Page 3

CHAPTER 3

CHRISTINE

G riffin shows me the room I’ll be using while I stay here. He’s already delivered all my bags, so I can take my time unpacking.

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling incredibly awkward.

He grunts out an unintelligible response before he leaves. I look around the large space, taking in the off-white walls, white comforter, and light hardwood floors. It’s like an empty canvas to add color to or a blank page in my Google Docs just waiting for me to fill up with words.

I start by unpacking my favorite blanket and spreading the thick turquoise fleece on top of the comforter. I place the two large pillows I sleep with at the top of the bed. The purple pillowcases match the sheets on my mattress at home. I didn’t think to bring them, but I can always have my mom send them up here if I need them.

I plop down onto the bed as a sense of panic slams into me. After this coming weekend, my mom will be heading home to North Carolina without me. I’ll be stuck here with my stepbrother, who doesn’t seem too pleased about having company for the holidays, never mind until May. I’ll be all alone in enemy territory.

Pulling my phone from my sweater pocket, I type out a text to Nelson.

Me: We made it here.

Nelson: How was the drive?

Me: Not bad. I read most of the time.

He knows my mom gets car sick on trips if she’s in the passenger seat. So Bert drove his car and my mom drove mine.

Nelson: Of course you did. LOL.

Me: Hey, you can laugh all you want, but I wasn’t driving. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to pull out my Kindle.

Nelson: I’m laughing because you’re cute and predictable.

Me: I wish you were here with me. Panic has officially set in, and I’m having a mini freak out in my new room.

Nelson: What’s the house like?

Me: It’s big and lacks personality—kind of like my stepbrother.

Nelson: That’s not the impression I’ve gotten from watching interviews with him. Are you sure he isn’t being openly welcoming because your stepdad didn’t tell him you all were coming?

Me: Hey, whose side are you on here?

Nelson: I’m always on yours, but having family—and new family at that—show up unannounced would be tough on anyone, especially at Christmastime.

Me: Yeah, that’s true.

Nelson: Try to cut the guy some slack. Your stepdad basically told him you were staying with him and didn’t give him any chance to refuse. And now you showed up unexpectedly, taking away the last of the alone time he would have. He’s probably pissed. I would be if I were in his shoes.

Me: Yeah, I can see how that would suck for him. But it sucks for me too. He just doesn’t realize it.

Nelson: You’re living in a big house with a professional football player. Life is tough.

My lip curls as I read his reply.

Me: I knew it! You’re a fan of his!

Nelson: Of course I am. He’s one of the best wide receivers in the league.

Me: Well, you’re dead to me now.

Nelson: Ha. Nice try. You wouldn’t know what to do without me.

Dammit. Why does he have to be right?

Me: Fine. But I don’t have to be happy you’re one of my new stepbrother’s fans.

Nelson: I bet you are too for a different reason than mine. You just won’t admit it.

Me: I can admit he’s a good-looking guy.

What he doesn’t need to know is, I almost swallowed my tongue when I first saw Griffin. On television and in his uniform, he’s hot, but in person and shirtless—he’s completely drool-worthy.

Nelson: Not that you’ll take advantage of this opportunity.

Me: How would you like me to do that?

I’ll be living here for free. That alone feels like taking advantage of the situation. I don’t think I agree with not paying for my room. Once my mom and stepdad leave, I’ll discuss a price with Griffin. He shouldn’t be paying for the electricity I’ll use.

Nelson: Flirt with him.

I snort.

Me: Yeah, because I’m so good at that.

Nelson: You need to practice.

Me: Not on my stepbrother! That’s a great way to make family get togethers more awkward than they’re already going to be.

Nelson: Maybe you can flirt with some of your new classmates instead.

Me: Doubtful. Go ahead and sigh away.

Nelson: I’m not much of a sigher, Chris.

Me: I know, but I can tell you’re frustrated.

Nelson: I want the best for you, and this is a great opportunity for you to spread your wings, so to speak. You’ll finally be on your own.

Me: Yeah, and I wish you were going to be here with me. You’d make it so much more fun.

Nelson: Right? I would, but I have a full-time job and responsibilities.

Nelson is an electrical engineer, and he loves his career almost as much as he loves me.

Me: I thought being an adult would be more fun than it is.

Nelson: This will be your year, Chris. Make the most of your new life in Virginia Beach.

I’d love his words to prove true. Maybe he’s writing them into existence for me.

Me: I’ll try my best.

Nelson: That’s all you can do.

“So, Shirley and I were thinking you and Griffin could go pick out a tree,” Bert, my stepdad says.

“Huh?” I reflexively reply.

“We can’t celebrate Christmas without a tree, and my son doesn’t have one.”

“Dad, I never put one up,” Griffin tells him.

