5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

December 11th

Nellie

I had never taken kindly to being told what to do, something both of my parents and sister would attest to—youngest child syndrome and all that. That being said, Austin could have very well ordered me to crawl to him on all fours and I would have done it. Happily.

“Okay, Nellie, lean in a little bit more.” I did as he said, pushing in an extra inch until my nose brushed the tree’s needles. “That’s it. And tilt your face up toward me.”

Our eyes met when I lifted my chin. The intensity of his gaze made me swallow. This was a different side of Austin, the same one I had seen a few nights ago when he’d saved me from what would have been another embarrassing fall. He was calm and collected, which was enough to put me on edge.

And make me wet.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Yes, sir.

Woah, where had that come from?

“My arm is falling asleep.” Leighton moaned from the other side of the tree.

“Oh, be quiet. At least you have two good feet to stand on.”

Meanwhile, I looked like a Christmas flamingo. My affinity for the color pink had begun at an early age, as evidenced by the photo we were recreating.

The Christmas tree lot in Culver City was our fourth and final stop of the day. In an effort to maximize our time and limit the number of filming locations, I had put together a map—with a corresponding, color-coordinated spreadsheet—for what we were now referring to as the Christmas Calendar Crusade. Three days, four photos per day, and boom, we’d have a calendar.

Leighton had done a once-over of my spreadsheet and then had looked at me like I was the Ghost of Christmas Past. Austin, on the other hand, had simply smiled and said, “Whatever you want.”

You have no idea the things I want to do to you, Santa.

Or the things I wanted him to do to me. Once he got the shot, of course. We had a schedule to keep.

“Alright, cue the snow.”

Somewhere behind us, Killian tossed a handful of fake snow into the air. That was the trickiest thing about recreating pictures originally taken in Ohio—no snow. Thankfully, it hadn’t been hard to find a substitute in the land of movie magic, and Killian had been more than happy to help.

“We got it.”

Leighton relaxed her arms and raced over to smooch Killian. Meanwhile, I let the blood return to my other leg. As it turned out, modeling was not for the faint of heart—or foot.

“Okay!” I announced once I could feel both feet again. “Let’s pick out my tree.”

Austin arched a brow.

“You’re actually buying a tree?”

“Of course,” I told him. “Did you really think we were going to visit a tree lot without taking home a tree? What kind of monster do you take me for?

He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. That plaid wool coat was doing wonders for him. Maybe there was room for one more under there . . .

“You just struck me as more of a pre-lit, fake tree kind of girl.”

Leighton and I both gasped, beyond horrified.

Killian shook his head. “Now you’ve done it, mate.”

That was putting it lightly. Austin didn’t realize the can of worms he had just opened. He was about to, though.

His eyes darted between my sister and me when we surrounded him, like a cut scene from a subpar mafia movie. “That’s the worst thing you could possibly say to me,” I told him. “Wheatleys don’t do fake trees.”

“Or tinsel,” Leighton added. “Never tinsel. It’s flammable.”

“You’re welcome to head back without us, but I am not going home without a tree. Besides, our mom would be horrified if she knew that I waited until the eleventh to get one.”

Those wicked lips of his split into a smirk. “Sounds like we’re picking out a tree, then.”

He winked, and my panties went up in flames.

It was unnerving, feeling this way, especially about somebody I hadn’t even kissed. Somebody who had turned me down and avoided me at all costs for months. But there was something about Austin—an air of mystery that I hadn’t been able to solve yet—that drew me in.

And this time, I wanted more.

Leighton clapped her palms together. “I’m going to grab us all hot chocolate from the front.”

“Thanks, princess,” Killian said, dropping a kiss on her lips before she jetted off toward the tree lot’s café. He waited until she was out of earshot before turning back to face me. “So, we need to talk.”

“Aw, Killian, are you breaking up with me?”

“No.” He pulled a velvet box out of his pocket and cracked it open. My hands shot up to smother my gasp when I saw the pear-shaped diamond resting inside. “I’d like to make you my sister-in-law.”

“Oh my god!”

“Wow,” Austin said, eyeing the massive rock. “Congratulations. That is one hell of a ring.”

“Thanks, mate. Leighton actually picked it out at an antique store we visited in Carmel.”

“Oh my god.”

“But I had it reset with the diamond from my mother’s necklace.”

“Oh my god.” I sniffled.

They both laughed at my expense. I couldn’t be bothered to care, not when I was face-to-face with my sister’s future engagement ring and the man who loved her more than life itself.

I want that.

A sudden pang in my heart made me pause. Love had never been a part of my immediate plan, at least not until I made partner. It was hard enough climbing the corporate ladder in a male-dominated field; a boyfriend would just be another distraction. Hell, I could barely keep a houseplant alive. The last thing I needed was another person to worry about.

