Season's Schemings (Cyclones Christmas, #1)

by Katie Bailey

Now, it’s Adam’s turn to look confused. “What ring?” “I found it in your drawer,” I mumble, blinking up at a shiny decorative Christmas bauble suspended above me. “Oh. That’s not for you.”

oh ouch.

“Wait… you’re breaking up with me… so you can propose to someone else??”

oh wow

But now, Adam has Elizabeth, and Elizabeth is going to have a ring, and all I have is some red frosting that is totally the wrong color because Adam mixed it wrong, for frick’s sake.

And so, I do the only thing that a reasonable, sane, mature, twenty-five year old woman who’s just been dumped on national television would do: I reach up, grab the back of his head… and dunk his stupid blind-bat face in the vat of wrong-color-red frosting.

oh I like her.

“Yay, sports. Or something,” I mutter aloud, grabbing a wad of paper towels and blowing my nose, loudly. The sound echoes around the bathroom.

including the little intro about each team where Adam gushed about how much he loved me. Which was false. Because he’d already bought a ring for Elizabeth at that point.

“You do know that unicorns aren’t real, right?” Triple J considers this for a moment as he removes his jersey. “But neither are narwhals.”

lol why am i reading this right after talking about norwals?? that has happened twice in my life.

“Maddie.” I smile. Cute name. Suits her. “So we meet again, Maddie.” I nod in her direction. “And you’re scrubbing your hands again. Please tell me you didn’t commit a murder.” She hops from foot to foot before turning off the faucet and grabbing a hand towel. “Well. Not technically.” “That’s an ominous response if I ever heard one, Maddie. Is that short for Madison? I want to get it right for the police report.”

I’m still confused as all hell, but I have gleaned one thing for certain: I know her from somewhere, but this is no Puck Bunny, nor a former flame. This girl is… funny. In the weirdest good way possible.

She raises a skeptical brow at me. “We are sensitive souls under all our muscle and bruises,” I continue. “Sensitive souls who binge-watch cookie shows. While eating cookie dough.” “To be honest, that just sounds like you have PMS.”

“Oof,” I say, taking another huge spoonful of yogurt. And another. I don’t know what she’s put in here, but I’m not ruling out crack.

I wink at her, then walk to the fridge and load two—actually, make that three—more parfaits into my arms before heading for the door. “It was genuinely wonderful to meet you. Thanks for feeding me.”

By “the bar,” Jax means the uber-cool, industrial-looking bistro downtown where he’s a bartender.

wait, Quit List Jax?

“Binge-watching Collin Farrell movies while you eat Lucky Charms doesn’t make you Irish, dumbass,” he grouches. “I dress up for St. Patrick’s day, too,” Triple J responds, defensive.

lol

I’d like this to not be the last time we get to enjoy the Plumlee cabin for the holidays.” Ahhh. This isn’t just any regular guilt trip call… This is a vengeance call.

lurking in the men’s restroom like a lavatory Gollum and then ran away like a little hobbit?” I sit up to my full height and loom over her. “Hey. Who you calling little?” “You, Slater. ‘Coz the way you ran out of that bathroom, you looked like a frightened little girl.” She tilts her chin up at me in challenge. “I might’ve looked crazy, but you have, like, a foot and a hundred pounds on me. What was I going to do, bludgeon you to death with a toilet plunger?” This girl, I tell you.

She wheezes with laughter and I give her a playful little shove. Her bare shoulder feels soft and warm. Small in my hand. Oh, jeez. I’m at that handsy point of drunk, aren’t I? You know, when you have one too many and suddenly feel the need to invade other peoples’ personal space?

“Ewww, you’re right. Yuck, yuck, yuck.” I flap my hands and grimace. “That’ll teach me for ordering nipples.” “Nipples?” “Don’t say nipples.” “You said it first.” “Yeah, but it sounds obscene coming from your mouth.” Seb considers this for a moment, then nods. “Fair.”

I sputter a few more times. “Sorry, sorry. I think I’m horribly mistaken. Because I’m pretty sure I just heard you say that we should get married.” “Temporarily.” “How drunk are you, exactly?” I demand. “Very,” he replies.

“That was weirdly entirely egotistical and entirely selfless at the same time.”

It’s genius. A foolproof plan for a pair of drunken fools.

“You are a madman. An actual madman.” He clears his throat. “And who, may I ask, is your madwoman bride?”

