How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

by Meghan Quinn

If it were me writing this story, I would have given it at least a week of built-up tension and anticipation. Seems like the person in charge doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing.

She questions. She challenges. She drives me fucking mad.

This is exactly what I’m talking about. She gets under my skin, and she knows exactly how to do it.

I’m getting sucked in again. This is what she does—pulls me in with conversation, challenges, and questions, and before I know it, I’m ready to fly off the deep end with irritation.

The grip of his palm over mine, the feel of his calloused hand against my skin . . . it’s . . . it’s, ugh it’s annoyingly comforting. It feels right. It feels like I should always be holding his hand.

“I hate you.” “Feeling is mutual . . . babe.”

“If you allow fear to take over your actions, then you’re never going to accomplish anything.”

I saw her tear-stained face, well . . . fuck, it made me drop the animosity, the pent-up anger, and all I wanted to do was help. Protect. Make sure she wasn’t scared. Make sure she was okay. I went into helping mode.

No, thank you, Storee, for coming back, for caring, for helping me smile again.

“I think you secretly like having me around.” Probably more than you realize . . .

“Being with her. It feels so right, Max. Like she was supposed to be mine all along. All those times we sat on the porch together and talked about mindless things, it’s all led to this point, and I just wish, back then, that I had the balls to tell her I liked her.”

my mind on one thing and one thing alone. It’s not the competition. Or the fact that I’m in second. Nope, it’s the man who has no problem looking straight into my soul with those mesmerizing eyes.

“I love you, Cole. These feelings I have for you are unmistakable. It’s as if whenever I see you, the air in my lungs is refreshed, my pulse is revived, and my soul feels at peace. I don’t want to lose that . . . ever.”