Page 39 of Forecheck
Before I knew it, Christmas Eve arrived, and my entire extended family was packed in our basement. Kids played foosball or Mario Kart. Teenagers sprawled across the massive sectional, studiously ignoring everyone in favor of their phones. The adults sat around the poker table, playing endless games of rummy.
When my phone vibrated in my pocket, I didn’t even look to see who was calling before getting up and leaving. I was just glad for the excuse to be free of my uncle’s sexist and racist comments for a while.
Though, when I saw it was Brent, my lips spread into a grin.
“Hey, you,” I said, dropping myself onto a couch in the sunroom.
“Hey, yourself,” he said. “What’re you doing?”
“I was playing cards with my family, but my uncle is kind of an asshole,” I said with a groan. “I’m glad you called and rescued me.”
“Happy to be of service,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“What’re you doing?”
“I just got to my parents’!” he said as a car door slammed in the background. “It’s snowing like crazy here, so my trip from the airport was brutal. I’m about to walk inside, but I wanted to give you a call while I could. The next few days are going to be pretty busy.”
“Aww, well I appreciate the thought. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too,” he said, tone growing softer.
Desperately, I wished he was here, curled up on this couch with me. Hands on my body, mouth on mine, chasing away the winter chill.
“I can’t wait to see you when I get back.”
“God, you have no idea.”
“Soon,” I promised.
Before either of us could say anything else, my dad hollered my name from downstairs.
“My dad is yelling at me to get my ass in the house,” Brent said at the same time. “So I’ll let you go.”
“Okay, babe. Thanks for calling.”
“Babe, huh?”
My cheeks heated. “Sorry. It just felt right.”
Brent chuckled. “I loved it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, good. Merry Christmas, Beej.”
“Merry Christmas, Blondie.”
Smiling stupidly to myself, I rose and turned toward the kitchen for another drink, nearly jumping out of my skin when confronted with my brother. He stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed and jaw clenched, eyes narrowed on me.
“Logan! Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“No one.”
“You called him ‘babe,’” Logan reminded me. “It’s obviously someone important.”
