Page 39 of Hostile for the Holidays

I shake my head at him. “And here I thought you were a stylish dresser. I might have to revoke your fake boyfriend status.”

He tugs at the hem of my cropped sweater and my core clenches. He didn’t even touch me and I’m on fire.

Be careful. This is Jasper Jensen. You might get burned.

“Hmm. What can I do to get reinstated?” he asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Lots of them. They’ve been circulating in my brain since last night.

He sweeps a section of hair behind my shoulders, giving his hand better access to my neck, and the second he touches me a shockwave of pleasure radiates down my spine.

What’s it going to feel like when hereallytouches me?

He chuckles, and the sound sends a rush of warmth through my chest.

“I was thinking we’d have a friendly competition.”

“When have our competitions ever been friendly?” I ask.

“You’re right, I think we should declare this the first annual friendly gift-wrapping competition.”

My brows reach my hairline. “You want to have a competition over gift wrapping?”

“Why not?”

“Because gift wrapping is my thing. You can’t beat me.”

“So this reluctance you’re having isn’t because you’re scared to go up against me?” he teases.

“Oh, Snowflake, do you need to lie down?” I press my hand to his forehead. “It seems like you’re coming down with a case of delusion.”

He laughs, capturing my wrist to remove my hand from his forehead before pressing a kiss to my palm.

“All right, Sparky, let’s make this contest official. We count the number of wrapped presents starting after the break. The person with the most packages wrapped wins.”

I cross my arms, and push out my hip. “What do I win?”

Jasper smirks. “So confident, are we?”

“We both know I’m going to win, but I’ll play along.”

He leans in close to whisper in my ear. “If you win, I’ll kiss you.”

A kiss. Hmm.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and right now, for some unexplainable reason, I’m practically begging for Jasper to kiss me again, so I’ll take his kiss and then I’ll make sure I leave him wanting more.

“You’re on.”

“May the best wrapper win,” Jasper teases, then we clean up our lunch and he escorts me back to my wrapping station before heading over to his.

For the next three hours, I wrap like I’m running a marathon.

Sandy is in awe of how fast I’m wrapping. Eventually she abandons her wrapping station, holding a water bottle in front of me to drink when I’m thirsty and a protein bar for when I need to refuel so I can keep my hands moving.

At four o’clock, we’re done for the day and it’s clear from the mound of presents behind my table as opposed to Jasper’s much smaller one that I’m the winner.

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