Page 31 of My Rival for Christmas

Nate doesn’t wait for the okay from the bartender before he reaches across the bar and snags one off the waiting tray.

The guy stares at Nate for a moment too long, and I start to get nervous. This is exactly the kind of place where people throw punches first, ask questions later.

“You’re a real dick sometimes, man,” the bartender drawls with a tight stare.

This is it, fists are about to go flying.My eyes start to close.

No, wait. They should be open.

Nate shrugs. Further proving my theory that this man has no self-preservation skills. “What if I leave you an extra twenty for every inch on said dick before I leave tonight, Johnny, to make up for it?” He holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Johnny looks unimpressed. I am, too. Nate looks as honorable as a delinquent, with his devil-may-care smile, his abundance of tattoos anddoublepierced ears. The little black studs wink at me.

“In fact, why wait?” Nate reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He’s changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a gray long sleeve. A baseball cap with the Sugar Peak Resort logo sits backwards on his head.

Nate flips open the wallet and pulls out a handful of vibrantly colored bills. Canadian money is so much prettier than America’s.

My eyes widen as he starts counting. And counting. And counting.

Surely that’s not as many as I think it is…

Nate stuffs theninetwenties in the tip stocking, making it stand a little taller now, not as floppy. “You’ll get more if you get those other drinks and stop hitting on my girl here.”

“Not your girl,” I snap at him, seeing the room twinge with red. Then telling the bartender, “Not his girl.”

Johnny throws his palms up as he walks away.

Nate turns back to me. Ever delighted with himself.

“Lying before Christmas?” I click my tongue. “What will Santa say about his so-called favorite now?”

“The big man in red and I have an agreement. I’m allowed to say things that get under your skin free of consequence.”

“Hmm.” My eyes narrow. “How convenient.”

Nate flips the wallet closed. “That’s me in a nutshell. Ready at your convenience.”

I’m not going anywhere near that sentence. Time for a subject change.

“What’d you do, anyway?” I gesture towards the wallet still in his hand. “Rob a bank and can’t help but show off?”

No one really carries cash anymore.

So leave it to Nate to be different. Forever bending the norms.

“Close.” He shoves it back in his pocket, the movement bringing his chest closer to me, his familiar Irish Spring scent flirting with me. “Got paid for a social media campaign earlier this week and took a bit out of my account. Some friends and I always bet on a few rounds of darts, so I wanted to be prepared. Plus, Dick’s is cash only.”

I blanch at the last bit of his sentence. Cash only?

Mentally, I try to count the money inmywallet. Three quarters, two dimes, and a million useless pennies that I’m pretty sure Canada got rid of. That should be enough to buy me absolutely nothing.

Nate sees the panic on my face. And he’s relishing in it.

“You’re telling me the always-prepared Paige Montgomery doesn’t have any cash on her?” He smirks, leaning against the bar, giving me his full attention.

“Stop enjoying this. It’s not my fault.” But isn’t it? “You know I don’t travel outside competitions, and all those arenas are going cashless. They’ve conditioned me to think that way.”

Johnny decides that’s the moment he’s going to return, placing two glasses in front of us.

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