Page 51 of The Hanukkah Hoax
Because it was that damnable grin and set of fingers that had kept Marisa up well past the appointed bedtime Eden had informed her naturally came once one hit their thirties.
Marisa puffed out her cheeks and stared at the man responsible for the first decent orgasms—plural—she’d had in months. It made sense, of course, especially when morning-after-phone-sex Alec was still just as brutally charismatic and charming as the model she’d previously become so well-versed with.
Never in her life had she let loose like that. Never had she wanted to, not with any former boyfriends, at least. Though the notion brought a secret smile to her lips and caused her to bite down on her lower one in homage to the prior night’s festivities, it also brought to mind another fact that was becoming stickier and more of a mess than undercooked ribbon candy.
He wasn’t her boyfriend, but what he’d done last night was undoubtedly a boyfriend thing to do, right down to his whispered words of worship that bestowed every throbbing ache with way more attention than she thought possible through a phone connection.
That man. My God.
Over the past several hours, the quiver in Marisa’s stomach had perfected its gymnastics routine, expertly volleying between imagining what it would feel like if he had actually been against her and he had them both properly naked, and the hollow ache that would torture her if she never got to experience that at all.
Then there was the little matter of how her heart had been feeling, it, too, going through a whiplash routine that had yet to settle on an exit strategy that would see everyone out safely.
Marisa leaned her head back, looking to the sky for answers. When none came, she offered the only appropriate lament for the situation. “Oy.”
But she didn’t want to think about feelings or impropriety, especially not when she caught Alec smiling at her again, always flitting a glance her way to check if she was still right where he left her. She supposed that had something to do with Alec swearing that Hugh had given his double-dewclaw promise not to leave her side again so Alec could speak to Brennan. Marisa hadn’t been privy to all the particulars, but she got the gist that the dog’s manhood may have been threatened.
A cruel tactic but effective, it seemed, as the dog decidedly stayed put.
Around her, the West Meadow strip mall had turned into a beehive of holiday activity. Whatever snow had fallen recently had been cleared, and the walkways had even been dusted of the finer powdery particles that tended to stick around and make the ground unexpectedly slick. Hugh’s double coat must have been doing him a world of good against the nippy air, and the cheerful Christmas music drifting from the building’s outdoor speakers, along with the tiny, yet crucial cup of whipped cream Alec had brought out for him from the coffee shop earlier, kept the dog properly distracted in between spot-checking her well-being.
Which was good. It allowed Marisa a few minutes to finish her blueberry candy cane and sort out what the hell she was going to do with her gingerbread issue. The ingredients for the other treats—peppermint, cocoa, sugar, a few various fruit flavorings—were all simple enough and easy to come by, but the one thing that people online had clamored for the most, and the sole reason they were even interested in checking out her booth at the Ball, was looking like the one thing she wouldn’t be able to deliver.
Perhaps galangal might be an option? Or maybe she could?—
Hugh growled as the shadow of a well-coiffed woman holding a cinnamon roll stretched over his cup of cream, blocking out the remaining good bits at the bottom of the cup.
“Easy, boy. You’re fine.” Marisa scratched his butt the way he liked it and instantly regretted the action the moment she saw the curtain of red hair tumbling out of a fashionable slouchy beanie in riotous waves.
With not a cotton swab’s worth of frizz in sight.
“Hello, Marisa.”
“Phoebe. Um, hi!” Not knowing what the appropriate greeting was for one’s fake boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, who was also her business competitor and a well-known name in the community to boot, Marisa jumped to her feet, abandoning her candy cane and Hugh’s butt, and jutted her formerly itch-scratching hand out in acknowledgment.
Smooth.
Phoebe’s well-lacquered lips curled in amusement. Then she extended the tips of her fingers and gripped the ends of Marisa’s in a cluster before giving the barest shake possible. “So,” she said, breaking off a piece of gooey cinnamon bun and popping it daintily—who the hell ate a cinnamon bun daintily?—into her mouth. “You’ve been very busy on social media, I see. Looks like you’ve got some rather popular options for the Ball.”
“Yup. Sure do.” And that was when Marisa realized two things simultaneously: first, that Phoebe had been paying attention to her competition. Second, and the one that had far more dire implications, Marisa realized in horror, was that she hadn’t checked on anything the Plant Nanny had posted regarding the Ball. Like, at all.
Shit shit shit.
Marisa’s fingers itched to pull out her phone to see just how monumental the scope of her mistake had been, but she couldn’t do that with Phoebe standing there. Instinctively, she glanced at the space in front of the window where Alec had been sitting, but he wasn’t there. Instead, his back was turned to her, and he was pacing in small circles with his phone to his ear, gesturing animatedly.
“What are your plans, if you don’t mind my asking? Since you know what I’m preparing and all, and it’s pretty late in the game to change course or anything.” Oh, the lie tasted like whatever Hugh had just decided to start licking off the walkway. “You speak to Monica at all regarding how your recruitment’s going?”
“Oh, we’re in touch regularly.”
“Really?” Marisa liked that not one bit.
“Of course! Well, I had to be to see whether she could create a promo code for some of the guests I was sending her way.”
Marisa’s thoughts nearly stalled out. “A promo code? How is that fair? I didn’t even know that was an option.”
“There are always perks to volunteering, so why would the couples-only Crystal Christmas Ball be any different?” Phoebe swiped a dollop of icing with her pinky, and Marisa and Hugh both held their breaths, tracking the dangling drop just as her tongue caught it at the last second. The moan that escaped the woman’s lips could have been turned way the hell down. “I know you and Alec have been doing an amazing job at bringing in guests, and quite frankly, you were right. I just wasn’t able to convince the New York contingent of my coupled-up fans to schlep all the way out to Jersey and pay for a two-hour Christmas Eve event. You’ll definitely be beating me on the revenue there.”
There was sincerity, as well as a bit of sadness, in the remark that nearly caught Marisa off guard and caused the tension in her chest to ease ever so slightly.
