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“Oh,” Nick murmured. “That was Frost flirting? Fucking weird but alright, who am I to judge?”
Nick scoffed. “We were never just friends, Rayne. You were—are—the sun of our solar system.”
“Name it, Rainbow. If it’s mine to give you, I will.”
“I like you, Frost Jackson,” I repeated. He rumbled a sexy sound. “Well, I love you, Rayne Dear. Always have and never stopped.”
“Love me, love my damage.”
“But this is the thing, Firecracker, you can’t close the book on the past until you write the end of that story. The only one who can write the ending is you.”
“Aw it’s cute you think we would spend our Christmas day plowing the road instead of plowing you.
Who the fuck needed three wise men when you could have three well-hung ones instead? Merry Christmas to me, indeed.
