Secret Santa Read online

  He turns his head and meets my eyes. “I’m not the best choice for that expedition. I’ve never had a Christmas tree before.”

  “You had one two years ago when I got you that little one and decorated it for you.”

  He huffs. “I wasn’t counting that one. It was barely a tree.”

  “It was too a tree. And I don’t care if you’re not a Christmas tree expert. I want you to do it with me.”

  His eyes are soft now. Familiar. He inclines his head. “All right then. I’ll go with you.”

  FOR THE REST OF THE week, Jeremy and I get along like normal. We text several times a day. We talk every evening. We have lunch together twice—once in the dining hall and once at a sandwich place near campus. The nervous twisting of my stomach eases as the week progresses since it feels like our friendship is back to normal. Secure. Safe. Satisfying.

  Despite what we went through, maybe I won’t lose him after all.

  I’m excited on Saturday as I dress in jeans, a bright red puffy coat, and a cute wool cap and wait for Jeremy to come pick me up. He brings me a caramel coffee drink with a lot of whipped cream, so my mood brightens even more as we drive out to a Christmas tree farm about a half hour outside town.

  I make him turn on Christmas music for the drive, and then I sing loudly to all the songs. He doesn’t sing, but I catch him looking at me sometimes with a soft, smiling expression so I figure he must be enjoying himself too.

  Wanting to extend the outing for as long as possible, I take a long time picking out a tree. It’s been almost two hours before we’re leaving the farm with a cute tree strapped to the top of Jeremy’s old Volvo.

  My cheeks are bright red. I feel a little sweaty under my clothes from the effort we took with the tree. And my stomach is growling because I didn’t eat any breakfast. But I’m happy.

  I’m incredibly happy.

  Jeremy looks relaxed and amused behind the wheel of the car. His cheeks are flushed too, and his hairline is damp. His brown eyes are soft. Deep. Strangely compelling as he leans back against his headrest and gazes at me for a moment.

  I swallow hard, my blood starting to throb in my veins for no good reason. “Hi.”

  His shoulders hitch with a huff of amusement. “Hi.”

  “We got a tree.”

  “You got a tree.”

  “Well, you’re going to share it since you’re too much of a Scrooge to get one for yourself.”

  “Okay. I’ll share it.”

  We stare at each other until the silence becomes intense. I take a couple of deep breaths and shift in my seat, suddenly aware of the urge to lean over the console. Touch his arm. Touch his shoulder. Touch his face. Stroke the dark bristles on his jaw.

  Kiss him.

  The urge is so strong and so compelling that my hand actually starts to move, stretching toward him.

  I catch myself just in time, jerking my hand back and turning my head to the side with a ragged gasp. I stare blindly out the passenger window at the SUV parked next to us.

  “May?” Jeremy’s voice is soft and thick.

  I inhale and exhale a few times, trying to slow my breathing. Then I turn back to him and smile. “I’m kind of hungry.” My voice is a little too bright, but otherwise sounds normal. “Can we stop somewhere?”

  Jeremy stares at me for another moment. I have no idea what I’m seeing on his face. Then he lets out his breath and puts the car in reverse. “Sure. There’s not much around here. But there’s McDonald’s. Or Hometown.”

  “Let’s do Hometown.” Hometown is a restaurant about halfway back to Milford. It’s connected to a gas station, so ambience isn’t its strong suit, but the food is usually good. And I’m utterly convinced it will be impossible to feel these particular urges toward Jeremy in the midst of the dingy tables and fluorescent lighting.

  Jeremy drives us to the restaurant. It’s crowded since it’s late morning on a Saturday, and we take the one remaining table, squeezed into a corner near a loud group of men who appear to be on the same work crew.

  They stare at me as I sit down. One of them makes a comment I can’t quite hear. I ignore them and smile at Jeremy.

  “Everything okay?” he asks. I know he can see I’m a little uncomfortable.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “We don’t have to stay.”

