Page 66 of Not Your Average Vixen
“Be careful! You’ll get crumbs everywhere!” came a familiar, irritable warning.
She shot up and immediately regretted the move as the pounding intensified. Cradling her head in her hands, she brushed back her bangs and cracked open her eyes.
“Good afternoon, Birdie,” purred the last person in the entire world she wanted to see moments after waking with bed head and morning breath.
But, of course, there was no escaping Soren “Scooter” Traeger Rudolph.
She tried to orient herself. Her memories of last night were foggy at best. What was the last thing she remembered? She racked her brain, but all she got was a jumble of disjointed images like a half-completed puzzle. She wasn’t even sure she was awake. This could be another dream.
“It’s afternoon? And what are you doing here?” she replied with raspy morning, or in this case, afternoon voice.
“We’re sharing a room,” he replied without an ounce of emotion.
A room? The last clear memory she’d had was the two of them leaving the mountain house.
She looked around wildly. “Where are we?”
“Where else? The place on Kringle mountain.”
“When did we get here?” she pressed as the sleep haze lifted.
Soren paced across the room. “I brought you back last night. You weren’t feeling well.”
She shook her head, hoping the pieces of last night would fall into place. But it didn’t work. She glanced around to assess the situation.
She was in bed, and Soren was with her.
Oh no!
Did she sleep with him again?
She scrambled to pull the covers over her body in a flash of misplaced modesty.
“You’re wearing pajamas, Bridget. You don’t have to do that,” he said, all trademark dark and moody.
She glanced down at her Christmas pajamas, covered in prancing reindeer and smiling Santas. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Welp, Soren got the whole package today: bed head, bad breath, and a ridiculous sleep-set. She glanced at the red-nosed reindeer on her left boob. These pajamas looked like something a toddler would wear.
And hello, holiday pajama fail—so much for being not the average vixen!
“For your information, I bought these pajamas for the trip as a joke,” she said, going for indignant.
Soren cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s your story?”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t remember much of anything that happened last night.” She ran her hands through her tangle of dark hair as snippets from the evening flashed in a confusing cluster of events. “We made cookies, and then there were Santas, and fairies, and cake? Is that right? And what happened at the spaghetti dinner?”
Soren started to speak, but she raised her hand and stopped him.
“You said it’s afternoon, right?”
“Yes,” he answered, raising an eyebrow.
Dammit! With all the wedding prep still left to do, she didn’t have a second to lose!
She sprang out of bed, another poor choice, especially with the sheet wrapped around her leg. Wobbling forward, she put out her hands to break her fall when Soren caught her.
“You need to slow down and eat something with a modicum of nutrition.” He helped her stand, then lifted the lid off a plate revealing scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. And next to it, a giant glass of orange juice.
