Page 1 of Party Crasher
1
JOSIE
This year,I'm officially saying, fa la la fuck the obligations. I adjust the crooked naughty or nice sign on the fireplace mantel and step back to admire my handiwork. The cabin glows with twinkling lights, and for the first time in months, my shoulders actually relax. Being out here is nice for the record… definitely nice.
This year, I've decided that being happy is a choice. I'm ready to have myself a merry little Christmas, no matter what. That means escaping to my family's cabin all alone. No work obligations. None of my sister's mid-divorce chaos dragging me into family court hearings and custody battles.
Growing up, I had a front row seat to our parents' divorce. Katie was too young to remember much of it. But I saw enough to know I never want one. Maybe that's why I threw myself so completely into work and everyone else's problems. When you're busy fixing other people's lives, you don't have time to mess up your own.
But as it turns out, there's a difference between avoiding disaster and actually living. Sure, I don’t have a divorce on myhands, but I also don’t have any past loves of my life. I went too hard and somehow got left behind.
Katie was all wide-eyed excitement and open heart. But I put my head down and worked myself right into being the girl that no one chooses. Yet I’ve had so much time picking up other people's pieces, that it’s all I could do to slip away to the cabin for a blissful week before Christmas.
Out here, it's just me, my Charlie Brown Christmas tree, and the mountain of snow falling peacefully outside. These halls are officially decked, and I'm here for it.
That’s exactly why the sound of knocking on my front door shocks me. I pause with my mug of hot chocolate halfway to my lips.Who in their right mind would be out in weather like this?When I pull the old oak door open, my breath catches in my throat. “Cade?”
I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not having some kind of Christmas fever dream. The last thing I expect to find on my doorstep during a blizzard is six feet and three inches of smoldering muscle.
“Jesus, Josie. Thank God you're here.” He looks me up and down. His mouth curls into a cocky smile, and he runs a hand through his dark hair. The man is trouble wrapped in a designer coat that probably costs more than my monthly mortgage.
I blink again, but Cade McAllister still stands on my doorstep like some sort of snow-dusted grinch. His hair whips in the wind. My breath catches. Those pooling, dark eyes that have graced magazine covers look decidedly less charming than usual. His jaw is clenched tight, and if looks could kill, the snowflakes would turn to ash mid-air. Cade reaches a hand out and brushes a snowflake off my shoulder. Sparks of heat whip through me at his touch. He’s real, alright.
I’m still frozen and processing the sight of Deadwood's most famous export standing on my front porch. "Cade? What are you?—"
"My car slid into the ditch about a mile back. Roads are completely blocked. Can’t even get most of the doors open." His voice is gravelly and rougher than I remember. He shifts his duffel bag, snow melting off his shoulders onto my doormat. “The roads are completely blocked. I tried calling Creed, but the jackass never answers his phone. You know how he is. I was hoping to make it to his place tonight, or at least to his shop, but this storm came out of nowhere.”
“Creed’s shop isn’t even open today. Everything in Deadwood is shut down for the storm.”
He hesitates for a moment. I catch something vulnerable flicker across his features before the mask slips back into place. “Yeah, I got that.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “That’s why I’m staying here.”
Then he pushes in past me.
“Great, yeah, why not?” I mumble to myself. I stand shell-shocked for a moment, then close the door behind him.
He glances around the space, taking in the twinkling lights and my modest decorations. “There’s a lot of Christmas going on in here.”
The audacity shouldn't surprise me. This is vintage Cade McAllister behavior. He brings in the scent of winter air and expensive cologne with him. The cabin feels even smaller than usual with him in it.
The sudden silence after the howling wind makes my ears ring. I'm hyperaware of his breathing, the drip of melting snow from his boots, and the way the fire crackles in response to the draft we've just shut out. Cade has always been larger than life in our town. But his barging into my peaceful holiday retreat and going full Grinch is a bit much, even for him.
Growing up, Cade was a big fish in a small pond. He always had the skill for football, but he never took life too seriously. Cade got by on charm and didn’t have the grades for the scholarships he could have earned. Everyone thought he’d thrown away his shot when he left Deadwood right after high school to spend the summer working at Kingridge Ranch in the middle of nowhere, Texas.
But as it turns out, there was no holding Cade back. Imagine the collective shock in Deadwood when he showed up just a year later in the starting lineup of the Southern Knights professional football team. Turns out he’s a big fish on the world stage, too.
Since then, it feels impossible not to see him. He’s a small-town hero. A larger-than-life superstar who shows up across every social media platform with a string of models and influencers on his arm. And now somehow, despite having his pick of ski chalets in Aspen or beach houses in Malibu, he's crashed my merry little Christmas party for one.
Cade’s broad shoulders fill the entryway. His presence sucks up all the oxygen in the cabin. I'm acutely aware of every inch of space between us. My pulse kicks up a notch.
"You can hang your coat there." I gesture to the hooks by the door, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart is doing gymnastics in my chest. "I'll get you something to drink."
"Thanks." He shrugs out of his coat, revealing a fitted black sweater. It does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that professional football has been very, very good to him. Every muscle is defined beneath the soft fabric. I have to force myself to look away.
Keep it cool, Josie. You're just surprised, that's all. This is the same kid who played Shrek in your high school musical ten years ago. No big deal.But even as I give myself the pep talk, it's impossible to miss the way the denim of his jeans strains to contain the muscles on his backside.
“I remembered this place from high school. Your sister used to throw parties out here, if I remember correctly. Anyway, it’s the only thing within walking distance. I was going to come in either way. Thought I’d have to bust out a window. But you’ve already got the place warmed up for me…” He looks at himself in the wood-framed mirror at the entry. "Lucky for both of us you were here.”
“For both of us?”
