of December.
I hum along to my Christmas playlist, tapping my fingers gently against the steering wheel as I strain my eyes to see where the line of traffic ends. I’d forgotten how horrible it can be to travel in the festive season.
If I’d left my house on time this morning, rather than faffing and repacking an already packed-to-the-brim case, I’d already be in Scotland, sipping cheap wine and getting cosy by the fire in my teddy-fleece pyjamas. As it is, I’m trapped in a nonmoving hunk of metal, watching rain smash against my window and cursing the Range Rover that keeps riding my arse.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
My phone blares from its holder, and I sigh when I see the name flashing over the screen. I debate letting it go to voicemail, but traffic will be the least of my worries if that happens.
I shift into first, and the car rolls a couple of inches as the call connects.
“There’s a bottle of wine with your name on it,” my best friend, Bailey, says, her voice crackling through the speaker. “Where the fuck are you?”
I laugh at the lack of greeting. “I’m good, thanks, Bails. How are you?”