  “No. It’s fine. I’m hungry.” We order our eggs and pancakes when the waitress comes over, and I pull up some cute dog videos on social media to show Jeremy as a way of distracting myself.

  We laugh at the videos, and I’m relaxed and enjoying myself when our food comes. Our late breakfast is good, and we split the bill. I make a stop in the restroom before we leave. Jeremy waits for me in the gas station quick shop, and I’m walking down the short back hallway when I hear a voice from around the corner where Jeremy is standing.

  “Where’s your girl?” I don’t know the speaker, but I can see him. It’s one of the guys from the work crew table. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the spot where Jeremy is waiting for me.

  Jeremy doesn’t answer, but he must make a gesture toward the bathrooms because the man glances over and sees me.

  He gives me a quick leer—more casual than aggressive. Then he looks back at Jeremy, who is standing out of sight of me. “You’re a lucky bastard.”

  “I know I am.” That’s Jeremy’s voice. Uninflected. Matter-of-fact.

  My heart bursts into ridiculous flutters.

  The strange man nods at me as he walks toward the men’s restroom. When he passes, I finish my path toward Jeremy.

  He gives me a half smile when I reach him. “Ready?”

  I nod and gulp. “I’m ready.”

  There’s absolutely no reason for me to feel this way. It was just a stray snippet of meaningless conversation I overheard. And it doesn’t matter that Jeremy didn’t correct the man about my being his girl. Why would he bother to correct a complete stranger about our relational status? And it doesn’t matter that he claimed he was lucky the way he did.

  Lucky to have me.

  “You okay?” Jeremy asks, scanning my face as we leave the building.

  “Of course.”

  “Did that guy bother you?”

  “No.” I flash a quick smile. “What would you do if I said he did?”

  “I’d go beat him up, of course. Because that’s the kind of violent, possessive alpha male I am and always will be.”

  I giggle at the dry irony in the words and give him a half hug. “You sure are. You’re as alpha as a guy can get.”

  He doesn’t seem to mind my teasing, but his expression sobers as we get into the car. He holds my gaze. “I might not be alpha, but I’d take care of you if you needed it. You know that, don’t you?”

  I lick my lips, suddenly washed with that tension again. Emotion. Desire. Need. All of it pulling me—dragging me—toward Jeremy. “Yes,” I say with a rasp in my voice. “I know you would.”

  “Good. Because I would.” He gives himself a little shake before he turns on the ignition. His voice is lighter as he adds, “I might not be any good at it, but I’d try.”

  I laugh and reach over to squeeze his upper arm. “You’d be good at it.” His muscles tense up under my touch, and I let my hand drop. “You would. Now let’s go home and decorate this tree.”

  THE NEXT COUPLE OF hours are spent on getting back to my apartment and setting up the tree. It’s not a huge tree, so we don’t have any problems. Once it’s set up in the place I want it, we decorate it with my eclectic variety of ornaments.

  I turn on Christmas music and make hot chocolate to sustain us while we decorate. We have a great time arguing over ornament placement until I’m perfectly satisfied with the look of the tree.

  We’ve just finished the tree when an upbeat Christmas tune begins. With a flare of pure giddiness, I turn the volume louder and grab his hand. “Dance with me.”

  “You know me better than that. I don’t dance.”

  “Well, you can try
. You’ll do just fine.”

  He’s standing up near the tree. He’s let me take his hand, but he’s not moving. He’s giving me a sheepish, adorable grin. “You’re far too optimistic about my dancing abilities.”

  “Then you can just stand there. I’ll do all the work.” In proof of this, I grab both his hands and start to dance, moving his arms and turning him around when I want him to. He lets me adjust his body, but he doesn’t dance. He doesn’t even shuffle his feet.

  I have fun anyway, and he’s clearly enjoying himself too. When the song nears the end, he asks, “There’s some sort of symbolism here. You doing all the work, and me just standing here and letting you move me since I have no idea what to do.”

