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“You really love Christmas, don’t you?” He shoves his hands into his pockets. The expression on his face sobers. The dimple in his cheek disappears as a wrinkle creases his brow.
“I do. Winter wouldn’t be any fun if it weren’t for Christmas. Everywhere you go, people are happy, singing along to carols, decorating, going on sleigh rides, picking out the perfect gift for their friends and loved ones.”
“I’m calling it a night.” Adrian dips his chin and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for the dance.”
Adrian turns to go so abruptly that it takes me off guard. I follow behind, hurrying to catch up.
“Wait. We didn’t put our names in yet.” I catch up and reach for his elbow.
He stops, and I lurch forward, catching myself before I trip over my feet. His eyes darken to stormy blue, brooding and sad.
“Adrian? Did I say something wrong?”
“This wasn’t a good idea, Hailey. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Why? It’s been a perfect evening.” The lightheartedness I’ve felt all evening dissipates as I search his face for a hint of the smile that dimpled his cheek earlier. “We were having fun, weren’t we?
“I’ve had fun with you, but I don’t love Christmas like you do. I don’t even like it, Hailey.” The darkness in his eyes deepens, causing my heart to sink. “Everything about this time of year centers around perfection, giving and getting presents, and who can surprise and outspend people more. It’s disruptive and full of disappointment.”
I’m stunned. I knew Adrian didn’t like Christmas, but I had no idea how strongly he felt about it.
“Would you still love Christmas if it weren’t so perfect? If the gifts you gave were met with complaints and returned?” His bitter tone scolds. “Would you?”
“I have plenty of happy memories that aren’t perfect.” I’m hurt that he thinks I’m so shallow. “I don’t know what Christmas was like for you growing up, but–”
“It broke my family apart. My parents bickered incessantly about Christmas and debt, never satisfied with each other, only the things they could buy. It’s just a business game, Hailey. There’s nothing heartfelt about commercialism.” The rigid set of his determined jaw gives away the pain that runs deep in his soul. “Enjoy your happy memories and your perfect Christmas, Hailey.”
“It’s never too late to make new memories, Adrian.” A dull ache tugs at my heart. I reach for him, but he steps away.
“It’s too late for me.” He turns his back and exits the ballroom, shoulders hunched with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Maybe I’m not up for the challenge of Adrian after all.
***
Adrian
I step off the elevator and pause as I pass Hailey’s wreath-decorated door. I’m a fool for being so harsh with her. She meant well, and my past has nothing to do with her. But I’m not blind to how different we are. It doesn’t matter how strong of a connection I feel to her. All paths leading to her also lead to disaster. I can’t compete with her love of the holidays, and I won’t repeat my parents’ mistakes. There’s no happiness in a relationship sullied with bickering and debt that does little more than feed the corporate machines.
My mind wanders down dark pathways, sorting the senseless memories that shaped my outlook on life. I’m at war with the past, unable to untangle the mess my parents made. Guilt settles deep in my gut. I wasn’t entirely truthful with Hailey. I do have happy memories of Christmas, but even those are tainted with my parents’ rage.
I throw my keys on the coffee table and pad down the hall to the bathroom to wash away the remnants of the last few hours. I turn the water on full blast and shrug out of my shirt and jeans. The mirrors fog over as the water heats. I step into the shower and allow the water to roll over me, wishing it could wash away the past.
Even though I know there can never be anything between Hailey and me, I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ve watched her from a distance, memorizing her curves, the smell of her perfume, and the tinkling bells of her elf costume when she approaches her apartment door. When I saw her eyes peeking over the top of those cupcake boxes, I lost my bearings. The connection was deep, real. I should have followed my gut and walked away. If I’d done so, things would be like they’ve been all along, and my brief rant would have been avoided. But so would the dance, the kiss, and the way her hand fit perfectly in mine.
Water pummels my neck and shoulders, and I relive the moment my finger trailed along her spine. Her skin was so soft and smooth beneath my fingertip. I wanted to slip the straps off her shoulders and run my hands over every inch of her body.
My manhood stirs, tightening like a spring until I’m hard as a rock. My heart races, thundering against my chest as I wrap my hand around the thickened shaft and tug upward. My balls twitch, needing more than my hand. I keep the feel of her body against mine and the taste of her lips foremost in my mind as I stroke the swell between my legs.
Tension winds around my balls, tensing and tightening them until my body’s on a fast track to release. My muscles cramp as I grip the shower nozzle to hold myself steady. My heart pounds fast and frantic as buzzing ensues. The last thing I see before coming is Hailey’s shimmering blue eyes and sweet, seductive smile. I slump against the wall as water washes over me, cleansing my trembling body.
I don’t deserve a woman like Hailey. She deserves perfection, not a brooding, broken man like me.
I towel off and retrieve a pair of sweatpants from the closet. A box on the top shelf catches my eye. I haven’t paid much attention to it since I shoved it up there when I moved into the building. I stare at the box, debating whether to peek inside or leave the past where it belongs. But tonight’s events prod me to reach for it.
I open the lid, and a flood of memories rushes to the forefront. I sift through a stack of letters and old photographs bundled with a rubber band, velvet jewelry boxes with my parents’ wedding bands, and various items my mother couldn’t bear to keep or throw away after my father left. She’s never been good at letting things go. At least where my father’s concerned.
My fingertips land on the decoupage shoebox I decorated with Nana when I was nine. Every good childhood holiday memory I have lies within the small box. Each one a counterpoint to the countless memories of nights lying awake while my parents argued in the next room about everything under the sun.
