Chapter 13 Dane

Chapter 13

Dane

It’s official.

I have taken self-torture to new heights.

Pretending to be engaged to my high school crush, when she has no idea how I’ve ever felt about her, is messing with my head.

So is the fact that she’s every bit as fun as I thought she’d be.

Every bit as bright.

And completely not interested.

While I was jerking off in the shower to fantasies of making love to her after staring at her in her bathing suit wearing my engagement ring all night, she was going out of her way to not look at any part of me while warning me that my sister had shown up.

I give it a 65 percent chance she saw what I was doing.

Thank fuck she couldn’t possibly know what was going on in my mind.

I’m almost feeling normal again early the next morning as we drive into town.

Almost.

But not quite.

There’s an ever-present clock ticking in my head, reminding me that we only have five days to fix our families before we’re supposed to get married.

“Lorelei and Esme emailed me to make sure you and I would do a snow globe together!” she’s saying as she looks at her phone. I’m driving to give myself something to do that’s not staring at her and wondering if she rubbed one out in the shower before me. Though if she did, she probably wasn’t thinking about me.

“Apparently our generation hasn’t pissed each other off yet,” I say, which feels like the wrong thing to say, but I don’t know what the right thing could be.

“I don’t think we will either,” she says. “I heard somewhere that tradition is just peer pressure from dead people. I feel like that’s what this feud is. Peer pressure from dead people to keep hating each other. But screw that. Esme says there’s a prize for the best snow globe, and she also says she knows where the best leftover holiday decorations are stashed for us to use.”

Don’t be fooled by the word snow globe .

It’s not what you think.

It’s much, much larger.

The town of Tinsel picks a theme for holiday decorations every year. This year’s is snow globes .

Which means we’re having life-size snow globes put all over town, much like some cities do temporary installations of themed statues like cows or ducks or giant gnomes.

A few years back, an artist donated two dozen fiberglass elves for Tinsel businesses to paint with themes. I heard all about that gingerdead elf that Amanda’s family painted that looked like a gingerbread elf. And about how using fruitcake colors on my family’s elf made people think we were repping Wisconsin or Ohio football instead of Michigan football, which—again—was a rumor blamed on the gingerdead family .

We put blue on our elf too, Uncle Rob kept saying. Nobody cared that we added blue.

A year after that, there was a nutcracker theme for the Jingle Bell Fest. Another year, there were reindeer. Snowmen. Snowflakes. Gingerbread men were floated as an option once, but my family shot it down.

I still hear about it anytime Jingle Bell Fest is mentioned. That gingerdead family better not try to cheat and get more marketing for themselves with the Tinsel Jingle Bell Holiday Businesses on Kringle Lane Statue Contest this year.

I slide a look at Amanda. “Do they know where the elves went?”

Her mouth goes round, and her eyes light up. “I’ll check.”

An hour later, we arrive at Reindeer Square with some bonus decorations for our snow globe in tow. At least two dozen massive globes are already littering the grass.

They look like eight-foot-tall clear beach balls.

Have to wonder how they’ll hold when covered in two feet of snow. Not that anyone’s thinking about snow when it’s still pushing ninety today.

Lorelei and Esme meet us at the edge of the parking lot.

“You made it,” Lorelei says, throwing her arms around Amanda and hugging her first.

“I told her not to go see you last night,” Esme adds with a smirk as she punches me lightly on the arm.

It’s too hot to hug, so I appreciate the gesture.

“Oh, did you stop by?” Amanda says.

And then blushes.

Amanda.

Amanda Anderson.

Thespian of the century at our high school.

Blushes at the implication that we didn’t hear my sister stop by.

“I did,” Lorelei says, “and now I regret it. I will never do it again. Ever.”

Amanda blushes harder.

Hell, so do I.

“Esme!” someone hollers. “We need a water bottle! Man down! I repeat, man down!”

We all glance across the square to where Uncle Rob is fanning Esme’s husband in the entry to one of the globes.

“I told him to assemble it outside the globe before putting it inside the globe with the heat the way it is,” Esme mutters. She shakes her head, then points to a globe near the gazebo. “Yours is there. If you need help carrying your supplies, grab a shopping cart.”

“Dane,” Uncle Rob bellows, “get over here. We need your engineering opinion.”

“Dane and Amanda are doing the newlywed piece this year,” Lorelei bellows back.

And now the entire town is gawking.

Even if they’re not here in the town square, even if they don’t know why, they’re gawking.

“I can’t wait to see what you do with yours,” Amanda calls to Uncle Rob.

“ Amanda ,” someone else hisses from the other side of the square.

She shifts seamlessly and aims a smile at her mother. “And yours too, Mom!”

She grabs me by the hand. “C’mon, Dane. Let’s go get a shopping cart and show Tinsel how you decorate a life-size snow globe.”

“Do you worry at all that they’ll disown you?” Lorelei asks.

I don’t know if she’s talking to me or Amanda.

But Amanda winces and nods. “A little.”

Fuck it being too hot to hug.

I slip an arm around her. “If they don’t forgive you, they don’t deserve you.”

“ Awwww ,” Lorelei whispers. “You two make me so happy.”

Stab stab stab. All of the guilt over the lie slashes into my gut and makes me want to vomit.

But I remind myself all this is for the greater good.

For our families. For Tinsel. For Amanda. For me.

Who knows? Our kids could want to get married someday.

Unlikely, but weirder things have happened.

Like one of the round snow globe covers rolling away with a jar of paint inside so that it’s being coated in red stripes while a guy dressed up like Will Ferrell in Elf chases it down.

No, wait.

In Tinsel, costumed people chasing holiday decorations isn’t that weird.

Amanda swipes her eyes as she smiles at Lorelei, and I don’t think that’s an act. “You make me happy. I’m so grateful you’ve always been such a good friend even when it’s been hard.”

The lying is definitely the worst part.

Lorelei wipes her eyes, too, then flaps her hands at us. “Go, go get started before it gets any hotter. I cannot wait to see what you two are planning.”

We grab a shopping cart and unload our tools and holiday decor, then head across the square to our spot. I’m frowning as we approach it.

“We brought too much stuff,” Amanda says.

“No, these are too big to put on the sidewalks on Kringle Lane.”

Not only are they eight feet tall, but they’re nearly that wide in diameter too. The bases are maybe a foot high, but easily four feet wide themselves. Each snow globe is on its own trailer for transportation.

The holiday crew must’ve been up half the night switching over from the photo shoot to putting the snow globes in place.

Amanda looks at me, then purses her lips together and makes a choking noise like she’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re picturing tourists dodging these all over Kringle Lane, aren’t you?”

“Grandma’s gonna get run over by a snow globe this year.” Her voice is quiet and strangled, and there’s no mistaking the utter amusement in her voice.

I stifle my own laughter.

Odds are good no one will get run over by a snow globe.

“Dane,” Uncle Rob calls again at the same time Amanda’s mother calls her name.

We lock eyes.

There’s zero question what’s on her mind.

Mine’s echoing it.

And it’s the right call.

Kiss her.

Ignore both of your families and kiss her.

Kiss her the way you were fantasizing about kissing her in the shower last night.

She’s not thinking that last part. That’s all my own deal.

I’ve done this to myself, and now I have to deal with the consequences.

Namely, kissing Amanda and knowing that when she kisses me back, it’s not about me.

It’s about the show.

But I still kiss her.

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her tight against my body while I nibble on her lower lip. I stroke my hand up her back while I lick at the seam of her mouth. I tangle my fingers in her hair and touch my tongue to hers when she parts her lips.

And fuck if she doesn’t grip me by the ears and take the kiss even deeper herself, pushing her breasts against my ribs and making little noises that say she’s loving every moment of this kiss.

She’s faking, she’s faking, she’s faking.

It’s not a malicious thought.

I’m supposed to be faking this too.

It’s self-preservation.

And it’s not working.

How can it when kissing her is setting my soul on fire and sending blood rushing to my cock and making my heart pump like it’s found a new reason to live?

“Awww, yeah, look at the man getting his game on,” someone crows nearby.

Shit.

We’re in public.

And I’m mauling my fake fiancée like a man completely out of control.

Amanda’s panting as she pulls back. “Wow,” she whispers.

Wow.

One little word that sears itself onto my heart.

Like she means it. Like she’s affected too. Like that wasn’t fake for her either.

Stop it, I order myself. Eye on the prize.

And what’s the prize?

Our families getting along. Amanda and Lorelei getting to be friends in public when they’re both here. Me not having to listen to constant complaints about home.

Seems like a dumb prize when I’m starting again to want everything I wanted and couldn’t have in high school.

“So I’ll empty the cart and get back to the car for the rest of the stuff,” I say awkwardly.

Like it’s not okay for me to kiss my fiancée in public.

I’m gonna fuck this up.

Can’t play the part without public affection.

And I can’t give her public affection without wanting more.

Yep. Totally gonna fuck this up.