Chapter 8

ASPEN

On the fourth day of Christmas, my stalker ruins my pants

I’m mulling over what happened in the kitchen yesterday, using a candy cane to stir the hot cocoa that’s sitting on the table in front of me. Crispin made it for all of us. Insisted, really. He took one look at Frost and Cyan and knew something was off.

“You finger-fucked her in the kitchen?” Frost is pissed with me. Makes sense. I deserve it. I’ve already gotten Cyan in trouble with her family once. If we get caught doing something like that, it’d make her life even worse.

This family almost makes me happy that I grew up poor. My parents loved me. Cyan’s? I don’t like either of them, but I seem to want them to like me.

“It wasn’t an ideal location, I’ll give you that.” I pick up my hot cocoa to sip it and Frost throws a guitar pick at my face. It bounces off my chin and goes skittering across the floor, landing beside the crimson velvet of a tree skirt with gold stitching and a toy train looped around it. The train chugs pleasantly as the four of us sit in the dining room, discussing our situation.

The blizzard is bad. A once in a lifetime storm. It’s looking more and more likely that we’ll be trapped here until Christmas. Pretending that Cyan isn’t something would be a huge mistake. I can’t last here another week without addressing this.

“Not an ideal location?” Frost echoes, laughing and crossing his arms. He stares at the wall instead of my face, like he can’t stand to look at me. “I can’t believe you did that without talking to me first. I was mad at her.”

The silence is awkward.

Vale sighs, slumped over the table, head in his hand and his eyes closed. I’d say he looks tired, but that’s not true. This is him, annoyed with both of us. Seems mutual on Frost’s part.

“And Vale, you offered to fuck her? Again, thanks for the conversation.” Frost scoffs and shakes his head as Crispin uses the pointed tip of his own melty candy cane to threaten the three of us.

“Don’t play with her like a groupie. She’s not the type. She thinks she’s the type, but she can’t handle it. What are we doing here?” Crispin slips the candy cane into his mouth, snapping it off with his teeth.

“The threesome thing was two years ago, and she writes about it like it was the most exciting night of her life. She is not experienced, and she’s lonely.” Vale opens his eyes to glare at me and Frost. It appears that the only innocent at this table is Crispin.

“Asking her to kiss you over mistletoe shampoo? What the hell?” Frost grumbles this, like he didn’t mean for anyone to hear. It’s directed at Crispin. Guess we’re all guilty then.

“How do you know what she was writing about?” I ask, wondering if I shouldn’t get up early and join one of these writing sessions. They had another one this morning. I walked in at the end of it, but Cyan tripped all over herself to get away from me.

I wish she wouldn’t. I can’t stop thinking how much my fingers hurt when she came and clamped down around them. They almost fell off. If she felt that good on my hand, what would she feel like on my dick? She’s fun, too. Bouncy and weird and the worst stalker ever. She’s obsessed with our band but so desperate not to be perceived as being obsessed that she feigns this weird, distant disinterest.

Vale sits up straight, reaching up to adjust his beanie. I don’t know how he can wear it in here. It’s warm to the point of stifling.

“She let me read a few pages of her romance novel.” Vale struggles to restrain his smile. “She says it’s pure fantasy, but it’s not. Didn’t I tell you that she was sad? That this sort of combination over the holidays, with all the lights, was magical? That it was dangerous. ”

“We should tell her.” I’m adamant about it, but Frost is resistant. Not because he doesn’t like her, but because he really does. He doesn’t want any of us to touch her. “Unless you want to approach her and apologize for whatever it was that you did yesterday. She looked like she was gonna cry.”

“Fuck you.” Frost turns back to the table, indignant and red-faced. He’s got that grumpy twist to his lips that always precedes a useless declaration of some sort, something that isn’t true but that we all have to take at face value so he doesn’t get mad at us. “Do whatever you want with Cyan. She’s single. It’s none of my business who she has sex with.”

Frost shoves up to his feet, black boots loud as he moves over to a door on the wall, opens it, and descends a staircase into the basement. There’s a wine cellar down there that he’s been given permission to raid.

“He’ll come around.” Crispin leans back in his chair, a sprawl of limbs and good looks. He’s one of the reasons I’m so good at what I do. Crispin is the sort of person that can capture the attention of an entire room with only a smile. In order to be the frontman of his band, I had to be even better than that. “Give him some space, and he’ll seek her out on his own.”

