Page 11 of Tinsel in Telluride

If he’s not mine, whose is he?

Was the sex so bad that she had to sleep with someone else so she could forget me?

No. I’m fucking amazing in bed.

If there’s another guy, he definitely came before me.

But what does that make me?

The rebound?

Sloppy seconds?

What if he is mine?

Do I want him to be?

Fuck.

“You wanna explain what that was about and why, instead of answering, me you’re staring at the fireplace like it’s going to explode?”

“Huh?” I look up and find my twin standing in the doorway of the room we dubbed the makeshift office. Really, it’s an additional living room, but when you’re staying with three other owners of professional teams for the holidays, two of which are still in season, a quiet place to work is necessary.

“How the hell do you do that?” I ask as Enzo enters the room and plops down on the couch next to me.

“What?” My twin lifts his hand and examines his fingernails like the pretentious asshole he is, pretending he doesn’t know exactly what I’m talking about.

I arch a scrutinizing brow in his direction, and he chuckles.

Ever since we were kids, Enzo’s had the uncanny ability to just appear out of nowhere. It suits him as the quiet and contemplative half of this dynamic duo, but damn if it isn’t both unnerving and utterly annoying.

“Usually, I’d say I’m just the stealthy twin, but this time I absolutely made my presence known. You just were too lost in the conversation you were having.”

Was I?

“Now you wanna tell me who you just invited to Christmas?”

Fuck.

“No one.” I lock my eyes back on the fire, hoping he’ll drop it.

Of course, ever the perceptive jackass, he doesn’t. “Really? Because it sure as hell sounded like you did.”

“She’ll be in the guest house. None of you will even know she’s here.” It’s a terrible plan. Even I know that, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass me by.

Leigh Bennett—James now, I remind myself—is my path to redemption.

And maybe my future.

If there’s even a chance that little boy is my son, I deserve to know.

“Oh, so it’s a she. Alright, we’re getting somewhere.” Enzo tilts his head and offers me a mischievous grin. He sits up a little straighter and steeples his fingers together. “Though I’m pretty sure we have rules about bringing guests, especially women, to Bucket List Christmas.”

“Fuck the rules.”

Enzo chuckles, enjoying this turn of events far too much.

Every year, me, my brother and our two best friends—Holt and Bash—leave our respective cities and teams in California to meet up for Christmas. The rules of the trip are simple: we go to a new location, picked by one of us from the bucket list of our lost comrade, Jack. It’s our way of honoring him and making sure our little family gets together at least once a year.

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