“Then it’s time you did. Christine can go with you and help you choose one.”

“I have to finish unpacking,” I quickly say.

Bert dismissively waves a hand. “There’s plenty of time for that later. Right now you need to get your coat and boots on and find us a fantastic tree.”

“I can buy a fake one at Walmart, Dad,” Griffin explains, sounding irritated.

“We’ve never had a fake tree, and I don’t plan to start now,” Bert says.

“Then maybe you and Shirley should go pick one out,” Griffin fires back.

“We’re staying here and cooking dinner for everyone,” Bert retorts. From the mouth-watering smell, I’m guessing my mom is making a roast and homemade biscuits.

“I can get a tree,” I offer.

“You don’t know this area,” my mom says.

“I have GPS on my phone.”

“You don’t have a truck,” Bert points out.

“Can’t they strap it to the roof of the car?” I ask.

“They could, but I don’t want my new car getting scratched,” he explains.

“I meant my car, not yours,” I clarify.

“I’ll get the freakin’ tree if we can all agree to stop discussing it,” Griffin says.

“Thanks, son. Bring Christine with you. She has great taste, like her mom.”

Dammit. Why’d he have to mention me? It’s clear I’m not getting out of this, so I head to the front door and sink my feet inside my furry boots. Grabbing my coat from a hook near the door, I pull it on and zip it closed. I find my hand-knitted hat in one pocket and yank it over my shoulder-length hair, covering my ears.

Griffin joins me in the foyer and shoves his feet into a pair of well-worn construction boots that he doesn’t bother lacing. He grabs a black beanie from a basket on the console table and tugs it down until every bit of his dark brown hair is covered. He draws a thick flannel shirt lined with fleece over his hoodie and plucks his keys from the table. Oh my. He looks like a sexy lumberjack straight out of a romance novel.

“You ready?” he asks, opening the door.

To be alone with you? No.

“Yes.” I can tell he’s annoyed, and not just about spending time with me or having to go get a tree. His world has been overturned, and he can’t do anything to change that. And the last thing I need is to make things awkward by gawking at him or being awkward around him. I may not like having to live with him, but because I was late choosing my school and starting in January instead of next fall, I couldn’t secure on-campus housing. And I can’t afford an apartment without a full-time job. My mom wants me to focus on my classes and not have to worry about finances, which is why she had Bert step in and arrange things with Griffin.

However, from what I can tell, nothing had been worked out beyond Bert telling his son to expect my company, and now, it’s an uncomfortable situation all around.

Griffin unlocks his giant truck while I round the front, finding the grille practically at eye level. Maybe he’s overcompensating for a small appendage. As much as I’d like to imagine that’s true, I doubt it. He screams big dick energy without even trying.

I have to reach upward to open the passenger-side door and then step on the running board to climb inside. My short legs are better suited to sitting cross-legged while I read a great book. Once I’m situated on the supple black leather, I fasten my seat belt.

Griffin’s truck starts with a thunderous roar that has me nervously tucking my hands under my legs. With the Christmas holidays so near, there’s traffic everywhere we go. What should’ve been a ten-minute drive has taken double that, and the entire trip has been made in silence.

As soon as Griffin pulls into a parking spot, I’ve got my seat belt off and the door open. I jump from the running board to the pavement, and the next thing I know, I’m falling backward with my feet in the air. I slam down on the hard surface, and my breath leaves me with a choked cry. And then the pain explodes, radiating from my tailbone outward. Oh my fucking God!

Two large boots appear in front of me, followed by an outstretched hand. I grab on to him like a lifeline and he pulls me to my feet with little effort.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Whimpering, I rub my sore tailbone and posterior. “I think I broke my ass.”

A quick laugh slips from him. “Get back in the truck if you want. I can pick out the tree.”

“No, that’s okay. I need to move around, or I’m going to feel worse.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He takes hold of my arm as we slowly navigate the icy pavement and doesn’t let go until we enter the tree lot, which has been sanded.

“Thank you,” I say, sending a grateful glance his way. His short beard emphasizes the sharp angle of his jawline and frames his masculine lips to perfection.

“No problem.”

I force my eyes away from his mouth. Strands of large bulbs hang from poles, providing plenty of light. On both sides of the path, there are rows of trees, each labeled according to its type and height.

“Do you have any particular kind in mind?” I ask.

“No.” Griffin laughs. “Why don’t you pick one.”

“I don’t know what your dad wants.”

“That shouldn’t factor into the choice. If he cared, he’d have come himself.”

Bert probably wanted to stay with my mom, but I don’t say anything.

He throws his hand out toward the first row of trees. “Go ahead and choose one.”

Me? Choosing the family Christmas tree is a big decision I have no interest in making.

