“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it,” I finally say, standing up on the tips of my toes and kissing him lightly.
“Oh, I more than liked it,” he assures me, putting the phone away and pulling me closer. “It just reminded me that we have another couple of days before I’ll get to unwrap my present.” As if to drive the point home, his right hand moves up my body until his index finger tugs at the neckline of my sweater so he can glimpse what’s underneath. “So the picture is from today,” he murmurs, his finger teasing the edge of my lace bra.
I sigh as a wave of goosebumps prickle up all over my body, and then I quickly come to my senses, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing him away. “Behave,” I repeat, my voice low and trembling.
“Fine,” he says, opening my door all the way. “I’ll behave. For now.” He lowers his voice and steps out into the hall. “But when we get back to the city”—his eyes grow intense as they burn into mine, and I shudder—“all bets are off.”
Owen slips out of my room, leaving me stunned as I stare after him, and just before his head disappears from sight through the stair banister, he winks. That cheeky bastard.
I shake off the quiver of desire that rushes through me, and steel my resolve before following him. I find everyone in the kitchen as Dad continues to work on breakfast while Ethan shows him his new Nintendo DS. While they’re busy, I decide to start prepping the turkey for dinner tonight, and by the time I’ve got it in the oven, it’s time for us to sit down to breakfast.
Like every year before this one, Christmas brunch is a feast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast, and, to balance it all out, a fruit salad. Everyone is always so damn full after eating, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing; this way we’re all satiated until dinner, and we’re less likely to snack and ruin our appetites before the turkey is ready.
Over breakfast, I learn that Carla and the kids will be staying over—not sure how I feel about this given my room is across from my dad’s and I remember all too well about his not-so-secret stash of condoms in his nightstand, but I smile because they’re happy, and I’m happy for them.
Plus, I’ve got music on my iPhone as well as my ear buds. I’m ready to drown out…that.
The sleeping arrangements have been decided, and while I’d secretly hoped that Dad would suggest I camp out on the living room floor—possibly right next to the couch where Owen would be sleeping soundly—I already knew that wouldn’t happen. Instead, Hayley will join me in my room (I hope she brought her iPod and ear buds, too) and Ethan will sleep in the living room.
After everyone has finished eating, I offer to clean up. There’s not much for leftovers since Ethan seems to be going through some kind of teenage growth spurt—that, or he actually does have a hollow leg like Carla says.
I put all of the dishes into the sink and fill it with hot, soapy water while I wipe down the counters. Once they’re clean and I start to wash the dishes, a familiar body brushes against my right side, dishtowel in-hand.
“Your dad suggested I come help,” Owen explains, grabbing the first plate from my hand, our fingers brushing and lingering a fraction of a second longer than should be normal. I’m sure no one would even notice if they were here…well, with the exception of Carla, of course.
I don’t know about Owen, but I’m still feeling all warm and tingly from earlier in my room, because every time he casts his stormy eyes my way, my knees threaten to give out and my heart races. And let’s not forget how every brush of his fingers against mine when he takes the dishes from me one at a time renders me momentarily breathless and unable to form a coherent thought.
It’s becoming more and more obvious that we probably shouldn’t be left alone together in this house—not ever—because I’m about three seconds away from pushing him up against the fridge and ripping his clothes off.
Thankfully for the both of us, Owen seems to have far more restraint than I do, and we finish the task at hand without slipping up again.
With the kitchen clean, Owen and I return to the living room where everyone else waits patiently—okay, so Ethan and Hayley, being teenagers, aren’t nearly as patient as Dad and Carla, who look awfully comfortable together on the recliner. Ethan and Hayley are sitting near the tree, their fingers practically twitching to start handing out gifts, which leaves the couch available for Owen and me.
Well, if we’re going to be forced to sit in the same vicinity, who am I to argue?
When given the go-ahead, Ethan and Hayley tear through the stack of presents under the tree, handing them out to each of us and then sitting with their own stack of gifts. Now, most families tear through their gifts all at once, but it’s tradition in the Michaels’ home to have one person go at a time. It’s only fair, and this way everyone gets thanked properly and no one runs the risk of insulting the thought behind the gift.