“He’ll never tell her—even if we all agree to it,” I remind them both and Vale sighs, drumming Sharpie-coated fingers on the table.

“I’m going to keep working with her in the mornings. She’s giving me the biggest creative boost I’ve had in my entire career. I won’t waste a second of it.” Vale stands up, snatching the pile of cocktail napkins that he was using to write on. “Don’t let Kristy drag me in for any more videos. It’s destroying my flow.”

“Yes, maestro.” Crispin salutes him, waiting until Vale’s completely gone before he turns to me. I pick up my hot chocolate and take a sip.

“What?” I ask, and Crispin laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and turns to stare at the sideboard and the miniature winter village spread across it. Mirrors for ponds. Tiny ceramic ice skaters. Snow made of cotton. It’s cute.

This house makes the Christmas decor I put on the bus look like shit. Pretty sure Cyan was trying to tell me how much her father would hate my style when she was explaining his ‘classic Christmas’ look to me. I reach up and rub at the corner of my eye with my knuckles.

No more pain from the pepper spray. I’m officially cured, and ridiculously intrigued.

Maybe it’s like Vale said, some sort of festive magic?

“I’ll hold Kristy off if you need some space.” Crispin raps his knuckles on the table to grab my attention. His brown eyes are serious as he holds my gaze. “Just … be nice.”

I smile.

“I’m always nice,” I reply easily, and Crispin snorts, standing up and leaving me alone in the dining room with the chugging train.

I think Cyan could use some niceness in her life—some naughty, too.

I am more than happy to provide both.

I knock on Cyan’s bedroom door and wait. Knock some more. Knock again.

She doesn’t answer, so I have to accept defeat, turning to leave and finding myself transfixed by what might be the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen in my life.

“What the hell?” I squint as I lean in, trying to figure out why the Virgin Mary is wearing a party dress and too much blue eyeshadow.

The door opens behind me, and I turn in time to see Cyan’s shocked expression.

“That painting is so horrible that it got you and Vale both.” She looks back at me, cheeks going pink. I tuck my left hand in the pocket of my sweatpants, hoping that she’ll invite me in for a few. I didn’t come up here to have sex with her (though I want to), but just to clear things up. Maybe give her a heads-up about Frost.

“Can I come in?” I ask, gesturing at her open bedroom with my free hand. Cyan looks over her shoulder, back at me. Bites her lip. “Purely platonic.”

Her cheeks get even pinker.

“Are you going to tell me you’re not interested now, and then ask to fuck me later the way Vale did?” She’s trying to make a joke out of it, but it’s too on point not to respond to.

“Probably. But for now, I just thought I could come in and talk to you for a minute. It doesn’t have to be awkward because of yesterday.” I say that, but I’m also thinking about her snug cunt on my fingers, milking me. My lips purse to keep the emotion from my face.

“I didn’t know you’d want to do something like that with me.” She stares down at her slippers, shuffles aside, and holds out her hand to welcome me into her room. I see that despite the slippers, she’s gotten dressed today in a cute white dress with a gold diamond pattern stitched into it. The skirt hits her at midthigh and makes me think of the song Vale wrote, A Gift of Starlight.

There’s a line in that song about thighs being like moonlight. Cyan’s thighs are moonlight. Something ethereal, forbidden, just out of reach. Something beautiful.

I walk into her room and she closes the door behind me, locks it. I see her peer discreetly at me from the corner of her eye as she takes off in the direction of a stack of cardboard boxes, digging around in one until she extracts an ornament.

Cyan lets it dangle from her finger as she turns, a blue guitar swinging from its red hook. It’s a Frost ornament. Like, an official Inked Pages ornament. Either Cyan didn’t notice, or she’s not thinking clearly.

Or … she’s thinking really clearly, but doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“Since you’re here, do you want to help me decorate my tree?” She carries the item over and hooks it over a branch, knocking some pine needles to the floor. I notice a pile of plain bulbs on the shelf beside her, like maybe she took those off the tree to add her own. “My ornaments are much better than my dad’s.”

“I can see that,” I tell her as I walk over to the boxes, pulling out a fuzzy mouse on a tricycle and lifting it for inspection.

“That one belonged to my grandma.” Cyan’s voice is hesitant, like she didn’t want to tell me that but felt like she had to.

