Secret Santa (Milford College Book 4) Page 2

  His hand on my thigh moves slightly, and it feels almost like a caress.

  I feel another clench of interest.

  This won’t do. It won’t do at all. I’m not going to let it happen.

  I climb off his lap, trying to hide my self-consciousness with a casual laugh. “Well, that didn’t work too well. I was trying to give you a hug.”

  “I know what you were trying to do.”

  Something in his voice sounds off, so I shoot him a quick look. His cheeks have reddened, and he looks stiff. He must be embarrassed too.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. I’m naturally a straightforward person, and I’ve always been honest with Jeremy. “I’ll try not to give you any more ill-advised hugs so we don’t end up in a weird tangle like that again.”

  “You can hug me anytime you want.” He meets my eyes. “Weird or not. Please don’t stop.”

  I nod, dropping my gaze. “Okay.” I swallow, trying to move us past this. “You still coming over tonight?”

  “Yeah, if you want me to.”

  “I do. I need help setting up my new TV. And I can cook you dinner as a thank-you.”

  “I’m not going to say no to that.” He’s smiling as he turns back to his computer. He’s still flushed but otherwise normal.

  “See you then.” I start to leave and give him one last backward glance.

  Instead of my cute, familiar friend, I’m seeing the broad line of his shoulders, the sexy stubble on his jaw, the hands that have suddenly become bigger and stronger than they should be.

  I shake the thought away.

  That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to mess up the best relationship in my life because I’ve not dated in a few months and am feeling frisky.

  I’ve got the date with George Franks on Saturday. That’s more than enough to satisfy those particular inclinations.

  Jeremy is the bedrock of my life, so he needs to stay who he’s always been.

  WHEN I WAS A SOPHOMORE in high school, I was failing algebra at midterm and needed to bring my grade up in order to stay on the cheer team. So my teacher arranged for me to be tutored after school by a smart, chubby junior named Jeremy Carson. He was shy and did nothing but mutter at first, and none of my attempts to get to know him seemed to work. I took it as a personal challenge to get him to open up. It never occurred to me that I’d get something out of the relationship too, and by the end of that school year, we were best friends.

  We went to the same college and grew closer each year, even when we were dating other people. When Jeremy graduated and moved to Milford, I was afraid we might start to drift apart. He was serious about his then girlfriend, and I assumed I’d remain in Charlottesville, where I was raised and went to college. But then a job opened up in the student affairs department of Milford that I was well suited for. I didn’t have any better job options since I’ve never been particularly career oriented, so I applied and got the job. Basically, I followed Jeremy here, and I’ve never regretted it.

  Our boyfriends and girlfriends have come and gone over the years, but neither of us has found any relationship that can rival our friendship. Maybe that’s part of the problem. It’s rather intimidating to our dates to have that kind of relational competition. But I’m not willing to lose Jeremy or push him away even a little. If that means my hopes for a romantic relationship are doomed, then so be it.

  And the truth is I still have hope. If I can be this close to Jeremy, then I can feel that way about another man too—and also have some sparks.

  Maybe George Franks is the man I’ll find all that with.

  That evening I’m not thinking about George as I change out of my work clothes and into leggings and a soft sweater. I’m thinking about Jeremy. His warm brown eyes. The breadth of his shoulders. The way it felt to be in his lap earlier today.

  Let me tell you, they’re very disturbing thoughts, and it takes some real mental discipline to push them away. I distract myself by putting in a load of laundry and cleaning the kitchen sink and counters. I stopped by the grocery store on my way home from work and picked up shrimp and vegetables so I can make Jeremy’s favorite pasta.

  After all, he’s helping me set up my TV. He deserves a good meal.

  At six fifteen, he still hasn’t shown up, so I text to ask when he’s coming.

  His reply comes in a few seconds later. On way.

  With that confirmation, I turn on the oven so it’s ready to roast the shrimp, and I start chopping vegetables.

  I live in a one-bedroom apartment in a big old house near campus. It’s cute and quirky and has lovely hardwood floors. But the appliances aren’t exactly top-of-the-line. The handle on the oven door gets loose all the time, and I’m trying to tighten the screw when Jeremy gives my door a peremptory knock before he lets himself in.

  “Hey,” he calls from the living room.

  “Hey. I’m in here, trying to fix this stupid handle on the oven.”

  He walks into the kitchen, and I’m surprised to see he’s still wearing his work clothes. I figured he’d go back home first and change into sweats as he sometimes does. He’s also carrying a fancy white shopping bag.

  “Whatcha got there?” I ask, trying to peer into the bag.

  He holds it behind his back. “Say hello first.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Hello, Jeremy. How are you? How was your day? How’s the weather out your way?” I lean over to try to peek. “Now what do you have in the bag? It looks like it might be from Great Eats, which means it’s probably dessert.” Great Eats is the one gourmet food shop and bakery in the county. It’s located in a town about fifteen minutes away from Milford.

  He laughs and relents, setting the bag on the counter and letting me dig into it.

  The first thing I pull out is a bottle of rosé. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “This is too expensive.”

