Page 20 of Perfectly Complicated
She stares at me, her eyes widening. “You’ll go?”
“I guess. As long as it has nothing to do with our bet, okay?”
“What bet?” We both turn to find Brax emerging from the kitchen with a plate of lasagna, appearing slightly more human now that he has food.
“It’s nothing,” Janie says.
“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Brax says, taking a bite of lasagna.
“I need to make him like Christmas by the night of the pageant,” Janie says.
Brax’s eyebrows shoot up. “And if you can’t?”
“Then she goes on a date with me,” I say. “To a hockey game. Wearing my jersey.”
Brax starts laughing.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“Nothing. Just that the whole team is going to be placing bets on this one.”
“It’s not funny,” I protest.
He points his fork at me. “I can’t wait to see you scaring small children away.”
“Laugh any louder and you’re going to wake Rosie,” I complain, glancing down at his daughter. Brax doesn’t seem to care—he’s more interested in watching this Christmas bet blow up in my face.
“This is going to be the best Christmas program ever,” Brax says, then takes another bite.
Janie turns to head for the door, glancing one more time over her shoulder. “So. Christmas festival tomorrow?”
“Unless I change my mind.”
“You won’t,” she says. “Because you need to do it for your role. See you at four.”
“Wait.” I blink. “Did you say four o’clock?”
“In the morning,” she says cheerfully. “Bright and early.” Then she hurries out the door before I can cancel on her.
I’m regretting this already. The pageant. The bet. Sleeping on a couch while a baby wails upstairs.
Brax shakes his head, still grinning as he slaps me on the shoulder.
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing, man. It’s just going to beinteresting—you’re allergic to Christmas while she practically bleeds tinsel.” He chuckles. “Plus, you’ve had a thing for her since you two danced together. Should make losing this bet a little less painful.”
I look down at Rosie, who’s still blissfully sleeping in my arms.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
SEVEN
Rourke
The couch at Rose & Thorn is approximately three feet too short for my body. I know this because I’ve been awake most of the night staring at the ceiling, with my legs hanging over the armrest and my neck twisted at an angle that would make a chiropractor weep.
After getting baby Rosie to sleep last night, I felt like I could do anything. Survive the pageant without letting Christmas get under my skin. Make Janie see that hockey isn’t boring. Win the bet. And maybe—this is the dangerous part—convince her I’m not the grinch she thinks I am.
