Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“I love having my boy here so much.”
“I swear Malik is your favorite,” Kayla teased.
“Right?” Zuri added.
“Stop being a hater. Mama can’t help it that I’m that good,” I replied just before I was tackled by my sisters and my mom, the four of them laughing and trying to get the best of me. This was what life was all about right here. I couldn’t help but wonder what Patrick was doing with his family. Did they laugh together and play around together the way we did? Unfortunately, I knew the answer to that, which just made my muscles tense up.
“What’s up with you? You seem like you have a lot on your mind.” Savanna nudged me while we cleaned up the mess from all of the packages.
“Nothin’. I’m good. Just glad to be home with y’all.”
“Aww, we love you, brother.”
I’d told Kayla that I was bi last Christmas and my mom today, so when Zuri stepped up, too, I said, “It was a guy…yesterday. That’s where I went.”
They smiled at me, not even missing a beat. “Is he hot?” Zuri asked.
“So fucking hot.” I wanted to tell them who he was, tell all of them, but I couldn’t do that without Patrick’s permission. And let’s not forget my ass was getting way ahead of myself. But if this turned into something, at least I’d laid the groundwork.
Savanna added, “Good for you. I’m pretty sexually fluid, too. I once had this threesome—”
“Oh my god! Stop!” I put a hand over her mouth. “You’re my little sister. I don’t want to hear that shit from you.”
Zuri laughed, and it was just another part of a perfect day.
Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick the whole time and hoping he wasn’t pissed at me for what I’d done.
15
WHITT
As I pulled into my driveway after spending Christmas Day with my parents in Brentwood, I was looking forward to popping a couple of Advil and crashing into my bed. The massages my mom and I had gotten together had involved cupping, and it’d felt like the lady was trying to suck my organs out through my back.
Instead, I nearly crashed my Audi, slamming on the brakes as the gate to my property shut behind me. There were lights fucking everywhere. Hundreds of them strung from what seemed like every bit of manicured foliage on my property, like a team of elves had collectively vomited Christmas all over my yard.
It was ridiculous; it was gorgeous.
I stepped out of the car, then leaned back inside to turn it off before approaching the sidewalk and standing there, taking it all in.
The colorful lights danced over the leaves and lawn, painting them in splashes of color that shifted every second. My folks and I had spent Christmas once at Disneyland when I was a kid, and I’d never thought something could rival the sheer volume of Christmas spirit per square inch, but this did. The twinkling lights had a hypnotic effect, and I watched them for a while before my brain caught up and started asking questions. Who? Why? Even as the questions arose, a sneaking suspicion bloomed in my stomach, solidifying when I spotted the stockings on the door. I shook my head, trying to bite back a grin as I approached, noting the cheesy Santa’s mailbox next to the front door.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered, examining the initials on the stockings—where the hell had he gotten all of this stuff? And when?
I flipped the mailbox open out of curiosity, thinking it was just a prop. But no, there inside was a folded note, Malik’s scrawled words in dark ink.
I probably stared at his message the longest of all.
For a split second, fury filled me. How fucking dare he do this? And it wasn’t because he’d trespassed on my property or violated my privacy. It was because of the warm feeling inside me, like thawing in front of a fire after being stuck playing in the freezing cold, had nowhere to fucking go. Tucker and I weren’t anything, and we never could be. So why the fuck would he do something like this?
I shouldn’t even acknowledge it, and I resolved to do just that.
That resolve lasted about an hour, but those damn lights flashed in every window of the house, reminding me of their presence, reminding me of Tucker. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, bathed in their glow, then said fuck it and poured a tiny glass of whiskey and picked up my phone.
“Hey.” Tucker’s voice was thick with sleep and all the sexier for it. I suddenly forgot what I was going to say and reverted to the obvious, the words almost catching in my throat.
“You flew out here.”
“Yeah.”
“You decorated my house with Christmas lights.”
“Other decorations, too. The stockings were a cute addition. They have our initials on them.” He sounded pleased with himself, but instead of matching it with gratitude like I knew I should have, or even just a laugh and a joke like we often did, I stumbled.