Never Sleigh Never, page 23
This is truly the superior Christmas treat.
I peel back the tissue paper to reveal a flawlessly decorated Yule log under a plastic dome. My grin hurts my cheeks. Logan. This has Logan written all over it. I tuck the box into my fridge before heading to the festival grounds.
The days leading up to Christmas Eve are always the busiest. All the kids are desperate to get their last-minute wish lists to Santa, parents frantically buying cookies for parties, and me, running around like my life depends on it. Which, career-wise, it sort of does. And I only have two days to prepare. Today is our annual bake sale. Vendors line the pathways with cookies, cakes, pies, bars, and breads. Later this evening, the Crooked Reindeer will host the annual Christmas ham bingo.
When I arrive at the festival, the grounds are already bustling with people wandering from stand to stand.
“Brie! Brie!”
I spin to see Lauren barreling toward me, breath puffing like a steam engine. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me Mr. Coleman is hiding free samples in his pockets again. He’s running out of warnings.”
“No.” She doubles over, catching her breath. “It’s about the budget.”
My stomach nosedives. “Oh no. Please tell me we don’t have another expense. I don’t think I’ll be able to recover from this year.” Scenarios of bills from contractors race through my head. I shouldn’t have strayed from last year’s plans. Then none of this would have happened, and maybe my promotion wouldn’t be in jeopardy.
She shakes her head, grin spreading. “No. An anonymous donation came in this morning. The festival isn’t in the red anymore.”
I blink. “Wait… what?”
“Everything’s paid for. Everything. Plus, there’s enough left to keep the rink open through February. Isn’t it amazing? It’s a Christmas miracle!”
Anonymous donation. Ice rink. Miracle. My breath hitches. “I have to go. You’ve got things covered here?”
Lauren frowns. “Yeah, but—where are you going?”
“Taking care of something.” I sprint through the festival, dodging townsfolk and their “Merry Christmas!” greetings. First the Yule log. Now this. Only one person could have done it.
I jump in my SUV and race across town, breaking a few traffic laws along the way. I need to see him and get confirmation in person. Once I reach his house, I kill the engine and jump out. I jog up the walkway and pound on the door. “Logan!” Bang. Bang. Bang. “Logan!” Bang.
On the fourth knock, the door swings open, and Logan’s standing in front of me, brows furrowed. “Brie. What are you doing here?”
“Did you get me a Yule log?”
His lips curve into a smile. “I did.”
“And the donation?”
“I wanted you to have the festival you deserve—”
That’s all I need. I launch myself at him, hands cupping his face, and crash my lips to his. He catches me instantly, arms banding tight around my waist. With our lips still fused together, I push him through the doorway. Once we’re inside, I kick the door shut and spin us around until his back hits the door.
I pull away a fraction of an inch. “Are you here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I press my lips to his in a lingering kiss. “You didn’t have to do that.” Kiss. “It’s amazing.” Kiss. “So kind.” Kiss. “And thoughtful.” Kiss. “And the most generous thing someone has done for me.”
“It was only a Yule log.” He smirks.
My fingers graze the short hairs at the back of his head as I press my body closer to his. His warmth radiates into me. “No, the donation. Logan…” My throat tightens. “No one’s ever done something like that for me.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, eyes steady on mine. “You deserve the best festival Mount Holly’s ever seen.”
My eyes lock on his, and every day it’s the same truth—falling for him is both the easiest and most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. My lips curve into a smile before I crash them against his. His hands slide inside my jacket, slipping it from my shoulders until it puddles on the floor. I toe off my boots, kicking them aside like they’ve personally offended me.
“I want to show you how much I appreciate you,” I murmur, tugging him toward the living room.
He plants his feet, that infuriating grin tugging at his mouth. “Or we could head upstairs. Just in case my mom makes another surprise visit.”
He’s not wrong. The last one was bad enough. It’s not an encore I need. “Bedroom it is.”
