35. Olivia

35

OLIVIA

“That was amazing!” Jing gushes, flinging her arms—which are surely being weighed down by the bells attached to the sleeves of her ridiculous Christmas sweater—around me. “That man is incredible to watch on the ice.”

I grin as we walk through the sea of crimson jerseys in the arena’s concourse. “Which one?”

“Well, all of them,” she concedes, poking her tongue out at me. “But I was specifically referring to the hottie with a body that you took a very sexy shower with recently. Not to mention the date he took you on that was straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“Shh!” I hiss, flapping my hands at her as I glance around to see if anyone overheard. Lucky for me, nobody is paying attention.

The entire arena is buzzing right now off the back of a Cyclones win, and the feel of Christmas in the air.

I’m not going to lie, when I landed in Atlanta earlier, I was so excited that I took a break from my usual Americano with oat milk and instead bought Jing and myself peppermint mochas.

Which is insanely festive, in my book.

“So what are you and The Stallion doing after the game tonight?” Jing asks, then gives a huge, exaggerated wink. “Or is that question off-limits?”

“We’re just gonna chill,” I tell her.

Our actual plan—crafted over text—is Italian takeout, wine, and dirty word Scrabble in front of the fireplace. In the spirit of the holidays, I’ve also agreed to watch Miracle on 34th Street instead of a slasher flick. And I got him a little Christmas surprise that I plan on revealing on the way home tonight.

Least I can do after his thoughtful attempt to help me make new and improved Christmas memories.

“Netflix and chill,” she responds with a leer, and I give her a shove, but it’s an affectionate one.

When we get to the entrance for the MARTA, I pull her into a hug. “Well, Merry Christmas, Jing,” I tell her. “I’m so happy that I met you this year.”

She pulls back, laughing. “That man is turning you into a total softie, isn’t he?”

“No,” I protest.

“He is, and I’m here for it.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses my forehead like I’m a child. “Merry Christmas, my softie little friend.”

“See ya in a few days.”

“Tokyo, baby!” she responds, and then melts into the crowd headed towards the subway.

I pretty much sprint to the players’ area, more than a little excited to see Aaron again after the days we spent apart. But instead of waving me through, the security guard—an older guy who often works on this door and certainly knows me by now—asks me to wait. He then says something on his radio that I can’t hear.

A few moments later, Aaron ducks through the door clad in his soft gray sweats and a black Cyclones hoodie. He’s also sporting damp, freshly showered hair and a determined expression. And dammit if my heart doesn’t skip a beat or three.

“Thanks, Mac,” he says with a nod to the security guard. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you, Aaron.” The guard’s wrinkled face shows something like amusement.

“Hey Livvy,” Aaron says to me, and I realize how much I love it when he calls me that. Nobody else does, it’s just him.

“Hey,” I reply, smiling. “Didn’t want me to come in?”

“I was actually trying to get out.” He nods at the door behind him. “There’s a ton of people in there chatting, and I didn’t feel like sharing you tonight.”

This sends my stomach into a flurry of butterflies. “I’m glad.”

“Plus, that Scrabble won’t play itself.”

“You are such a nerd,” I tease.

“You love it,” he counters. “And you have no idea how much I missed you.”

Then, he grabs my hand and we run to the underground parking, giggling like we’re a pair of teenagers sneaking out at night.

We ride home with Justin Bieber’s Christmas album cranked, shouting out random half-snippets of lyrics while I order cacio e pepe, lobster ravioli, and browned butter and sage gnocchi on UberEats. We’re breathless and laughing and having fun, but all the while, I’m hyper aware of Aaron stealing glances at me that are loaded with almost as much heat as I currently feel from being back in his vicinity.

It gives me that fizzy sensation in my stomach that makes me half want to wrap my arms around myself and squeal, half tell him to pull over so I can climb on top of him.

Luckily, I manage to control myself, and instead settle for continuing to feel hot and bothered and giddy as his eyes continue to skim over me.

But by the time we pull into his driveway, I’m feeling a strange sense of… something else. Something deeper.

I should be excited. An evening with Aaron, just the two of us, followed by four blissful days of alone time to apply face masks, watch New Girl and Schitt’s Creek, and stuff my face with chocolate.

I should be excited, but I’m not. Which is crazy.

I spent eight years living in London all by myself, and now, I’m feeling some type of way about being home alone for four freaking days ?

Jing’s right. I’m clearly turning into a big ol’ softie.

And I must not be hiding it well, because as soon as we get out of the car, Aaron looks at me peculiarly. “What’s going on, Livvy?”

“Just thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

I swat his arm playfully as we climb his front steps.

