Ryan (Mallick Brothers #2)(8)

"Jesus Christ. I'm gonna need another of these to deal with you all tonight," I said, going back to the decanters and pouring myself another. I was going to need five of them to deal, to be honest.

My family, while they loved each other, really, really liked torturing one another when they got some kind of dirt on them.

I was the one they just so happened to have dirt on that month. I was praying like fuck Mark got his car keyed by some chick or Eli went batshit crazy again sometime soon so they would lay off me.

Until then, I had to grin and bear it.

That task was made infinitely better when Fee and Hunt came in with three ecstatic girls wanting to know what Santa brought them to Grandma and Grandpa's house.

That was until after dinner when the kids ran off to play with their new stuff, leaving all of us adults a little drunk around the table having coffee.

Then I was a prime target again.

"Seriously, you pull a save-her-life and still haven't gotten anywhere?" Mark asked, smirking.

"Wasn't saving her life to get into her pants, man," I said, reaching for my coffee and taking a long swig.

"No, but it might have been a good segue in that direction," he added with a chuckle.

"What's the problem, Mark, you're not getting enough tail so you have to live vicariously through me?"

"The tail I get is not under discussion right now. We're talking about your lack of tail. Quite frankly, we're..." he started, trying like hell to say it with a straight face and failing epically, "we're worried about you, bro." 

I laughed a little humorlessly at that.

"Just resign yourselves to losing your fifty bucks and move on."

With that, the conversation at least did.

Everyone turned their attention to asking Shane and Lea about grand babies and nieces and nephews, saving me some sanity until at around ten that night, we all finally shuffled out and headed home.

As I walked down my hall toward my apartment, my focus was mostly on Dusty's door, thinking back to the sad, envious way she had looked at me when I had talked about my Christmas with my family. It was something that I was so used to that I didn't even think twice about anymore. All my family gatherings were loud, wild, hectic, overwhelming.

I genuinely couldn't imagine a quiet evening with just one other person.

As I came up to my door, my gaze finally drifted away from her quiet apartment and looked to my own. Good timing too, because otherwise, I might have plowed right into a big rectangular package right outside my door. I reached for it, already half-turning toward Dusty's door, sure it was one of hers, silly Santa-printed paper and all, when I noticed the little gift tag and saw my own name printed there in a delicate, feminine script. My brows drew together as I looked at the 'from', already knowing, but finding the same dainty font with Dusty's name. My eyes went to her door again for a moment before I unlocked my own and went inside.

I flicked on the light and dropped my bag of gifts from my family beside the door, moving to the kitchen island and putting down the gift from Dusty.

I reached for the gift tag again and flipped it open.

Thanks for not letting me die. Also, Merry Christmas! - Dusty.

I didn't even realize I was smiling until my cheeks started to hurt.

I pulled off the tag and put it to the side before I reached for the corner of the paper and pulled, finding that the roll must have been double-sided because inside staring back at me was more santas, just bigger. And when I pulled the paper away, I found red tissue paper carefully taped together in the center. Apparently, Dusty was of the perfectionist variety. Which, somehow, I found charming.

I ripped the tape and pulled the tissue paper away to reveal, of all things, a canvas print.

It was abstract, like most of my art, and like most of my art it was also of a mostly neutral color scheme. There were waves of different shades of tan and brown with the occasional streak of very bright, almost aqua blue.

Even though it wasn't something I would have picked for myself, I genuinely liked it. And it didn't even have anything to do with the fact that it was a gift from someone I, despite it being stupid and fanciful at such an early stage, gave a shit about.

Without really letting myself think it through, I shrugged out of my jacket, walked to my wine cubby above my sink, grabbed a nice bottle of red, a corkscrew, and two glasses in case she didn't have any, then made my way across the hall, tapping on her door in the quietest way possible so it didn't freak her out.

