Page 22 of The Night Before Grumpmas
“You should start dating again,” Val suggests. “Go kiss guys, learn new things . . . find someone who knows how to make you happy with his tongue.”
“Oh yeah, why didn’t I think of that sooner?” I laugh, still hunting for my keys, my fingers disappearing into the black hole that is my purse. “I’ll just start asking random guys if I can kiss them, you know, for research purposes. I’ll add that to my dating profile: looking for a good tongue, only respond if you know how to use it.”
“Stop it, I’m going to pee my pants and leaving a stain on the chair is not a good look.”
“I’m serious here, I’ll even bring a journal to rate their technique, maybe hand out grades.” I drop to my knees, practically emptying my purse onto the floor in frustration. “And hey, while I’m at it, I’ll ask them to eat my pussy on the first date. Will it be too forward to ask them to fuck my mouth—since I’ve never done that either? All in the name of the full experience, right? Scientific method and all that.”
Val can’t stop laughing, but once she sobers up she says, “Obviously this is what you have to do. I’m a firm believer in the scientific method.”
Suddenly, a shadow falls over me. “What’s all that noise?” Val asks, her voice slightly muffled as I hear a low, amused growl from above—smooth yet gruff in a way that makes my breath hitch, like someone just turned the volume down on reality.
“I’m trying to find my—” I start, but before I can finish, a deep, gravelly voice interrupts, so annoyingly sexy it almost makes me want to roll my eyes in defeat. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
I freeze mid-key-search, slowly lifting my gaze to meet the infuriatingly smug face of my grumpy neighbor. He’s holding my keys, dangling them from his fingers like a prize. His voice is rough, deep—borderline growly—and as usual, he’s standing there looking unfairly hot. Like, seriously, why-do-you-have-to-be-this-sexy-while-I’m-humiliating-myself hot.
And then it hits me—he probably heard the whole conversation.
Great. Why can’t the ground ever open up and swallow me when I really need it?
Chapter Twelve
Jacob
Not now.Not today.
Why her?
Why me?
Seriously, it’s like she’severywhere. Noelle—the holiday-obsessed, sometimes walking disaster from next door— is standing by the mailboxes, her purse dangling precariously off one shoulder, clearly distracted, as usual. She’s juggling something, probably trying to do a thousand things at once, and of course, half of them are bound to end in disaster.
Although to be fair, talking to herself wouldn’t be anything new for Noelle. She chats with everyone, everything . . . and sometimes, no one at all.
There was that one time I asked her who she was talking to, and she said, deadpan, “I’m having a meeting with myself.” I’m still not entirely sure if she was messing with me, but I told her there’s this thing called aninner voice, and maybe she should keep all future conversations and meetings private. She laughed. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t joking, but it’s hard to get that woman to take me seriously.
Today, as usual, she’s sorting through her mail, talking out loud like she’s narrating her life for an audience. I hang back, waiting for my turn to check my mailbox, hoping I can avoid any interaction. Let’s be honest—there’s no chance of a pleasant exchange. The second I open my mouth, I’ll probably end up telling her that Frosty the Snowman and every other holiday tune should be banned until at least December twenty-fourth or at least shouldn’t be sung before nine in the morning or after six when I’m back from the office.
By then, I’ll be in Boston, blissfully far away from her and her incessant cheer. Maybe, by the time I get back, the building will finally be rid of her over-the-top holiday decorations. If I’m lucky, the only remnants will be a few streamers clinging to the walls for New Year’s. That’s if she hasn’t turned the whole hallway into a winter wonderland while I’m gone. Fuck me.
I watch her leave without even noticing the keys hanging there. She’s already halfway to the stairs, completely unaware. She’s all over the place, always moving too fast for her own good.
Typical.
I try to get her attention, but she’s too wrapped up in her conversation—or whatever’s going on in her head—to notice me. I roll my eyes, tempted to just leave her keys there for someone to grab. I mean, I could teach her a lesson about being a little less scatter-brained, right?
But no, I was raised by a mother who drilled the basics of decency into me. “Be kind to others, even when they’re a hot mess,” she’d say. And honestly, Mom would probably love Noelle if she saw the holiday display she has going on or all the others she’s created since she arrived. I can almost hear her gushing about how festive it is.
Fine, I grumble to myself, resigned to doing my good deed for the day. I’ll grab her damn keys, drop them off, and make a quick escape to my apartment. With any luck, she won’t be blasting Jingle Bells on repeat. I’ve got meetings lined up, and I have exactly zero patience for holiday jingles today. If I hear Frosty the Snowman one more time, I might actually lose my shit.
I sigh, muttering a string of curses under my breath as I yank her keys from the mailbox. Clutching them tightly, I start up the stairs, keeping a few steps behind her. Of course, she’s on the phone—talking way too loud, as usual. Doesn’t she realize everyone in a five-mile radius can hear her life story? Apparently, she’s talking to someone named Val, and—wait—asking random guys to kiss her?
“I’ll add that to my dating profile: looking for a good tongue, only respond if you know how to use it,” she says, her voice echoing through the stairwell. I can’t help but smirk. This is too fucking good to ignore. Should I say something? I volunteer as tribute. It’s been a while since I last put my tongue to good use, and I sure as hell know how to use it.
“. . . fuck my mouth—since I’ve never done that either.”
I almost stumble at the words. Did she seriously just say that?
By the time I catch up with her, she’s dropped to her knees, her purse spilling out like she’s on a treasure hunt. And fuck me, she’s on her knees. Right there, in front of me.