We barely make it up the stairs before I’m tugging at his clothes. His shirt hits the floor. My pulse kicks when my gaze snags on the hard line of him pressing against his gray sweatpants. I hook my thumb under the waistband and shove them down like it’s Christmas morning and he’s the only present I care about.
His cock springs free, thick and heavy. My fingers curl around his shaft, stroking once, twice, loving the way his head drops back as a groan rumbles from his chest.
“Fuck, Snowflake. I love your hands on me.”
A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip, and I swipe my thumb across it, nerves sparking with anticipation. This isn’t new—we’ve had sex before—but the air is different today. Hotter. Sharper. More vulnerable.
His fingers fumble at my jeans, and I help, shimmying out of them along with my underwear. My sweater goes next, then my bra, until I’m bare under the heat of his gaze. His lips part, eyes dragging over every inch of me like I’m the only thing he’ll ever want. Warmth blooms in my chest.
I shove him back onto the bed, climbing over his thighs. “I want you, Logan. So much.” I grind against him, my slickness sliding over his cock.
He groans low and dangerous. “As much as I want you to show your appreciation, I want your sweet pussy first.” His grin sharpens. “Sit on my face.”
My nipples tighten at the command. I crawl up, bracing my hands on the headboard. His palms cup my ass, guiding me exactly where he wants me.
“Grab on, Snowflake,” he growls. “Ride.”
Before my fingers can even curl around the wood, his tongue runs up my pussy. “Oh, fuck.” The words rip out of me. He licks hard, roughing his tongue up my slit. His lips seal around my clit and he sucks until stars burst behind my eye lids. My grip on the headboard tightens, turning my knuckles white as I grind against his mouth. A raging inferno burns in me as he eats me out like a man having his last meal. His finger slides between my cheeks and circles my puckered hole. A gasp escapes me, the surprise sensation sending a shiver down my spine. It’s new and foreign, but I don’t hate it. The pad of his thumb circles the hole teasingly. Adding more pressure. The unexpected touch rockets through me, shattering the last of my control.
“Logan—don’t stop—” My mouth falls open in a gasp. My spine goes rigid as pleasure tears through me in relentless waves. His fingers dig into my ass as he holds me down, licking me through every aftershock until I’m trembling. Once he’s done, he presses his lips to my inner thigh. My chest heaves as I slide down his body.
He kisses me, the slightly sweet but also salty taste of myself lingering on his lips sends another pulse of heat between my legs. Coming from him, it’s kind of a turn-on.
“You’ve ruined me,” I pant. “That orgasm is seared into my brain forever.”
“Good.” His chuckle is wicked. “Means I get to ruin you again and again.”
“Now it’s my turn to ruin you.” I pepper kisses along his jaw, down the column of his neck, and over his chest. My fingers trail over his pecs, and I lick a path down his stomach. His fingers thread through my hair. When I reach his cock, I wrap my fingers around the base, stroking as my tongue circles the crown.
“Fuuuck,” he groans.
I slide my lips over the tip. The bead of pre-cum is salty on my tongue. He bucks his hips, thrusting into my mouth. The tip hits the back of my throat, and I slide back up, lightly dragging my teeth over his soft skin. I peer up at him through my lashes, and he’s resting on an elbow, eyes heated with lust as he concentrates on my lips wrapped around him. Keeping my gaze locked on his, I slide down his cock.
“Fuck. You look perfect with your lips on me.” His hand fists in my hair, guiding me as I take him deeper, moving in tandem with my hand. “Fuck. Just like that.”
I moan around his shaft, his words spurring me to go faster, sucking harder.
He rocks his hips, tunneling his cock in and out of my mouth. “Fuck. Absolutely perfect. Mmm. Fuck. Brooke—”
I freeze.
He does too, realization hitting like a slap.
My heart plummets, heat draining from my body. His wife’s name. He just called me his wife’s name. I release my grip on him and sit up. There’s no way I can pretend he didn’t say it.
“Shit.” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry. It just—slipped.”