“Maybe you should,” I suggest. “You’ll be a better judge for what will fit in the back of your truck and also your home.”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Look for one between eight and ten feet. I can make that work.”

I nod. “Okay.” I take baby steps, shuffling along in case the ground is slick but also because my tailbone is rhythmically throbbing like it has a pulse. All the trees are adequate, but it’s not until the third row that I find a real beauty. “What about this one?” I call out to Griffin’s back. He’s already moved past this area. He turns around and eliminates the distance between us. His intense dark eyes look over the tree I’m standing before, and he shakes his head.

“We need one that’s fatter than that.”

“Okay.” I move past a few more, dismissing them for their lack of volume. But then I see a tall Douglas fir at the end of the row. The green branches are full, giving the tree the wider appearance Griffin is looking for. I envision evenly spaced out ornaments adorning it and then I turn to my stepbrother. “What do you think of this one?”

“Looks good to me.”

My lips curve slightly. I’m pleased I was able to help. “What do we do now?”

His gaze leaves the tree and lands on me, showing his surprise. “You haven’t done this before?”

“Nope. Mom and I always put up a fake tree until last year when she and Bert went to the tree farm.”

His lips stretch into a wide smirk. “Nice. I’m popping your tree farm cherry.”

My eyebrows briefly jump up under my knit hat. Did he really just say that? Before I think of a reply, he walks off. I take the opportunity to bend over to stretch out my aching tailbone with a groan. The pain is excruciating and the area is so tight, I can’t even touch my toes.

A throat clears behind me. I shoot straight up and spin around. Griffin and one of the farm staff are coming down the aisle toward me.

Griffin points out which tree we’d like.

I move away as the young man grabs the Douglas fir and wrestles it onto a large, flat wagon. “Just follow me,” he tells us as he wheels it away.

The crisp air bites at my nose as I breathe in the scent of pine needles. I pull my hat down over my ears and tuck my cold hands in my pockets. Snow crunches under our boots with every step we take. In the distance, I hear the sound of children’s laughter, and I smile. I think about the excitement they must be feeling with Christmas approaching so quickly.

As we come upon a small shed, the staff calls out to the woman inside. “Dottie, they’re all set.”

She waves us over with a warm smile. “I’ll check you out while Billy gets your tree cut and wrapped.”

He wheels the wagon away to an area behind the small building while Griffin pays.

“Can I interest either of you in some hot chocolate or coffee?” she asks and then I notice the whiteboard on the side of the building listing the prices for the drinks and snacks they offer.

“What do you want?” Griffin asks. I look at him and shake my head. “You don’t want hot chocolate?”

“No, thanks. I’m good,” I say, barely suppressing my shivers.

He aims a doubt-filled glance my way, then proceeds to order two hot chocolates with whipped cream.

He hands me the first one that’s prepared.

His hand is so large it takes up most of the space, making it impossible to avoid brushing my fingers against his. “Thank you,” I say, avoiding looking at him.

“You’re welcome.”

I hold the warm cup between my hands and let out a sigh of pleasure. The heat feels wonderful on my cold fingers.

The young man returns with our tree, now wrapped in netting and one-third of its previous width. “If you’re ready, I’ll bring this to your vehicle.”

“That would be great,” Griffin says, and we head in the direction of the parking lot.

Clutching my hot chocolate, I walk slowly. Not that I can walk fast right now anyway with my stiff tailbone.

Griffin unlocks his truck and starts the engine with the push of a button on his key fob.

I carefully climb inside the cab while the guys take care of securing the tree in the bed of the truck. I sip from my cup and hum as the pleasantly hot and sweet beverage hits my tastebuds. My thoughts land on Griffin. I’m not sure what to make of him yet. I’ve seen a dark and broody side to him, but I’ve also seen signs of kindness. He helped me up when I fell and made sure I was all right. And he ordered hot chocolate for me. Even though I refused, he was observant enough to notice I needed one.

The driver-side door opens and he slides behind the wheel, placing his cup in the holder between us. He pulls out of the parking space and then drives from the lot without a word. Looks like Mr. Dark and Broody is back.

But after a few minutes his deep voice cuts through the silence. “How’s your…?” he trails off.

“Ass?” I supply, and he laughs.

“Yeah. I was trying to be polite.”

“I appreciate that, but the wipeout was the most embarrassing part for me. And my ass is killing me. Actually, it’s my tailbone more than anything.”

He makes a pained face. “That’s a painful area to bruise. It stiffens up and makes sitting difficult for days.”

I shift my position on the leather seat and groan. “Tell me about it.”

“When we get home you should put some ice on that area. It’ll hurt, but it’ll keep the swelling down.”

“Yeah, I’ll try it,” I say, but I’ll agree to just about anything at this point if it means we can stop talking about my ass.