“It’s cute.” I smile at her as I take the ornament to the tree, trying to find a strategic spot to put it. There’s another shitty movie playing at a low volume, a fire crackling in the hearth. It’s cozy in here, especially when the lights strung over the window catch on the shiny side of a blue bulb, painting Cyan’s white dress with shards of azure ice. “So cute.”

I’m not talking about the ornament.

“Yeah, well, my grandma was into mice. Don’t ask me why.” She hangs a microphone ornament on the tree, lifting her eyes and meeting mine. That’s my official ornament from last year, a collector’s edition. “I’m not sure how I feel about fucking a bunch of random guys.”

“Me and Frost are a bunch of random guys?” I don’t know why I say it like that, remembering too late that Crispin warned me to treat her with kindness. She just confessed something to me, and my response was flippant. Fuck. I have a big mouth. “But I understand what you mean.”

“Does Frost know …?” Cyan doesn’t finish her sentence, scooting around me as we make our way to and from the box with the ornaments. Each one is wrapped in newspaper and taped nicely. It’s obvious that these are super important to Cyan.

“He does.” I put Vale’s drums near the bottom since the ornament is so big. Crispin’s bass looks better toward the top. “Frost doesn’t want to interfere with your right to make your own decisions.” I pause and wet my lips, looking down at Cyan. She’s so tiny. I usually date tall girls, but I find her personality so attractive that I haven’t given her physical appearance much thought. Totally cute. “But he’s jealous for sure. He threw a guitar pick at me. It’s still on the floor in the dining room if you want to make an ornament out of it or something.”

Cyan hesitates, huffing and tucking some hair behind her ears. I see that she’s wearing small faux angel wings on her back which is … interesting. She sees me looking and turns around, pointing over her shoulder as she glances back at me.

“They’re attached to the dress. I know. I hate it, too. My dad bought this for me.” Cyan turns back around and picks up another ornament, making me smile. She’s totally going down for that pick later. I bet it’ll be on her tree by tomorrow.

“It’s okay if you like Inked Pages, Cyan. That’s flattering.” I use a throaty rumble to hit her right where it hurts, wielding my voice like a weapon. It’s my favorite part of being onstage, knowing that each word that leaves my mouth is landing directly in someone’s heart. “And I really like the dress. It looks great on you.”

She’s super pink now, fiddling with a broken hook while I study her through the branches of the tree.

“This is the most cliched Christmas movie scene ever.” Cyan points at the screen as the lead actor and actress decorate a fir tree together and make eyes in front of a fireplace covered in stockings. “And here we are, doing it.” She snorts at that and shakes her head, sending all of that brunette hair loose. “But then, these movies work because people want to feel good at the end of the year. It’s sort of sad and happy at the same time, to start a new one.”

Cyan is silhouetted against the frosted white window, standing too close to a heater vent that causes her hair to flutter like she’s bespelled. The icicle ornament in her hand sparkles, glitter dancing across her skin. Her nose is a little swollen from Donner’s aggressive shove of the bathroom door. I remember Cyan’s blood spattering all over the sink, how upset she looked with me for crawling under the stall.

Ah, yeah, this is what Vale meant when he said this was dangerous.

I’m captured by her, so what else is there to do but try to capture her right back?

I step around the tree and bracket Cyan’s face in my hands. She drops the ornament she was holding, but it catches on a tree branch and bounces gently next to us while I lean down and press my mouth against hers.

My tongue sweeps her lower lip in invitation, and she opens for me, tilting her head to make it easier. Warm thrills tear through me at the sight, my eyes half-lidded and watching. Move for me, Cyan. Show me that you want it.

I came up here to be platonic, but I’m quickly losing my nerve. Just a kiss. No sex. Just kissing.

Cyan takes a step back, but she catches her hands on the waistband of my pants and tugs me along with her. She ends up hitting the wooden bench in front of the fireplace with the backs of her knees, falling to her ass and bringing me along for the ride.

We both end up on the bench, me with a knee between her thighs, my other leg on the ground. Cyan is on her back, holding onto the front of my sweats, staring up at me from a mess of brown hair and matching eyes.

My left hand slides up and under the short skirt of her dress, just like yesterday.

“You’re difficult to resist when you make that face,” she says, cheeks heating again. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

I hesitate, hand hovering on her hip, trying and failing to fight my own wants. We really need to tell her. But I can’t do that unless Frost agrees.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, just so we’re both very clear on what’s happening.

