Page 19 of The Night Before Grumpmas
Did they care that she created a haunted house in the hallways? Nope. They actually helped her with it. It’s in fact her fault that I got all those children begging for candy. They thought I was part of the trick-or-treat train she organized. Like I’m going to be part of the holiday craziness.
Audrey snorts. I can practically see her rolling her eyes all the way from San Diego. “You know most people actually like the holidays, right? Some might even call it festive.”
“Festive? Is that what we’re calling it?” I mutter, pacing the length of my living room. The sight of Noelle’s flashing lights outside my window makes me grit my teeth. “She’s got twinkling lights, a wreath the size of a small car, and one of those horrifying inflatable snowmen waving at me. Waving, Audrey.”
This morning, I’m preparing myself some coffee. There’s no way I’m heading to the coffee shop today. Every morning Noelle Holiday is there, either brewing coffee, greeting customers—it’s her part-time job—or just loitering with a cup of whatever seasonal drink they’re having.She’s wishing everyone who enters the shop a happy day—at too fucking early in the morning.
“You know, normal people ease into these things. Maybe let Thanksgiving have a moment before shoving mistletoe down our throats.”
Audrey laughs. “Normal people don’t complain about holidays the way you do.”
“There’s a difference between holidays and Ms. Holiday next door,” I mutter.
She laughs, louder now. “Maybe you need it, Jakey. All that Christmas cheer might melt your icy heart. Let the lady enjoy life and maybe you could learn a thing or two.”
“My heart’s fine,” I snap, eyes narrowing as I stare down the offending snowman. “I don’t need her decking the damn halls before Thanksgiving. As I mentioned, there should be a fucking law to prevent this.”
Noelle Holiday does more than just enjoy life . . . she’s obsessed. With jack-o’-lanterns, Santa, twinkling lights, and probably cupids too. I swear, if she’s still here by Valentine’s Day, she’ll turn the entire hallway into a tunnel of love, complete with heart-shaped wreaths and pink garlands. It’s not a stretch—look at everything she’s done since she arrived.
Who does Christmas decorations before we’ve even digested Halloween candy?
“You know what I think? I think you secretly like her decorating and giving you food every other day,” Audrey teases, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s kind of cute how much you complain about it. Almost like you’re . . .obsessed.”
“Obsessed?” I stop pacing, the word grating on me. “If by obsessed, you mean driven to the brink of insanity, then sure. I’m obsessed with how fucking unbearable it all is.”
“God, you’re such a grump.” Audrey sighs dramatically, but there’s a smile in her voice. “Do me a favor? Try not to murder the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe even embrace it? It might actually do you some good.”
I scoff, raking a hand through my hair. “I’d rather be waterboarded with ice.”
“I so want to meet her.” Audrey’s practically buzzing now. “She’s becoming one of my favorite people.”
“She’s probably leaving soon.” I rub at my temples, feeling a headache creeping in.
But if Noelle’s grandmother isn’t back by spring, I’ll complain to the board. I’ll push hard and make sure they listen. Noelle claims this arrangement is temporary, but I saw her the other day—painting the walls lilac, of all colors. Lilac. I shake my head, still baffled by the audacity. You can’t just go around redecorating a rent-controlled apartment like you own the place. Those changes have to go through the board or the owner.
I didn’t get a picture, though. I just need some solid evidence, and she’ll be gone.
There’s gotta be other ways to get rid of her—the god-awful music, the relentless cheer. Where’s the damn owner of this place anyway? Maybe I could track him down, buy the apartment, and—boom—eviction. I’d be doing the building a public service.
“When did you become this . . . I don’t even know the word.” Audrey’s voice pulls me out of my plans. “I swear, you used to be the fun one between you and Max. Now it’s just sad watching you turn into this angry hermit.”
“I’m not angry,” I protest, though it sounds weak even to my own ears. “Is it too much to ask for some peace and quiet? And maybe fewer . . .festivities?”
“You want to kill everyone’s joy,” she teases, and I can practically hear the smug grin in her voice. “Including mine. I was so excited to call and tell you we’re heading to Boston this upcoming weekend, but instead, I get you whining about your new archenemy.”
“I’m not whining,” I mutter, fully aware that I absolutely am whining.
But fuck it, it’s better than admitting that Noelle isn’t really my archenemy. She’s . . . well, complicated. It’s been almost two months since she landed on my doorstep, and at first, I just wanted her gone because her holiday cheer annoyed the fuck out of me.
But now? Now, things are shifting. And I hate it more than the fucking pinecone and peppermint smell that’s slowly taking over my entire apartment.
I can’t stop thinking about her. I find myself staring at her lips, imagining how soft they’d feel under mine. Or wondering how she tastes. I want to pin her against the wall, kiss her until she’s breathless, until her body melts into mine, and then—fuck, I’d devour her right there. No slow, romantic bullshit. I want her gasping my name, her skin flushed, her legs shaking, my mouth on her—everywhere.
“Uh-huh,” Audrey interrupts, pulling me back into the moment, clearly not buying any of my excuses. “Well, I’ll leave you to plot your neighbor’s downfall—or how you can fuck her out of your system. But seriously, lighten up, will you? Maybe that’s why Ms. Holiday is next door—like, the ghost of Christmas past sent her to save you before you fully turn into Scrooge.”
I stop, mouth hanging open at her comment about fucking Noelle out of my system. My mind lingers on the idea longer than I’d like to admit. The image of Noelle beneath me, panting, her nails digging into my skin—it’s tempting. Too fucking tempting. Maybe Audrey’s right. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. One wild, passionate night to get her out of my head.
But something tells me one night wouldn’t be enough. Maybe from now until she leaves the building and the grandmother is back?Stop thinking about her, McCallister. As if I could.
