Page 22 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas
“Sure,” she agrees. “I’d love to. Luke cooks, but he’s not much into baking.”
He looks over at me with a sigh. “Because cooking can be experimental, and baking is precise. I don’t do well with precise.”
When the movie finishes, Luke stands and stretches his arms above his head, flashing a glimpse of his taut, tanned stomach. His olive skin tone makes him look tan all year round, especially compared to my pale complexion.
Heart skipping at the sight of him, I turn my head slightly. As I do, I catch Jocelyn watching me. When she smirks, I want to melt into the couch.
“The offer is still on the table if you want to stay the night.” She eases up from the chair and shuffles closer to her son. “It’s up to you. I’m going to bed. Merry Christmas Eve.” She has to stand on her tiptoes to get her arms around Luke’s neck. Once she’s pressed a kiss to his cheek, she lowers herself and steps over to me. “And Merry Christmas Eve to you, too, Bertie.” She hugs me, and then she’s gone.
Luke shoves his hands into his pockets, facing me with a thin-lipped smile. “Have you decided what you want to do?”
“What do you want me to do?” I counter.
Shoulders drooping, he sighs. “Nuh-uh. If you want to stay, you have to make the decision.”
I wring my hands, scanning the room, taking in the small Christmas tree. “It feels weird for me to stay…”
“But?” he prompts, a hopeful glint in his eye.
“I… I like the idea of staying,” I say, suddenly hit with the urge to cry. “I really don’t want to be alone on Christmas.”
Taking my hand, he pulls me off the couch and into his arms. As his heart beats a steady rhythm against my ear, I let out a sigh, feeling more content than I think I ever have.
“You’ll stay in my room,” he says, lips brushing the top of my head. “I changed the sheets this morning.”
“No.” I shake my head and pull back. “I don’t want you to have to sleep on the couch.”
“I’ll be all right,” he promises, lacing our fingers together.
Without giving me another moment to argue, he leads me down the hall to his room. It’s clean and smells like him. On one wall, there’s a corkboard full of childhood pictures and small hockey memorabilia. The comforter is a light blue color and looks incredibly soft. Like it’s been washed a million times and is perfectly worn in.
He rifles through the top drawer of his dresser and procures a t-shirt.
Turning, he hands it to me. “This should be comfy enough for you to sleep in.”
I hold it up, relishing the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. It’s a hockey shirt, with his last name on the back and the school crest and his first name on the front right breast area.
I arch a brow, holding it up in front of me. “Plastering your name on me, I see.”
His cheeks pinken. “It’s old.”
“It’s got to be less than almost four years old.”
He wets his lips with his tongue, the move snagging my attention and making my breath catch. “I can find something else.”
I shake my head and pull the shirt into my chest. “No, this is good.”
“I’ll, uh…” He rubs his hands together. “Leave you to it.” He winces at his words. “That sounded weird.” Shaking his head, hesays, “Remote for the TV and fan are beside the bed. If you need anything, just text me.”
I take a step toward him, still clutching the shirt. “I can sleep on the couch. I promise I’ll be okay.”
Looming over me, he scowls. “Not a chance, B. Good night.” His expression smooths out, and his lips part, like maybe he wants to say something else, but instead, he lets himself out of the room and closes the door lightly behind him.
I pull my phone from my pocket and reply to a few texts from friends, then shoot one off to my mom and dad, saying I hope they’re having a good time. Even though I secretly hope they’re miserable, because fuck them.
Finished with my messages, I toss my phone onto Luke’s bed, then carefully undress and fold my clothes. As I tug his shirt over my head, I’m practically drowning in his scent. Is it cologne? Or is it his own unique scent? I wish I knew. Either way, though, I can’t help but be drawn to it.
In search of the bathroom, I ease the bedroom door open. As I’m peering into the hall, the door across from me opens, and steam billows out, practically thick enough to knock me backward.
