Page 106 of The Nightmare Before Kissmas
My eyes snap shut.
I put my phone to my forehead, and breathe, deep, deep breaths, because that’s all my body needs. Just air. That’s all it’s going to get right now so it’d better learn to be okay with it real quick.
“Coal?” Iris asks. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Yep. Definitely.”
I send off one last text and holster my phone.
you play a dangerous game. just remember: you started this
His buzzes in his pocket but he doesn’t look at it. He smirks at me, that shitty grin he’s skillfully suppressing, a spark in his eyes like fire, like heat.
The court disperses, and even the reporters hurry off, seemingly so cold they don’t notice that Iris, Hex, and I linger. Mental note: paparazzi can be dissuaded by extreme temperatures. I might break the palace’s thermostat just to fuck with them.
Then it’s just us three, and I did come down this way for a reason, didn’t I? What the fuck was I doing down here.
Ah, Route Planners, yeah.
Having Iris and Hex with me could be a good cover—look, I wasgiving them a tour of one of our great hubs, norealtrade secrets, just friendly inter-Holiday bonding.
“You both. Come with me to the Route Planners?”
Iris and Hex give me almost identical looks of confusion.
But Hex nods. “All right. Why?”
My gaze shifts to Iris. Kris and I haven’t told her what we’re doing. Not yet. Even though this will eventually help Easter, I know now that it’s bad enough that Hex knows as much as he does about what would more or less be me usurping my dad’s plans.
“I… to check it out,” I say, dumbly.
Her eyes narrow. “Coal.”
“I swear, I’ll explain everything when I can. Plausible deniability and all that.”
She sighs. “Fine. To… the Route Planners?” She sighs again. “Christmas, always so magical.”
I lead the way, cutting down another hall, and Hex shivers again.
We’re alone now. Mostly. Except for Iris and anyone who might pop out of these rooms we’re passing.
I can’t stop myself. I loop my arm around his waist and press my body into him as we walk, scrubbing my hand up and down his side.
He leans into me with a guttural moan of relief. “Thank you.”
My body sparks at that moan of his, but I shove my way past that reaction. “Oh, don’t thank me yet. Like ninety percent of my brain is spiraling out over your texts and I’m trying to figure out how to get you back.”
“Get me back?”
“I almost collapsed in the hall. Just full-on dropped right to my knees.”
His eyes cut to mine. A quick, amused flash.
Then he says, “On your knees?” and it’s so innuendo-heavy that my grin goes satanic.
“There will be another Christmas event,” I promise him. “There will be another useless fucking PR stunt. And I’m going to text you something fantastically raunchy right in the middle of it so I’m the only one who knows you’re coming apart in a crowd full of people.”
He clears his throat.