“Kidding. Kidding.” He laughs. “But seriously, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m just…” I pause as I search for the words. I feel like there’s so much to say, but I don’t know how to vocalize any of it. And this isn’t the time to say anything anyway, so I finally settle on: “I’m happy we have tonight.”

His eyes go soft. “I plan on making the most of every moment.”

We’re standing on his front porch now, just looking at each other. Neither of us makes a move to open the front door. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his body, smell that enticingly manly, spicy cologne on his skin in a way that’s making me dizzy with want for him.

“I got you something.”

His brows rise and his lips slide into a funny little half smile, like this surprises him. “You did?”

“Wanna see?”

“I do.”

Holding eye contact, I slowly begin to undo the big, round buttons on my peacoat.

“Olivia!” Aaron’s voice is both sharp and ragged in the sexiest way, and his eyes go from emotional to flaring with heat. He quickly catches himself and glances around. “Shouldn’t we get inside?”

I grin as I undo the last button.

“Get your mind out of the sex gutter, Marino.”

I let my coat fall to the ground…

Revealing my very own hideous, fluffy Christmas sweater.

And when I say hideous, I mean hideous . It’s baby pink and made of that shaggy furry material that gives muppet vibes. It’s also covered in embroidered ice skates, and snowflakes, and baby snowmen. Across the front, in swirly, glittery script, are the words “Proud Member of Aaron’s Army.”

Aaron’s eyes go huge, and as he reads the words across my chest, he sputters an incredulous laugh.

“I was going to get one that said ‘Santa’s Favorite Ho’ but they were all sold out,” I joke, then smile up at him. “But in all seriousness, I want to take this opportunity to admit that I was very wrong about you for a very long time, Aaron Marino. And I want to thank you for making the worst time of the year a little—well, a lot —better for me.”

He shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is thick. “You never cease to amaze me, Olivia Griswold.”

Then, he brushes his lips against mine.

The contact is electric, casting sizzling sparks all across my skin. My body’s reaction is immediate, and I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him towards me so impatiently, it’s a little embarrassing.

I kiss him harder, and he leans in, his tongue in my mouth and his hands twisting in my hair.

I’m floating off into the happiest place in the world when he groans and pulls back a little. “I wasn’t going to do this,” he says against my mouth, his breathing labored.

“Do what?” I blink up at him and try to ignore the sudden doubt that maybe this— I —was too much. Maybe after a few days apart, this wasn’t what he wanted.

“I missed you this week, Olivia. You.” His eyes bore into mine. “And I told myself a million times that I was going to be patient tonight. That I wasn’t going to jump on you and kiss you senseless the second I saw you. Because even though I’ve been going half-crazy the entire drive home thinking about your lips, I wanted to show you that this is more than just physical. That I haven’t just been waiting to get you home, but that I’ve been craving your company as much as touching you. Your laugh as much as your gasps.” He chuckles softly, his minty breath whispering over my lips. “But then, you had to go and wear this” —his hand fists in my sweater—“and make me lose the last shred of my resolve. I couldn’t help myself, Olivia.”

“Good. I don’t want you to,” I tell him, and his eyes flicker. That crazy luminous green. Those long, dark eyelashes. And within his eyes, a raw, stripped emotion that makes me suck in a breath before his mouth claims mine again.

I expect the kiss to pick up where it left off, for him to devour me wildly, leaving me breathless and gasping and clinging to him.

Instead, he surprises me. He backs me against the front door, one big hand next to my head, the other cupping my face, effectively pinning me in place. His body presses against mine, and I arch into him as he kisses me with what I can only describe as the physical communication of that raw emotion I saw in his eyes.

He kisses me slowly, carefully, but with total dedication to the task. Like we have all the time in the world, but that’s not enough. Each movement of his lips is fraught with pure, unbridled feeling , and it’s somehow impossibly hotter than the frantic kiss we were sharing a moment ago.

Saying everything, all at once, without uttering a single word.

He deepens the kiss, angling my face up, and a strangled, almost anguished noise escapes my throat as his tongue brushes over mine. Seeing stars, I grab him by the lapels of his coat and pull him closer, fully losing myself in him.

I let my hands move over his body, exploring. They trace the shape of his big shoulders, then travel over the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. This elicits a delicious shiver from him.

“Livvy.” His stubble scratches my jaw as he presses a kiss to the sensitive skin there. “We should really take this inside.”

“Yeah,” I pant, my fingers sliding under the bottom of his sweatshirt, skimming across his warm, taut stomach. “We should.”

But instead, he makes a deep noise in his throat and moves his mouth back over mine again.

And that’s when the front door opens.