Not that I should be thinking like that. The last thing I need right now is to find my new wife—who looked strangely alluring in her bedsheet-toga wedding dress last night—attractive. Which is a very weird thought altogether.

“Sebastian, I don’t know the actual term for it, because I am not an expert on marriages that occur overnight. Mostly because THIS IS NOT SOMETHING NORMAL PEOPLE DO!”

Turns out that “harmless” flirting is not so harmless, in that it can net you a brand-new wife.

“Have you talked to her about it in the light of day? Where is this wife of yours, anyway?” Wife of mine. Woah, hearing the words is gonna take some getting used to. “Um, she was still asleep when I left to come here.” At this, Mal stands up, walks over to me, and smacks me upside the head. “Ouch!” I protest. “You left her asleep by herself, in your room, to wake up alone?” My eyes widen as my soggy brain finally clues in.

Any longer and I’m sure we’ll both want to electrocute ourselves with the Christmas lights.” “Sounds like a festive way to go.” I grin. “The festivest.” “Not a word.” “Agree to disagree.”

“Uh, sure,” he says. Though he very obviously means, don’t you have your own room with its own shower you can use, you crazy, topping-covered woman?

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—” Seb starts, but I’m already striding to the bathroom as confidently as one can possibly stride when they look like they should be sprinkled with parmesan and served at an Italian restaurant.

“But that’s my favorite kind,” he protests, now full-blown grinning. “What’s your favorite kind?” “All of the kinds. I like all variations of hanky panky, as you so sexily refer to it.” “Well, dear husband of mine, get used to having no variations of any of it.”

I’ve been married for exactly thirteen hours, and I have already lost all my smoothness.

This makes everyone crack up, which puts me even more at ease. I glance at my new wife with something akin to pride. She’s good at this.

Why does my husband have to be so damn sexy? And why does he have to know it? I can tell that he knows how flustered I am, but he seems to take pity on me, because he simply nods. “See you tonight, Mrs. Slater.”

And the girl's hair. Don't get me started on her hair… it's on the couch, on the rugs, on the hardwood floors. It's like living with a shedding dog.

And sure, I pick up after her, but these little pieces of her, scattered like confetti around my apartment, feel nice and homey.

I’ve decided I quite like my temporary wife. Maybe quite a bit more than “quite” like…

Maddie holds my gaze for a few seconds, smirking. Then, she blows me a kiss, stands up and twirls around to show me that the jersey she’s wearing is, in fact, number 19 and does say Slater on the back. Brat. “Oh, you are in for it later, missy,” I mutter as I shake my head at her. Her eyes are dancing as she looks back at me, delighted by her own joke.

“It’s spotless. Like my bedr-apartment,” I tell her evenly. “Get ready to take notes, missy.” “Nah, I’m just gonna tinker with everything so that it’s all slightly out of place the next time you get in your vehicle.” “You wouldn’t dare!” I reach for her, but she darts around the car and jumps into the passenger side, cackling like a… well, like a madwoman. My madwoman.

Seb gives my hand a little squeeze, as if to reassure me that, yes, I am speaking somewhat coherent English and not pig Latin.

Jake Griswold is scowling like an angry racoon, his tights straining around his gargantuan thighs.

And sure, he may not be the dad of my future kids, but it does make me realize something I want in my next real partner: qualities that’ll make him a good father.

“You look at her like my daddy looks at my mommy. And they’re super happy together. So, I’m going to go with yes. She is lucky to be married to you.”

aww

“You are too much.” But she’s not. She’s exactly the right amount of… everything.

you’ve got an ally in me. A teammate. I want to be there for you. Okay?”

“You can lean on me, Maddie. I promise I’ll help you bear the weight of this.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous to see everyone. Adam and Elizabeth.” “Awh, Mads. Elizabeth ain’t got nothing on you.” “How would you know?” “Instagram, duh. Did some research before coming here.” I blink, surprised that he took the time to do this. “That was… thorough of you.”

“In all seriousness, you can do this, Maddie. I’m here for you. I’ve got your back, no matter what goes down. I’m on your team, remember that. Okay?”

Wow. I mentioned that once, weeks ago. This guy listens.

“Well, I’m bringing a new tradition.” Seb shoots me a cheeky grin. “Voodoo cookies for anyone who upsets my wife.”

I don’t even get a chance to process how simultaneously unhinged and,...