  “It’s not too expensive. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course it is. But why did you get it? This is only birthday and special occasion wine.”

  He shrugs. “I just saw it and figured you’d enjoy it. I’ll take it back and save it for your birthday if you’re going to get all uptight about it.”

  I grab his hand before he can put the wine back into the bag. “Don’t you dare! I’ve already seen it. It’s mine now.” I lean over and press a kiss against his jaw. The gesture is familiar, but the shiver of pleasure I experience at the feel of my lips against the scratchy stubble on his skin is not familiar at all. It makes me freeze momentarily before I pull myself together. “Thank you.”

  I hear and see him take a breath. “You’re welcome. There is dessert in there too, so you don’t want to stop looking in that bag.”

  That’s enough to divert me, so I reach back into the bag and pull out a bakery box. Inside are two beautiful cupcakes. I’ve seen them at Great Eats before, so I know exactly what they cost. “Jeremy! Why did you splurge like this?”

  He shrugs again and doesn’t meet my eyes. “I was out that way anyway, so I stopped by to get us a treat.”

  “To get me a treat. You’re just as happy with grocery store munchies.” I stare down at the wine and cupcakes with the most ridiculous surge of emotion. “Thank you.” I’m not sure why my voice breaks on the last word, but it does.

  “You’re not going to get all sentimental about this, are you?” Jeremy grumbles. “It’s just wine and cupcakes.”

  “I know what it is.” I reach over to give him a quick squeeze, making sure not to linger too long after the weirdness I’ve felt earlier. “Thank you.”

  “Okay. That’s the third time you’ve said it. That’s two times too many.” He’s definitely getting uncomfortable because he’s sounding crabby. “You want me to do your TV while you work on dinner?”

  “That sounds like a good plan. Thanks. The TV is still in the box, and I want it installed on the wall if you can and hooked up to the cable box and—”

  “I know what you need.”

  I smil
e fondly at his back as he leaves the kitchen. He’s only gruff like that with me when he’s really uncomfortable, which usually means things are getting too earnest or emotional for him.

  He has a low tolerance for emotion.

  The pasta takes about twenty-five minutes to make, and I’m taking the shrimp out of the oven when Jeremy comes back in to join me.

  “Done already?” I ask. I’ve heard him use his power tools several times, which I’m taking as a good sign about the progress of the installation.

  “Yep. It’s easy.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have been easy for me, so thank you.”

  He narrows his eyes. “You’re not going to start all those thank-yous again, are you?”

  “Nope. You’ve been thanked for the last time for the night.”

  He snorts. “What if I do something else that’s thank-you worthy? I’m inclined toward a wide variety of generous deeds, you know.”

  “If you say so.” I dump the roasted shrimp into the pan of vegetables and sauce. Then I add the cooked pasta and stir it all together, adding some of the pasta water when the sauce is a bit too thick.

  “Yum,” Jeremy says, stepping in toward my back and peering over my shoulder at the pan. “That’s my favorite.”

  “I know. That’s why I made it. You’re not the only one inclined toward acts of generosity.”

  He’s right at my back. If I lean backward even a little, I’ll be touching him. He feels too big, too warm, too much. I sidestep to make more room for myself and pull down a couple of big pasta bowls from a cabinet.

  Jeremy backs off as soon as I move, and now he grabs a corkscrew so he can open the wine and pour it into two glasses. When our meal is ready, we carry it out to the living room so we can eat it on the sofa and watch my new TV.

  We’ve been watching through a several-year-old action series on Netflix, so I tune to that, delighted by the size and positioning of the television. The pasta turned out perfect, and the wine is everything I love—nothing too dry or harsh but also not overly sweet. It’s such a pretty color in the glass.

  I have a wonderful time, and I occasionally catch Jeremy watching me, as if he sees that I’m having fun and it makes him happy.

  That makes me happy too.

  When we’re done, I’m not hungry enough for a whole cupcake, so we split the chocolate one with cream cheese icing. I moan over every bite until Jeremy asks dryly if the cupcake and I would like to get a room.

  We’re cleaning up and putting away the leftover pasta when Jeremy asks casually, “You want to see a movie or something tomorrow? There’s a couple I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

  It’s not an unusual invitation. We often hang out together when neither one of us is doing anything else on the weekends. And there’s no reason at all to think that Jeremy is giving me more than an offhand suggestion.

  But I flush hot anyway.

  It’s really very annoying.

  I’ve got fair skin with freckles, so my cheeks redden easily. Jeremy is definitely going to see it.

  His brow lowers. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “Well, it’s something that’s making you blush.” He’s standing very still, his eyes searching my face. “It was just a question. I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I know you’re not trying to do anything.” I interrupt him in a rush. I feel ridiculously urgent about this whole thing and just want to get it over. “I’d be happy to go to a movie with you normally, but I’ve got plans for tomorrow night.”

  “What plans?” He’s still standing almost frozen, and his frown has deepened.

  “I’ve got a date.”

  “What date?”

  I try to settle my breathing. This would be easier if Jeremy would lighten up a little. I don’t really need this interrogation when I already feel irrationally weird about this. “A date. A normal date.”

