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he’s wearing a white V-neck t-shirt one size too small that achieves the intended effect of showing off every single one of his stupidly perfect washboard abs,
Alex, who probably weighs 110 pounds soaking wet, cocks his head at me. For someone who looks perpetually eighteen and has a mop of blonde hair like an angel—or maybe a pixie,
he’s relentless when it comes to prying into his friends’ lives. Or, as he calls it, caring.
“I’ve never understood your attraction to moody dickwads.” I shrug, taking a bite of my dinner to stall. They’re fun to unravel, I think to myself.
Honestly, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. I can’t see Dixon being tender. The man is like a giant block of granite, cold and unyielding.
crap?” “You like him,” Mat says, sounding so serious all of a sudden that it throws me. “What?”
It’s a ridiculous trait of mine, that I like trying to cozy up to cold men. But it’s fun. It keeps me on my toes, and it’s oh-so-satisfying when they finally thaw.
I want to teach him a lesson. I want to hear him fall apart. I want to show him I can do this, that I’m not this cold, hard person who’s incapable of expressing emotions and feelings, that I’m not unavailable.
mattress, kissing him again because I need to. No, not need to. Because I’m supposed to.
“Just me,” I confirm, swooping down to kiss her cheek. “Your daughter is awake.” “As long as she isn’t screaming, she can stay right where she is. How was your day?” she asks, setting down her device.
I chuckle. “If I ever don’t show up, send out a search party, please.” “I know you’re joking, but I might do just that. You’re our most loyal customer,” she says, punching in my order and swiveling the card reader my way.
take a sip of my hazelnut latte—fucking delicious—and head for home.
I’ve done a lot of things. Racy things, including group sex and double penetration. Not BDSM because we don’t dabble in that at Elite 8. But when it comes to everything else, I’ve probably seen or done it. But I’ve never, not even in my personal life, taken a goddamn bath with someone.
All right, so clearly most of my arguments against the man are thin at best, but there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way.
“This is, by far, the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life,” I complain as Niko lowers his buck-ass naked body in front of me. I try not to let my gaze get lost in his ass cheeks, but it’s a hard-fought battle.
Elina snickers again, mouthing, “Messy.”
wreaking
“You won’t regret this, Grumpy Bear.” “I already regret this,” I mutter.
Oh, holy crap. Is this my first fan?
The man may be more prickly and guarded than a porcupine, but I’ll win him over yet. In fact, I’ll get another chance tonight at Friendsgiving.
who doesn’t love pumpkin pie?
Niko himself is sitting in front of the tree, his face lit by the twinkling strands.
These scenes we’ve been playing, this boyfriend act, it doesn’t feel like an act at all.
He’s in all white tonight, his pants matching the long-sleeved top that’s undone
If, instead of chipping away at Dixon until he cracked, I was only revealing more and more of the man to myself, until I was the one feeling smacked upside the head, not knowing what hit him.
can’t help but agree that Dixon’s concern over his friend seems entirely appropriate.
“Mat, peaches, baby doll, little light of mine, you know I hate the guy. Why would this possibly be a date?”
our inflatable sumo wrestling guide
“This is, by far, the worst thing I have ever done,” Dixon grumbles, making me laugh.
“Oh, God,” Alex says, clutching his chest. “You think Grumpy Bear is adorable. This is too perfect for words.”
Everything is back to normal. Or, should I say, BN. Before Niko.
“You’re not talking. Did I break you?” “This is—” “By far the worst thing you’ve ever done?” he finishes for me, grinning when I scowl.
“I’m wooing you, Dixon,” he says with all the casual confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants and goes after it, unaware of the chain reaction his words are setting off in my body and my mind.
“All right, princess,” I tease. I did always like playing with princesses.
“Oh, no. Definitely not your face. Not the grumpy bear I know. That was Happy Bear. Or maybe Dopey Bear,” Alex says like he’s giving it serious consideration.
My grumpy bear really is a softy underneath it all.
When we pull up to Mamá’s sizable house an hour later, he’s hard as a rock. And not in the fun way. I
Not just the hideous sweater that mismatches with the rest of ours, but the fact that we gather together in front of the tree to take a picture. This year’s family Christmas photo. Dixon
Somehow, I found the very thing I’d been longing for. Not just the family, not just Christmas in this household full of laughter and love, but Niko.
I guess there are no losers in competitive sex.