“Uh. Yeah. Totally understandable. We’re having a moment. You called me your wife’s name. Perfectly normal.” I ease myself off the bed.
He throws his arms over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I think I should go.”
He jackknifes off the bed. “Please don’t go.”
“I think it’s for the best if I do.” My voice cracks, but I force it steady. With one arm clutched across my chest I bend to snatch my bra off the floor, and I slip the straps over my shoulders with fumbling fingers. Next, I find my jeans and sweater. What was I thinking? He’s not over her. How could he be? She was his wife. The mother of his child. Every time he looks at Josie, he sees her. I’m not competing with a ghost—I’m not competing, period.
Logan yanks the blanket away and crawls to the end of the bed. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he spins me around. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Please. Understand.” The words are a frantic plea, tumbling over each other. “Brie—”
The sound of my name, ragged on his lips, almost undoes me. Almost. My chest aches as I inhale, shaky and hollow. I had reservations about Logan for many reasons, and this is what happens when you don’t trust your gut. “I’ve taken second place in a lot of things in my life, but I won’t be second place in someone’s heart.”
His eyes flash, desperate, pleading. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean it. Please—”
“I get it.” I blink back the tears. “She was your wife. Your everything. You don’t just get over that. And I’m not asking you to. But I can’t be second choice. This was fun.” I wave a hand between us. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” Before he can answer, I wrench free and bolt, practically flying down the stairs. I did the right thing, right? He called me another woman’s name.
By the time I jam my feet into my boots, there’s a loud thump upstairs, followed by frantic footsteps. I fumble with the deadbolt, swing open the door—just as Logan barrels down the stairs, bare-chested, boxer briefs, all muscle and regret.
“Brie! Wait!”
I slam the door before he can reach me. My SUV beeps open, and I dive inside, shoving it into reverse without a warm-up. Out the windshield, Logan stands on his porch, shoulders sagging, heartbreak etched across every line of him.
Two blocks down the road, I veer my SUV toward the curb, and with shaky hands throw it into park. The adrenaline crashes, leaving nothing but ache and angry tears streaking down my cheeks. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I not see this earlier? Why did I even get involved? Why? I was fooling myself to think there could be something between Logan and me. I deserve more. I deserve first place. Not a consolation prize. Not a placeholder. I won’t settle. Not with this. In my gut, I knew I should have stayed away. Logan Crawford is nothing but trouble. Sexy, caring, kind, compassionate, a great kisser, even-better-in-bed kind of trouble. It’s even worse when he holds my heart in his hands and won’t let go.
Back at my house, I’m sprawled out on my living room floor, staring up at a twinkling pink ornament spinning on my Christmas tree. He said his wife’s name. Honestly, I don’t even know if it would sting less if he’d said some random ex’s name… or even a celebrity crush. At least then it wouldn’t mean so much. But his wife? The woman he built a life with, the mother of his child. That’s a whole different kind of pain. Was he thinking of her the entire time we were together? Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh. I’ve never had someone call me the wrong name before, especially while in bed together. It’s a little disorienting. One thing is clear. He’s not over her. How could he be? He was with her for fourteen years. Then one day—gone. Not coming back. I can understand. But that doesn’t make it easier. And I don’t want to be someone’s second choice. Been there, done that, collected all the silver medals along the way. I want to be someone’s first. Not a warm body to pass the time. I want gold. I want first place in someone’s heart. I want to be chosen. And I won’t settle for anything less. As much as I’ve come to enjoy Logan’s company—his smile, his laugh, the way he makes me feel—I can’t keep pretending it’s enough. Because it isn’t.
My phone chimes with an incoming message, jerking me out of my spiral. My heart lurches. Logan? I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen and frown. Instead, it’s a message from Willa.
Willa
Where are you? It’s Christmas ham bingo night.
Brie
Sorry. I’m not feeling the best. I’m going to stay home.