But every now and then, I couldn’t help but feel like life might be a little bit better, and a whole lot easier, with a different kind of partner. Somebody to lie next to me at night and drink the second half of the coffee pot in the morning, to pull the laptop out of my hands when it was well past business hours and ravage me on the couch after Dancing with the Stars ended.

A girl could dream.

I was thrilled that my sister had found that, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a tiny bit jealous.

Nonetheless, I threw my arms around Killian’s shoulders and squeezed him tight. The big oaf towered over me, so my face ended up buried in his massive pectorals. “I’m so excited for you,” I whispered against his chest. “Both of you.”

When I pulled away, I snuck a glance at Austin. A wounded look crossed his face when he noticed the unshed tears in my eyes.

“Happy tears,” I explained, hoping to relieve his concern. He gave a small smile in return. Why did it feel so good to know that he was worried about me? “Okay, okay, enough of that. You better put that rock away and help me find a tree before she gets back and finds us like this.”

Killian tucked the ring box back into his pocket while I swiped at a runaway tear. Ring or not, Leighton would definitely know that something was up if she came back from getting hot chocolate to find tears streaming down my face, especially during one of my favorite Wheatley family traditions.

Christmas hadn’t begun without a tree in our house growing up, one that we’d usually cut ourselves on a tree farm, or once, on the side of the highway. We didn’t talk about that time because our matriarch, the esteemed Wanda Wheatley, still refused to believe that she might have broken the law.

“What about Terrence?” Killian asked as we perused an aisle of Douglas firs.

“No.”

Austin’s brows drew together. “Terrence who?”

“Terrence the tree,” Killian said, rolling his eyes. “Leighton and Nellie’s family names their trees.”

“Every year?”

“That’s right,” I said proudly. “Why is that so weird? They’re a part of the family, for a few weeks at least.”

“And then they die.”

“Don’t say that in front of them,” I scolded, gesturing toward the rows and rows of Christmas trees.

His laughter didn’t deter me from the mission at hand. This was my first Christmas in an apartment of my own, in a new city, so the tree had to be perfect. And sure, I would still be spending all of Christmas Day and most likely Christmas Eve with my family at Killian and Leighton’s house, but this was for me. Something to bring me joy during an otherwise stressful time of year.

“I’m sure you and your family have some weird traditions, too.”

“Well, let’s see,” he mused. “Mom will cry at least three times, my sisters, Savannah and Madi, will fight over the last bottle of red, and at least one of my nieces will pass out at the dinner table before we make it to dessert. You’ve heard of the Feast of the Seven Fishes, right?”

I nodded. I don’t even think I can name seven kinds of fish.

“In the Amato house, it’s more like twelve fishes. I’m talking clams, calamari, sardines, even octopus, which isn’t easy to come by in Cleveland.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Wait, you’re from Cleveland?”

“Uh-huh. The Mistake on the Lake.”

“I’m from Plain, just outside of Columbus.”

His lips twitched at the corner. “It sounds like we were always meant to be neighbors.”

I refused to dignify that one with a response, instead smiling to myself while we continued perusing the tree lot. Ten minutes later, I had nearly given up on finding my tree when we came across a blue spruce.

“That’s the one,” I told them.

I knew it in my bones. It was . . . all wrong, and yet so incredibly beautiful. A beautiful mess . Austin’s words had stuck with me for days. It had taken me a while to wrap my head around the idea of finding beauty in something messy, two concepts that until now had always worked in opposition, from my perspective at least. But I was starting to see what he might have been talking about.

“Really?” Killan asked, arching a brow. He had every reason to doubt my choice. It was one of the scrawnier trees on the lot, buried behind the rest. “It’s a little . . .”

“Beautiful,” Austin finished. We both circled the tree, eventually meeting in the middle on the opposite side. “I think it’s a great choice.”

“I know it’s a little lumpy in the middle and bare around the top, but—”

“It’s perfect.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Killian slip away. “It’s not perfect,” I told him.

“It is because you chose it.”

Sweet baby Jesus in the manger. Take me now.

My face flamed. This was the Austin I had flirted with in the laundry room all those months ago. This was the Austin who had starred in my dreams—and more than a few wide-awake fantasies—as of late. Apparently, all it had taken was a broken foot and some Christmas lights to break him out of the protective shell he had so carefully constructed for himself.

And he was going to kiss me. He was going to kiss me now.

“Janelle,” he said in a half whisper, half groan. His warm, minty breath fanned my cheeks. I planted my hands lightly on his chest and leaned up on my toes, a difficult feat when you only had one foot to work with.

And then, just as our lips barely touched—

“Okay, I just got off the phone with Nora,” Leighton said.

Fate intervened. That bitch.

We quickly broke apart. Killian bounded over to Leighton, relieving her of the tray full of to-go cups in her hands. “Thanks, killjoy.”

