Read Online On Sale for Christmas by Laurel Adams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laurel Adams
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little dreamy myself. "I was thinking that Christmas just came early for me…and that this was the best first date I ever had."
He pulled me closer with a little laugh. "This isn't our first date; I don't have sex on the first date. Our first date was the Sweet Shack."
"That wasn't a date."
"You said this wasn't a date either," he said, twining his fingers with mine. "But it totally is."
It totally was.
"Well, you've proved me wrong about a lot of things…"
Ben's dreamy expression sobered. "How are you so fearless, Becca?"
"What do you mean?" I reached up to unwind the pony tail holder from my hair, then rested my head upon his bare shoulder.
He sighed. "Everything you do. Leaving town for the big city. Stage acting. Your sexuality—what you did tonight…Fucking. Fearless."
I snorted. "I was terrified!"
"You didn't show it. Meanwhile, I was going over every little detail in my head, thinking about everything that could go wrong, making back-up plans for my back-up plans. I was kind of a nervous wreck."
"But you didn't show it either, Ben. Good thing, too. Because I could have never gone through with any of this without you. I let you worry for me. If I was fearless, it was because you let me be. If you'd wavered, I'd have freaked. But you were thoughtful, organized, punctual and prepared—all those boring things I used to count against you." My insides melted a little more when I realized it. "Turns out, it's easier to take a leap from something rock-solid. And you were rock-solid for me, tonight."
He grinned. "I've got something else that's rock-solid for you."
I groaned, my hand instinctively drifting down his body. "You wanna do it again?" I asked, both impressed and alarmed at his recovery rate.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"Oh, it'll be trouble," I promised. "But let's do it somewhere else."
"Brothel chic is losing it's fascination for you already?"
"No, I just want to make one of your fantasies come true…"
~~~
"Shhh!" I said as the wreath jangled on the door, and colorful blinking lights sent a rainbow of festive colors over the snowy porch. "If you keep fumbling with the lock, we're going to get caught."
"We're not breaking in," Ben said, chuckling. "I live here, remember?"
Even though I was giddy enough to giggle, I still warned, "But you're going to wake up your mom! And if your mom catches us, she's going to think I corrupted you."
"Which is totally untrue," he whispered, getting the door open so we could slip inside out of the cold.
"Wait, it's a little true…"
"Nope. I corrupted you , Slick. But if my mom did catch us, she'd probably ask you to stay for breakfast—I'm making pancakes. Tradition."
Tradition . It didn't seem so bad, at the moment. Inhaling the scent of fudge, I saw presents under Ben's family Christmas tree while an angel gleamed from on high.
But I felt anything but angelic.
While Ben's dog, Rusty, wagged his tail and circled us, Ben helped me get my mittens off. Then, testing the lower step of the staircase for squeaks, Ben said, "After you."
Up the stairs we crept to his boyhood room, which was cluttered up with army caps and a footlocker, and lined with a ridiculous number of shiny basketball trophies.
I shook my head. "Such an overachiever!"
"In bed and everywhere else," Ben boasted, shutting the door behind him and locking it. "You're sure this isn't creepy?"
"It's sweet," I said, meaning it in the best possible way. He'd softened me up in a way that cookies, and tinsel, and holiday songs never could. I was feeling the joy of the season of giving, and boy, did I want to give him a present.
Ben took a deep breath, flicked on a dim snowflake lamp by his bedpost next to a random santa hat, then eased back onto the single bed with its camouflage bedspread. "Then allow me to introduce you to the mattress upon which a thousand boyhood Becca Vincent fantasies were dreamed up."
I snickered. "Did you bang Maureen here?"
Ben raised a brow. "What if I
He pulled me closer with a little laugh. "This isn't our first date; I don't have sex on the first date. Our first date was the Sweet Shack."
"That wasn't a date."
"You said this wasn't a date either," he said, twining his fingers with mine. "But it totally is."
It totally was.
"Well, you've proved me wrong about a lot of things…"
Ben's dreamy expression sobered. "How are you so fearless, Becca?"
"What do you mean?" I reached up to unwind the pony tail holder from my hair, then rested my head upon his bare shoulder.
He sighed. "Everything you do. Leaving town for the big city. Stage acting. Your sexuality—what you did tonight…Fucking. Fearless."
I snorted. "I was terrified!"
"You didn't show it. Meanwhile, I was going over every little detail in my head, thinking about everything that could go wrong, making back-up plans for my back-up plans. I was kind of a nervous wreck."
"But you didn't show it either, Ben. Good thing, too. Because I could have never gone through with any of this without you. I let you worry for me. If I was fearless, it was because you let me be. If you'd wavered, I'd have freaked. But you were thoughtful, organized, punctual and prepared—all those boring things I used to count against you." My insides melted a little more when I realized it. "Turns out, it's easier to take a leap from something rock-solid. And you were rock-solid for me, tonight."
He grinned. "I've got something else that's rock-solid for you."
I groaned, my hand instinctively drifting down his body. "You wanna do it again?" I asked, both impressed and alarmed at his recovery rate.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
"Oh, it'll be trouble," I promised. "But let's do it somewhere else."
"Brothel chic is losing it's fascination for you already?"
"No, I just want to make one of your fantasies come true…"
~~~
"Shhh!" I said as the wreath jangled on the door, and colorful blinking lights sent a rainbow of festive colors over the snowy porch. "If you keep fumbling with the lock, we're going to get caught."
"We're not breaking in," Ben said, chuckling. "I live here, remember?"
Even though I was giddy enough to giggle, I still warned, "But you're going to wake up your mom! And if your mom catches us, she's going to think I corrupted you."
"Which is totally untrue," he whispered, getting the door open so we could slip inside out of the cold.
"Wait, it's a little true…"
"Nope. I corrupted you , Slick. But if my mom did catch us, she'd probably ask you to stay for breakfast—I'm making pancakes. Tradition."
Tradition . It didn't seem so bad, at the moment. Inhaling the scent of fudge, I saw presents under Ben's family Christmas tree while an angel gleamed from on high.
But I felt anything but angelic.
While Ben's dog, Rusty, wagged his tail and circled us, Ben helped me get my mittens off. Then, testing the lower step of the staircase for squeaks, Ben said, "After you."
Up the stairs we crept to his boyhood room, which was cluttered up with army caps and a footlocker, and lined with a ridiculous number of shiny basketball trophies.
I shook my head. "Such an overachiever!"
"In bed and everywhere else," Ben boasted, shutting the door behind him and locking it. "You're sure this isn't creepy?"
"It's sweet," I said, meaning it in the best possible way. He'd softened me up in a way that cookies, and tinsel, and holiday songs never could. I was feeling the joy of the season of giving, and boy, did I want to give him a present.
Ben took a deep breath, flicked on a dim snowflake lamp by his bedpost next to a random santa hat, then eased back onto the single bed with its camouflage bedspread. "Then allow me to introduce you to the mattress upon which a thousand boyhood Becca Vincent fantasies were dreamed up."
I snickered. "Did you bang Maureen here?"
Ben raised a brow. "What if I
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