“No.” Cyan pushes her hand into my pants and grabs me around the dick. Fuck. I bite my lip. I could moan, but it’s an effort to keep the volume down. There are some nosey people in the Fallon household. I get this fantasy in my head of me and Cyan in some remote cabin, making each other scream. I bet she’d make a lot of noise in a place that wasn’t here. “Don’t leave.”

I hope this isn’t like the wrapping thing. Like Cyan isn’t asking me to stay only because she doesn’t want to be alone.

I decide that I’m not going to put my dick in her, not yet.

I do let her rub me, her hand in my pants. My knee nudges against her heat and she spreads her legs for me, arching her back and grinding herself on my thigh.

“ A Gift of Starlight, ” she murmurs, massaging my erection with a shaky hand. “Sing that one for me. The thigh part.”

I almost laugh because she’s funny as hell, but that’s way too sexy of a request for me to resist.

“ Your kiss is a gift of starlight, and your thighs are like the moon,” I whisper against her ear, and she rocks her hips frantically against me in response. Mm. I like that. It’s even better with the wholesome Christmas movie playing in the background.

She finds my hair with her free hand, taking a handful in her fingers and tugging me down to her mouth. I love it, pressing hard against her, thrusting into her palm at the same time I shove my tongue between her lips. We’re wild for each other, her wetness soaking through her panties and into my sweatpants, my orgasm threatening to ruin the fabric from the other side.

“So close,” I breathe, biting onto her lip and driving my hips so hard into her hand that she lets go of me. I quickly push her knees apart and grind my clothed crotch into hers. Are we having sex right now? This is a cop-out, a way for me to feel like I was a good boy while also being very bad. “I’m so goddamn close.”

I come in my pants, undulating against Cyan as church bells ring on the movie. It takes a minute to catch my breath, adjusting my body so that my knee is pressed into her pussy again.

“I’m okay—” She doesn’t get out anymore than that. I push down and forward, grinding against her pelvic bone and nudging her clit with the same movement. I’m also wearing candy cane sweatpants. Somehow that does nothing to make it less sexy. “Ah, ah, Aspen.” Cyan’s voice is high-pitched, a little frantic.

I let myself remember the sounds of her and Frost in our bus bathroom, how I wanted to fire Donner and kick her off the bus when she turned Blue Christmas on. This is hot. Cyan is hot. This girl is fucking hot.

Her orgasm is like a possession by the ghost of Christmas holy shit because she kicks her feet, pelvis rising off the bench, head tilted back. Cyan collapses, and then … we smell it.

Like something burning.

“Wha …?” she starts as I scramble off of her and find that her slipper, dislodged in the commotion, has rolled too close to the fire screen and is melting.

“Shit.” I drop to my knees in front of the hearth, shove my sweater sleeve over my hand, and flick the slipper away from the heat. It bounces and hits Vail’s collector’s edition ornament, breaking it. The room falls silent, the smell of burnt rubber mixing with the scent of pine from the tree. “Cyan, I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another one.”

I’m panting still, turning to look at her over my shoulder. She struggles to sit up, pushing her skirt down and using her fingers to comb her hair over her shoulders.

“I don’t care about the ornament.” Her voice is soft, eyes downcast. I can’t tell if she’s upset or if she’s about to scream like she’s in the front row at one of our concerts. “But my dad will notice the melted rubber on my fireplace. How do you think I could get it off?”

She looks up at me, and it’s super apparent that we both came fucking hard—fully-clothed. I should’ve put my dick in her. It’s better that I didn’t. But I want to.

That’s all that I want for Christmas. Cyan Fallon. A girl I just met.

That’s it. I’m chasing Frost down myself. We need to tell her.

“We could … get something to eat and keep decorating?” Cyan’s voice is hopeful, and I remember what Crispin said to me. What Vale warned me about. That Frost was rude to her.

“I would love that,” I tell her honestly, propping one knee up and throwing an arm across it.

Cyan’s gaze slips to the front of my pants. They’re white over the crotch, and it’s apparent that something happened from the wet stain on the fabric. Wet from both sides.

“I’ll just … change my clothes first,” I offer and Cyan nods vigorously, like she was expecting me to say that.

“Yep. Same. See you back here in fifteen?”

“It’s a date.” I stand up and take the melted slipper with me.

Maybe if I throw it away in the trash can in my guest room, Cyan won’t be blamed and her family will lay off for a little while?

I almost don’t care if we do miss the Heat the Frost tour.

This is way too much fun.