“What about Nora?” I asked, attempting to ignore the fact that she had just interrupted me from sucking face with the Santa next door.

“She and Bowie are going to meet us back at your place for drinks and tree decorating.”

“Sounds good to me.” I directed her attention toward my newly acquired blue spruce. “Meet Bruce.”

She shook her head, a small laugh escaping from her lips. “Bruce the spruce? Cute.”

Together, the four of us loaded the tree into the back of Killian’s SUV. I had another doctor’s appointment on the twentieth, but until then, I was still begrudgingly riding shotgun. A passenger princess I was not.

Pillow princess, on the other hand . . .

“Austin, you’re coming back to Nellie’s place to help us decorate, right?”

Austin’s eyes found mine from the other side of the car, the question in them clear as day. “Only if Nellie wants me to.”

“Of course I do,” I said much too quickly.

His eyes lit up. My cheeks warmed when I realized how that sounded. “I mean, of course you’re welcome to come.”

“Then, we better get going. Bruce isn’t going to decorate himself.”

Austin

“Okay, who cut the cheese?”

Nellie’s question was met with a few snorts and giggles.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian asked, without a trace of humor.

“Very funny,” Nellie said, rolling her eyes. “Aside from Killian, you all have the humor of a twelve-year-old boy. Seriously, though, what happened to my cheddar?”

She held up a rectangle of aged cheddar cheese in one hand and a slightly smaller piece in the other. “They don’t match.”

Leighton snatched the larger piece and promptly nibbled the end off, trimming it down to match the other. “There, now they do.”

I had decorated my fair share of gingerbread houses. In fact, as an uncle to nearly a dozen nieces and nephews, I had decorated gingerbread castles, horses, and even a spaceship or two, but Nellie and her friends had taken it to the next level by cutting out the spicy cookie altogether.

Which was why we were decorating charcuterie houses.

“Okay, full disclosure,” Nora announced. “Mine isn’t so much a chalet as it is . . . the cottage from The Holiday. ”

Scratch that— charcuterie chalets .

Nora and Bowie had met us back at Nellie’s apartment nearly two hours ago, arms full of reusable shopping bags. Together, the six of us had decorated Nellie’s tree, Bruce, while listening to Nora’s aptly named A Very Cute, Very Demure, Very Merry Christmas playlist. Tree decorating had led to another round of hot chocolate—this time with peppermint schnapps—followed quickly by our current activity.

Cheese and crackers of all shapes and sizes littered Nellie’s rustic white table, along with sprigs of rosemary and berries for trees and foliage, mixed nuts for a cobblestone pathway, and a wide selection of deli meats—because a house wasn’t a home without a salami or two. That last bit might have come from my nona, and in my experience, Nona knew best.

“Will somebody please pass the pepperoni?” Bowie asked. “I’m going for something . . . thick and meaty.”

“That’s what he said,” Leighton and Nora answered together before breaking out into laughter. Nellie tried—and failed—to resist the urge to join them.

It was impossible not to grin, watching them gas each other up, laugh at each other’s juvenile dick jokes. They reminded me of my sisters. Well, maybe not Nellie—there was nothing brotherly about the way I felt about her, the things I wanted to do to her. Nonetheless, she had the spirit of an Amato sister. All three of them did. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my sisters ever joined forces with this dynamic trio, the lot of them could conquer the world. Or burn it to the ground, whatever they preferred.

“Here, you can have mine,” Nellie said, forking her pile of pepperoni over to the redheaded Brit. “I wouldn’t say no to extra parmesan snow, if anybody has some to spare.”

Her eyes lit up when I nudged my bag across the table in her direction.

“Thanks, Santa.”

My pants tightened when she bit down on her bottom lip. Save some for me, naughty girl. In a different cinematic universe—or maybe a cheap porno—I would have swept the artisanal crackers and sliced prosciutto over the edge of her small dining table and crushed my lips to hers. That might not have gone over well with her friends, though.

I couldn’t help it. She was too tempting, too beautiful, too everything, and I wanted it all.

“Do you mind if I ask how the whole Santa thing started?”

“Not at all,” I answered Killian. “It was about ten years ago. My oldest sister’s husband passed away right before Christmas, and in an effort to cheer her and her twins up, I came dressed as Santa to our family’s Christmas dinner. It sort of became a tradition after that, one that we still do today, even though most of the kids are teenagers.”

Leighton bit into one of the crackers holding up her house. “That’s so sweet.”

“I kind of kept it up for fun when I moved to L.A. At first, it was just to make a few extra bucks around the holidays, but now, it really just makes me happy to make other people happy.”

Nellie’s lips split into a grin. “You’re good at it.”

“Being Santa?”

“Making people happy.”

Everything else slipped away after that. Time, insecurities, our audience—gone. For now, there was only us. Only this. Her eyes locked on mine. Pools of piercing amber-brown liquid filled me with visions of things I had no business thinking about, especially not in the company of other people.