  The music fades into a slower song. I don’t want to stop dancing so I ease closer to him, wrapping both arms around his neck. He doesn’t need my guidance with this. He puts his hands on my waist and sways as I do. “That’s not how it goes with us, Jeremy. I don’t do all the work while you just stand there.”

  “Are you sure? I really am pretty clueless about relationships.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Our faces are only inches apart. We don’t normally stay this close to each other for long periods of time, but I have no desire to pull back. My heart and belly are both fluttering but not in a way that terrifies me. “You’re an amazing friend.”

  “Only because you showed me how. I had no idea how to do it before you.” His eyes never leave my face. They’re moving between my eyes and my mouth. There’s something almost hungry in his expression, and it awakens a matching hunger in me.

  “Maybe I took the lead at first, but I don’t anymore. You make this work between us as much as I do.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want to mess it up.” His voice has gotten a little raspy. “I really don’t know what I’m doing most of the time, and I’m terrified of messing things up between us.”

  “Why would you mess it up?” My eyes are wide. I’m breathing fast and shallow now. Something is about to happen. I know it.

  I know it.

  And I want it as much as I fear it.

  “I wouldn’t on purpose. But I honestly don’t know if I’m allowed to want what I want.”

  My lips part. My fingers clench at the back of his neck. “Jeremy?” I whisper. “What do you want?”

  A little voice inside me is screaming to run away from this because I know what’s about to happen and I know it will change everything and I don’t know if I’m ready for the change. But that voice is drowned out by everything else that is roaring inside me, frantically reaching out for Jeremy.

  He makes a strange sound in his throat before his head tilts down toward mine. The distance closes between our mouths. I’m surrounded by the smell of him. His hands move too until he’s holding the small of my back.

  He murmurs, “I want this.” Then his lips brush lightly against mine.

  The surge of pleasure at the slightest touch of his mouth is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It floods me. Consumes me. I whimper softly and grab for his head, stretching up to kiss him harder.

  This is what has been brewing between us for a while now—shaking the foundations of my life. And now that it’s happening, I’m not about to let it go.

  Five

  THE KISS DEEPENS QUICKLY. His mouth grows more demanding, the feel of his lips and tongue flooding my body with pleasure. One of his hands slides up to flatten and rub slow circles between my shoulder blades.

  I dig my fingers into his upper arms and press the length of my body against his.

  He makes a long, low sound in his throat. Half groan and half hum. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life, and it sends more shivers of excitement up and down my spine, all the sensations ending in a deepening throb between my legs.

  The kiss breaks as quickly as it began, and we stare at each other across the three inches of distance. His fast breathing wafts against my heated skin. My lips tingle deliciously. His brown eyes have darkened, and his gaze never leaves mine. I see desire there. Hunger. Need. Excitement.

  And something else.

  Something deeper.

  Something that looks kind of like awe.

  His body is tense, and I can tell he’s reining in his desire. Holding it back. Waiting to see what I’ll say or do.

  My lips part as if I’m going to say something. But my mind is such a blurry tangle that words are completely beyond me. Everything inside me is roaring that I need to kiss him again, and at the moment I can’t think of a reason not to.

  So I reach up to grab his head with both hands and pull him down into another kiss.

  He responds immediately, sliding his tongue along the line of my lips until I open for him. The hand that had been at the small of my back moves lower until he’s cupping one side of my butt. He’s never touched me like that before. His fingers fit against the curve of my bottom over my jeans. It’s such a possessive, intimate hold that my inner muscles clamp down around the throbbing of arousal growing inside me.

  He’s kissing me urgently now, his head and mouth moving hungrily, carnally as his tongue teases and probes. I had no idea he’d be this kind of kisser. He obviously knows what he’s doing, but the passion I’m sensing in him is more eager than skillful.

  I clutch at the back of his shirt, fisting the fabric as a first step toward feeling his bare skin, which I’m suddenly desperate to do. He’s wearing jeans today with a blue camp shirt rather than his normal khakis. Since his shirt is untucked, I can easily slide my hand beneath it and rub the bare skin of his back.