  “With who?” His voice is soft, but it rumbles a little.

  “With George Franks.”

  Something flickers on Jeremy’s face. Something that looks a little like a scowl before it disappears. “You’re going out with Franks?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since this afternoon when he asked me.” I’m feeling defensive now, and he’s going to hear it in my voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “I don’t have a problem with you going out with whoever you want.” His eyes are narrowed, and he seems taller than he should. Bigger. More masculine. Nothing like my cuddly friend. “I do have a problem with you lying to my face.”

  “What? I haven’t lied to—”

  “You lied to me this afternoon when I asked you what was going on. He’d just asked you out on the date when you stopped by my office, hadn’t he?”

  I swallow. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “And you said it was nothing. You lied to me.”

  “It wasn’t a lie! It just didn’t occur to me to tell you then. Am I supposed to burst out with every little thing that happens to me as soon as I see you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. But this wasn’t a little thing. You were excited about it. I could see it on your face. I could see it. I thought maybe... And you said it was nothing.” His voice is thick and low and cooler than it should be.

  But there’s something else behind the tense indignation. Something I’m afraid might be hurt.

  My eyes burn with emotion. I’m an easy crier. I resigned myself to this fact a long time ago. I cry over little things all the time, but this isn’t a little thing to me. Hurting Jeremy isn’t something I will ever be okay with. “I’m sorry.” My voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry.”

  The tension on his face breaks. “Shit, May. Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” It’s a lie. I have to wipe away a couple of tears.

  “Damn it,” he mutters, taking a step forward and wrapping an arm around me to pull me against his chest. “I hate it when I make you cry.”

  “You didn’t make me cry.” I bury my face against his shoulder for a minute until I’ve pulled myself together. “I made myself cry by being stupid. I really am sorry, Jeremy. I didn’t mean to lie.”

  “Why did you?” His voice is right at my ear. His breath tickles my skin deliciously. His arm is strong around me. I love how it feels.

  “I don’t know. I just all of a sudden felt weird about it. There’s no reason for it.”

  “Do you like him a lot?”

  “What?”

  “Franks. Do you like him a lot? That’s the only reason I can think of why you’d feel like you had to hide him from me.”

  “I wasn’t hiding him!” I straighten up so I can see his face. “I promise I wasn’t trying to hide him. It was just a... just a momentary weirdness.”

  He’s still standing close, and he reaches up to flick a stray tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Do you like him a lot?”

  I have to pause to think about that since I want to answer him honestly. “I... I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know him very well yet. I do think he’s... he’s...”

  “Hot?” Jeremy’s tone is bone-dry.

  My cheeks warm. “Yes.”

  He takes a long inhale that sounds just slightly shaky, and then he rolls his eyes with a half smile. “That isn’t surprising. Women always think Franks is hot. That’s why he goes out with so many of them.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re not being snide, are you?”

  “Of course not. Just realistic. The guy gets around. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you out before.”

  “Why would he?”

  “Because you’re the prettiest woman on campus.” He says this with a casual tone that makes it sound like it’s a piece of common knowledge. He’s pouring more wine into our glasses, so he’s not meeting my eyes at the moment. “And in town. And in the county. And probably in th
e state.” He sighs. “And in the world.”

  I raise a hand to cover my mouth. My insides are jumping around in excitement. “Jeremy!”

  He slants me a quick look. “What? You know perfectly well you’re gorgeous.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind, but it’s sweet of you to think so.”

  He hands me my glass. “I’m not being sweet. I’m never sweet. I’m just telling it like it is.”

  I shake my head. “I think you might be a little biased in that regard, but thank you.”

  “I thought you said you were done with the thank-yous for the night.”

  “Well, you’re the one who said I was gorgeous, so you only have yourself to blame for the extra thank-you.”

  He chuckles as we go back into the living room. It’s only nine, so we have plenty of time to watch more of our show.

  He sits on the end of the couch, and I prop up against a cushion on the armrest and stretch my legs out so my feet are in his lap. He’s used to this arrangement, so he doesn’t complain. He idly rubs my feet over my socks, and when he stops, I wiggle my toes to encourage him to continue.

  The foot rub feels good. So does the way he casually rubs my shins and ankles, like he’s not even thinking about what he’s doing.

  For a moment I start to imagine how it would feel if he touched me elsewhere, on other parts of my body.

  My female parts are definitely not behaving themselves today. They get all jittery at the thought of Jeremy touching me intimately.

  I feel a flush start in my cheeks and spread down my neck. I try to hide it with my hair so Jeremy won’t see.

  I’ve got to do better than this.

  Jeremy is too important to me. The most important person in my life.

  I can’t afford to mess this up. I can’t lose him.

  And I’m not going to let weird, stray impulses that can’t go anywhere get in the way of what we have.

  Two

  JEREMY STAYS WATCHING television late, and he must have drunk too much wine because he ends up falling asleep.

  I watch him as it happens. At first his eyes start to close occasionally, but he’ll jerk and straighten up, glancing over toward me each time as if to check to see if I saw.