“ Bugger, my roof is caving in.”

And just like that, it was over. We were back to being neighbors and pretending that there was nothing between us, aside from some nuts and cheese.

But I knew better.

We both did.

We called it an evening when Bowie’s pretzel roof caved in.

After wiping down her table and making sure that every spare slice of cheese had been carefully locked away in the fridge, Nellie walked me to the door.

“Thanks so much for today,” she said while I slipped into my jacket. It was a short walk back across the courtyard, but the cold spell sweeping SoCal was no joke. Last night, I had even (gasp) turned the heater on. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the pictures.”

“I can have them uploaded and emailed to you tonight.”

She lifted her shoulders. “Whenever.”

“Hey, you two.” Nora pointed toward something above the doorway. “You know what that means.”

I looked up and froze.

Mistletoe .

As if in slow motion, I lowered my eyes from the small, hanging plant to the woman standing opposite me. We had already nearly kissed once today; it couldn’t hurt to give it another go. On the contrary, I might burst if I didn’t finally get my mouth on hers.

I wet my lips, anxiously awaiting her next move. As much as I wanted this—wanted her—nothing would happen without her giving the go-ahead. An enthusiastic and unwavering yes. I refused to be anybody’s regret, especially Nellie’s.

My gaze traveled over her face, searching for any signs of distress or embarrassment but, thankfully, finding none. Instead, she gave a slight smile and lifted her hands to my shoulders, using them for leverage.

“This is the part where you kiss me, Santa,” she whispered against my lips.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She shook her head. “It’s what I need.”

There was no more talking after that. I crashed my lips down on hers, swallowing up her surprised gasp.

And just like that, everything else faded away—the claps and cheers of our nearby audience, the hiss of the heater above our heads, the faint melody of a familiar Christmas song—all of that fell by the wayside as I got my first taste of my neighbor. My naughty girl. The woman that I had been nonstop dreaming about since that very first day we’d met in the laundry room.

When I pulled back, she followed, searching for more. And as much as I wanted to give it to her, this wasn’t the time or the place. Her face fell when I carefully disentangled her arms from around my neck and stepped closer to the door.

“Thanks for a great night,” I managed, my throat shaky. “I better get going.” I caught her chin with my free hand and directed her to look up at my face once again. When she did, the vulnerability in her eyes made my heart jolt. “I’ll talk to you soon, Janelle.”

Her nod was all the response I needed.

I all but ran out the door, barely sparing a passing wave to her friends. By the time I made it to my apartment, I was burning up. My pants were unbuttoned and shoved down my thighs before the front door clicked shut. There was no time to think, only feel.

I wrapped a hand around my heavy cock, drawing it out of my boxer briefs and falling back against the door. There was no suppressing the moan that fell from my lips.

“ Fuck.”

I hoped she heard me. I hoped they all heard me and the desperate longing behind my cries. This wouldn’t take long, not with the way we had been edging each other all week.

Does she touch herself like this?

Better yet, would she let me watch? I palmed my greedy cock to the thought, grunting as I pictured her fucking herself with her fingers and, better yet, her favorite toy. A Barbie-pink dildo with sparkles. It had to be. Nothing else would do, not for my pint-sized elf with fuck me heels and fuck off energy.

She was in need of a good spanking, and I wanted to be the one to give it to her.

Does she think of me when she gets off?

That one nearly had me spilling in my hand.

Precum beaded the head of my cock, and I used it to lubricate my strokes, gliding my fist from tip to root, slow but firm. An image of her lying beneath me in my bed, blonde locks splayed across my pillow, flashed across my brain, fueling my need.

Her wrists were bound to the headboard, wrapped in the same golden rope that looped through my toy sack. Tears leaked from her eyes while I fed her every last inch of my cock until it scraped the back of her throat.

Fuck, I could see her, feel her so clearly.

My hand pumped furiously in time with each rapid breath. I grunted out my pleasure, the sound almost feral, like an animal craving his next meal. I knew what I was hungry for—Nellie’s juicy pussy. Nothing else would satisfy this insatiable craving.

Any second now.

I pictured her small, ripe breasts bouncing with every thrust inside her mouth, every ripple of her throat around my cock driving me closer and closer to the finish line. But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of coming in her mouth, not even if she begged for it. No, I wanted to paint her body with my cum, cover her tits, her pussy, her lips, every inch of her until she knew she was mine.

That was all it took to send me over the edge—the image of spending myself on her peachy skin and, more specifically, her lazy, satisfied grin when I did.

At this point, it wasn’t a matter of if I made Nellie Wheatley mine, but when , and from the looks of it, Santa would be coming down her chimney before Christmas Eve.

My laughter echoed off the walls of my apartment. Apparently, I also had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy.