Page 11 of My Rival for Christmas

Dax still isn’t back as the bartender slides me a freshly opened bottle. I nod my head in thanks as the side of my face grows warm. But not from the roar of the fireplace. I’m too far away to feel its heat.

No, this feels more concentrated. Harder to ignore. Begging for attention.

I’m not unused to stares when I come home or whispers trailing after me like shadows, but this feels different.

Familiar in a way I’m not used to feeling here. A feeling that only surfaces around one person…

But that feels impossible, because she would never come here. Wouldn’t subject herself to breathing the same air as me, if given the choice.

Still, the sensation buries deeper into my skin. Intensifying.

Curiosity powers the sweep I do around the room.

It doesn’t take me long to find her, though.

Shock ripples through me. Followed by a twisted elation only she can inspire.

I’ve done it, Dad.

I’ve somehow conned my way off Santa’s naughty list.

The moment my gaze clashes with the wide, disbelieving blue-green eyes I’d be able to pick out of a lineup no matter what shade they lean on that day, I almost don’t believe it.

Paige Montgomery is right in front of me.

I’d be more convinced to find out the elevation from the mountains has made the beer go to my head at an embarrassingly quick rate, making me hallucinate the last person who would ever be here. I’d even believe this was a dream, one I’ve had countless times over.

The only problem is the Paige in my dreams is always laughing, the tension she wears like a hand-fitted coat ebbs off her, and the playful spirit I know she doesn’t let come out to play runs wild.

The Paige in front of me contains none of these qualities.

So this has to be real. Right?

She looks almost frozen, stunned by seeing me. Tension holding her already perfect posture rigid, her pale, freckled knuckles are bleached from how tight she’s gripping a mug with the resort’s name stamped across it. She’s holding it like a shield in front of her.

I’d like to think it’s my devilishly handsome good looks making her react this way. She’s too enchanted to speak. Captivated by my manliness.

But I know better. Even if Paigedidhave a rebellious thought thinking that, she’d never admit it, let alone show it.

She’s a master of denying herself things that make her happy.

She’d rather make herself miserable, under the guise of achievements, than actually take a risk on anything that could distract her from skating.

From across the lobby, I watch the disbelief shift to shock in a shuttering effect. Each blink paints a different emotion on her elegantly soft features, until they harden into a mask she often hides behind, locked away with a disdain she only reserves for me.

I’d feel flattered, if not for the bitter ire I can taste all the way from here, sitting on my tongue like an iron lead.

Real.

This is real.

But how?

How is she here?

Why is she here?

Paige doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and she certainly doesn’t take vacations. The amount of times I’ve wanted to bring her here over the years ticks up to a number impossible to say, but I never brought myself to ask because I always knew what her answer was going to be.

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