There was a long, long pause followed by some scrambling, the cat shrieking, and footsteps that stopped right in front of the door. The peephole darkened as she, I imagined, looked out, then I heard the slide of the locks and the door opened tentatively.

And there was Dusty... in fucking reindeer-printed pajamas. The pants had tiny little reindeer all over it and the long sleeve tee had one giant reindeer with a red nose front and center.

"Nice pjs," I said, smiling because I couldn't fucking help it.

"I, ah, thanks. What are you doing here?" she blurted, almost in the same breath, the words tripping over each other.

"You're welcome and thank you," I said, giving her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "And I need a glass of wine and I don't want to drink alone," I offered, lying through my teeth seeing as I had plenty to drink earlier and it felt good to be clear-headed and sober again, but wanting any excuse to maybe get inside.



       
         
       
        

"Oh," was her only response at first, her eyes going to my hand.

"Do you drink wine?" I asked, wondering if I should have brought over cookies that Anita left instead. What if she was on medication or some shit like that?

"If it's good," she offered with what I could only call a saucy smile as she took a tentative step back. It wouldn't let me completely in the room, but it was a step in the right direction.

"They wouldn't charge me seventy a bottle if it was swill," I added, holding up the bottle.

She nodded a little tightly at that and went to move again, before completely blocking me again. "Wait. I, um, I need to put Rocky away."

"Why?"

"He doesn't like men."

"Well, I don't like cats so we're even," I said, stepping inward before she found an excuse to keep me out.

"I guess that's fair," she said, letting me step all the way in before closing the door behind me, locking it, then pushing her back against it, watching me anxiously as I looked around her apartment.

It was all white and sage green, not my style, but it was well put together and welcoming. I guess if it was all dark, it would feel all the more like the prison it was to her.

"Nice place," I offered, moving over into her kitchen space that was an exact replica of mine and putting the glasses down. I made quick work of the cork and set the bottle to breathe before looking at her again, finding her a few feet inside the door, but still half the apartment away. "I really like the painting," I told her truthfully.

She gave me a smile then, relieved. "I saw that other one you had delivered and I saw this one and thought it was a similar style."

"Aspen."

"Sorry?"

"The painting I have. That's what it's called."

She nodded at that. "Moody blue," she said, moving to stand at the other side of the island. "That's the one I got you."

I nodded at that, looking over to the small Christmas tree in the corner of her apartment, covered in carefully chosen gold and white ornaments. "How was your Christmas?"

"Quiet. Peaceful. The usual. Yours?"

"Wild. Loud. The usual," I offered, leaving out that a huge topic of conversation had been her. "So, have any cookies to go with this?" I asked and she beamed as she moved into the kitchen, squeezing past me without hesitation to get them out of a plastic container she had on her counter.

"Oatmeal, chocolate chip, chocolate chunk, peanut butter, coconut, and chruscikis."

"What the hell is a chrusciki?" I asked and she put down the container and reached inside for a little bowtie thing covered in powdered sugar. 

"Polish cookies. Deep fried and horrible for you, but the best things ever."

"You had me at horrible for me," I said, deciding against reaching into the container for my own and reaching out to take the one from her hand, my fingers brushing hers in the process. I watched her face, seeing the way her lips parted infinitesimally at the contact before I put the cookie in my mouth.

"Good?" she asked when I started nodding.

"Fuck yeah. I need to give my housekeeper this recipe. Or my mother. Whoever will make them for me more often."

"Anytime I make them I will drop some off outside your door," she suggested, cheeks a little pink and it was right then that I realized she hadn't had her uncle drop off the gift to me like I had just assumed. She had done it herself. She had willingly stepped outside of her apartment. Just to give me a Christmas present.

That sounded a fuckuva lot like progress to me.

"You know, you're free to wait until you know I'm home to drop shit off."

"I don't want to, ah, interrupt anything."

"Like my busy night on the couch answering work emails?" I asked with a smirk.

"No, I meant if maybe you had... company."