Her reply pings back instantly, but I don’t look. Wallowing is the only thing I want to do tonight. I nudge the ornament with one finger, watching my fractured reflection warp and spin along with the room. It feels fitting—my life, spinning in circles. A month ago, I was on track to land my dream promotion. My favorite Christmas blogger was in town. I was on the verge of falling in love. And now? I’m lying on the living room floor, poking at an ornament while everything unravels. My promotion is slipping through my fingers. I practically stalked a woman for an interview that turned into an exposé on my personal life. I couldn’t get the Santa my boss really wanted and instead had to settle for a second-rate Santa. And the man I let myself fall for is still not over his deceased wife. This is what I get for losing sight of my priorities. I should have focused on the festival, not Logan. Merry freaking Christmas to me.
Twenty-Nine
What Ifs and If Onlys
Logan
By the time I get my shit together and bolt down the stairs, her SUV is already halfway down the driveway. I come to a halt on the porch, the wood planks like ice against my feet, and watch helplessly as she disappears around the corner. A bitter wind slaps against my bare skin. Shit. I’m only wearing boxer briefs. Across the street, Mrs. Smith freezes mid-mail grab. Her hand clutches her chest, eyes going wide as a smile forms on her lips. Mr. Smith hustles out, glances at her and then me, eyes narrowing before tugging her back inside. Nothing they haven’t seen if they saw the underwear ad I did several years ago, minus the erection.
Spinning around, I enter the house, slam the door, and collapse onto the couch. My head drops into my hands, fingers digging into my hair. “Smooth, Crawford. Real smooth.” I don’t know why I said Brooke’s name. I certainly wasn’t thinking about her at that moment. It just slipped out of my mouth. I can’t blame Brie for leaving. I would have done the same, if not worse, if she had called me some other guy’s name. I’ve heard the locker room horror stories—guys who said the wrong name in bed. I laughed. Called them dumbasses. And now? Guess who’s the dumbass.
Lifting my chin, a photo album filled with pictures from Christmas four years ago sits in front of me. The last one with Brooke. Josie asked for a picture of her mom to turn into an ornament. My chest tightens. Maybe I’m not over her. Maybe I’ll never be. Fuck. I don’t know anymore. There will always be a part of my heart that belongs to Brooke. And Brie’s right. She deserves more than I can give her. But at the same time, I don’t want to give her up. She makes me want to try. She makes me believe I can have more than grief and guilt. She’s my Snowflake. My second chance. If she hasn’t given up on me yet, I’ll be damned if I give up on her.
I take the stairs two at a time, dragging on clothes with one hand while jabbing at my phone with the other. Every call to Brie goes straight to voicemail. Each text message unread. Once I’m dressed, I circle her house, but it’s dark. Next, the festival grounds. Nothing. The Crooked Reindeer’s parking lot is overflowing. My pulse spikes. If she’s anywhere, maybe she’s here. I crawl the rows, searching for her SUV. Nothing. I need to find her. Talk to her. Two blocks away I squeeze into a parking spot and jog down the icy sidewalk, my breath clouding in the frigid air. By the time I yank open the door, heat and noise slam into me all at once—laughter, voices raised over the bingo caller, glasses clinking. I scan the crowded room, eyes darting from table to table, searching for a glimpse of her hair, her coat, her smile. Nothing. I shoulder past a couple of regulars and step up to the bar.
Simon spots me immediately, his brows lifting in surprise. “Hey man. I didn’t know you liked Christmas ham bingo.”
I lean in, my throat tight. “I don’t. I’m looking for Brie. Have you seen her?”
Simon shakes his head. “I haven’t. Which is weird, considering her friends are here.” He nods toward a high-top where Willa and Sloane sit.
“Alright, thanks. Also, I know you didn’t ask her out.” I glare at him.
He laughs. “But it served its purpose.”
I shake my head. The move was effective. I’ll give him that. I push away and weave through the crowd until I reach them. “Where’s Brie?” The words rip out sharper than intended.
Both women whip around like I’ve just suggested Santa was overrated.
“She’s at home,” Sloane says cautiously.