  He grunts against my mouth and uses his hand on my butt to push my body more fully against his. The move brings the bulge at the front of his jeans firmly against my middle. He’s turned on. Just as much as I am. I can feel the proof of it rocking into me.

  I grind against him, breaking the kiss in my eagerness. He ducks his head to kiss a line down the side of my neck, and the hand on my butt slides down to my thigh.

  He groans and makes another rocking move with his hips. The combination of the sound and the gesture prompts a stab of familiarity. It suddenly feels like it did a week ago when we woke up together on a Sunday morning and he was thrusting against me in his sleep.

  I loved the feeling then, and I love it now. But with the sensation comes flooding back the memory of what happened afterward. How awkward it was. The distance that followed. How much it hurt me.

  And what we’re doing now is a lot more than what we were doing then.

  A flare of panic slices through me, so sharp and unexpected that it makes me jerk away.

  Jeremy’s mouth follows mine for a few seconds, as if he’s instinctively trying to hold on to the kiss. But it doesn’t take long for his brain to start working. With a thick gasp, he drops his hand and slowly takes a step backward.

  We stare at each other for a minute, panting and flushed and tense and still aroused.

  Finally I’m able to get a word out. “What... what...?” That’s the extent of my coherence at the moment.

  Jeremy rubs his face with both hands, like he’s trying to wake himself up. “May.”

  “Jeremy, what’s happening here?” I still haven’t caught my breath, and there’s a desperate plea in my tone.

  “You know what’s happening. You know.”

  “But I don’t... I don’t... I...” I have absolutely no idea what I should say, what I should want, what I should do. Except I’m frantic to kiss him again and just as frantically afraid of what will happen if I do.

  “You don’t what?” he asks gruffly. “You don’t want what I want? Because it sure felt like you do.”

  “It’s not...” I jerk my head to the side, like I’m grabbing a breath from the water while doing freestyle at a swim meet. “It was a good kiss. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s not... it’s not us.” The words sound right to me—safe, familiar—so I keep ahold of them like a safety line. “It’s not us, Jer
emy. It’s never been us.”

  His expression is changing. It’s not as open and vulnerable as it was before. He’s closing down on me. Withdrawing. I can see it happen. “And why can’t that change?”

  “Because...” I whimper and hug my arms to my chest. “Jeremy, please. I don’t want us to change. I’ve never thought about you... like that.”

  Last month, the words would have been true. Utterly true. But I have been thinking about him like that for the past couple of weeks—a lot more than random flickers—so my claim sounds false to my own ears.

  I wish I hadn’t said it.

  Even more when Jeremy’s face twists like he’s in pain.

  “No wait,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine.” He takes another deep breath and squares his shoulders. “It’s fine. I know what I’ve always been to you. I just thought... It seemed like recently... Maybe...”

  Despite his inability to finish a sentence, I know exactly what he’s trying to say. And he’s right. He read the situation between us correctly. I have been thinking about him differently recently. He wasn’t wrong to act on it, even after so many years of friendship.

  I’m the one in the wrong here, and I have no idea how to fix it.

  I’ve hurt him already. I can see it in his face. In his stance. In his eyes. And there’s nothing I can do to take it back or make it better. The thought of kissing him again—doing more to him—is so terrifying I can’t even process it in my mind.

  I start to cry, trying to stifle the sobs, which results in muffled whimpers as my body shakes.

  “Oh shit, May,” he whispers.

  “I’m so sorry,” I force out. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. I don’t know what to do. And I can’t... I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to know right now. Let’s just relax for a while. We can watch a movie or something. And then maybe we can talk about it. I told you I’m clueless about relationships. I’m probably the one who messed things up. But we can work it out, May. I promise we can.” He sounds almost as scared as I feel. He’s speaking like he would to a spooked animal.