Page 67 of My Rival for Christmas

It doesn’t take me long.

She’s standing in the kitchen with her warm red hair thrown over her shoulder, wearing an apron that’s never been used. The resort hoodie that she’s officially stolen from me is underneath.

I think my dad got the apron as a White Elephant gift one year because I can’t see either of us willingly buying anything with an elf costume on it. We like Christmas, but not that much.

However, Paige looks delectable in. Even as her face scrunches up seeing me. “Ugh. What are you doing up? Go back to bed.” She shoos me away with a grease-covered spatula. “Right now.”

“Why?” Not heeding her directions, I walk further into the kitchen, grinning at the way her eyes dip to my sweatpants, at the tent pitched in it.

Paige points the spatula at me like a sword, waving it in front of her. “Don’t come any closer, Ford.”

“Scared of what I’ll do, Princess?”

“Yes.You made me incredibly unproductive yesterday?—”

“Some would say having multiple orgasms in a day isveryproductive.” Each time I asked her the same question: my fingers, mouth, or cock.

She rotated between my mouth and fingers, and I try not to think about why she hasn’t picked my cock yet. Not that I’m impatient about it. I’ll wait until she’s ready. I just hope she will be ready, that whatever’s happening between us will continue. That the regret I keep waiting for her to have never comes.

A blush covers her cheeks, running across her nose at my reminder. “And I don’t have time for that right now. So if you will please listen to me and get your ass back into bed, pretending you never saw me, I’d really appreciate it. Now, go.”

I don’t move, my brows coming together in curiosity. “What are you doing in here?”

“Making drugs,” she answers dryly. “What do you think I’m doing in here? I’mtryingto make you breakfast!”

Again, I can’t help but ask, “Why?”

“Because yesterday you said that your dad always used to surprise you with a special Christmas breakfast in bed.”

I rub my mouth, trying to muffle the sound of my laughter.

I fail.

“What?” Paige’s voice takes on an edge, wielding her spatula-sword at me again. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“My dad hasn’t done that since I was, like, twelve.”

Her mouth drops open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Wait.” My laughter dies off. “You thought I was getting served reindeer-shaped pancakes as a twenty-five-year-old man?”

“They were reindeer-shaped?” The distress in Paige’s tone is only amplified by a sharp burning smell that fills the kitchen.

We both look to the stove, where three ill-shaped blobs of batter sit, smoking.

Paige squeaks, her hands covering her mouth, while I gently move her out of the way to turn off the burner, removing the pan from the heat. Slipping the spatula out of Paige’s hand, I use it to flip over one of the pancakes, revealing a charred color underneath.

“Nooooo,” Paige groans, leaning her forehead against my shoulder in utter defeat.

Leaving the utensil on the counter, I spin around, wrapping her in my arms, where she fits perfectly. “Why were you trying to serve me breakfast, sweetheart? I thought I was supposed to be the one feeding my little scrooge today.”

She burrows into my chest, wrapping her arms securely around my waist, so her words are muffed when she says, “I wanted to try and recreate some of the traditions you do with your dad, because I know you have to be missing him. That being stuck here with me isn’t what you really want.”

A mix of emotions go off inside me, like fireworks shooting in different directions.She wants to make today special for me.My Christmas-hating princess is trying to muster up enough spirit to make up for my dad not being here.

Feelings, more than words, engulf me.

Sure, it sucks that I don’t get to spend it with my dad, but Paige is wrong if she thinks I don’t want to spend this day with her. That I don’t want to spend every day with her.

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