Reindeer Games
Page 15
And then we lay in the pillows, breathing hard.
Later, when we’d relaxed, we lay in front of the nearly-dead fire, the cushions scattered everywhere. There were marshmallows and graham crackers all over the floor, but neither of us cared.
I twined my fingers with his. “So…that had potential,” I told him in a sly voice.
“Just potential, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, and ruined it with a giggle.
He leaned down and licked my collarbone. “I bet my potential is bigger than yours.”
“I think I need proof,” I told him, sliding my body against his.
“You’re on.”
~~ * * * ~~
At some point, it got too cold in the living room and so we retreated back to Owen’s room. We squeezed both of our bodies into his small twin bed, and if it meant I slept pressed up against his rock-hard chest all night? I wasn’t complaining. I slept like a baby.
The sound of a vacuum running downstairs woke me up.
I yawned, pushing my tousled hair out of my face and peered around.
I…was still sleeping on Owen’s bare chest. Who the heck was downstairs with a vacuum?
“Owen,” I murmured, tweaking one of his nipples to wake him up.
“Mmmm.” He grabbed my ass and began to drag me over his already-impressively-erect cock. “I like the way you think.”
“No!” I scolded, squirming out of his grasp. “There’s someone downstairs running a vacuum. Do you hear it?”
He jerked up so fast that his forehead almost smacked mine. Owen frowned and glanced around, then slid out of bed. “Wait here. I’ll see if it’s a burglar.”
Owen ran out of the room.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my panties and Owen’s cupcake shop shirt. “If it was a burglar, why would they vacuum?” I muttered to myself, but there was no one to hear my awesome powers of deduction. So I went downstairs.
It was Kitty and a few other crew members. Kitty was talking to Owen, their heads bent together. Another assistant ran the vacuum over the messy carpet we’d left from last night’s make-out session.
Frowning, I went down the stairs and headed toward them. “What’s going on?”
“Oh!” She gazed at bare-chested Owen and then at me, pants-less. “Um, good news. Shooting wrapped early.”
“It did?” I was surprised to hear that. “But I thought we had…” I counted on my fingers. “We’re still a week out from Christmas.”
“I know,” she said, beaming. “But like I said, the producers wanted to do some crazy stuff this time because it’s a holiday season filler, and with the final five and a couple of double eliminations, we’re wrapping up now. I’m taking you guys to the airport in about two hours, so go ahead and pack up.”
“Oh.” I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking. “Um, so who won?”
“It’s a secret,” she said, and winked at me. “I can’t say.”
I didn’t much care, to be honest. I was just making conversation. I looked at Owen, not sure what to do. We’d just made love last night, and it had been wonderful. What now?
Would he tell me that he wanted to stay here with me a bit longer? Make plans to spend time together?
“Well,” Owen said, and rubbed his head. “I guess I should pack up.”
Chapter Six
This is the part where I need a Christmas miracle. You sure we can’t stay another week or two? No? Just until the New Year? – Owen MacIntosh, to Kitty
~~ * * * ~~
I masked my hurt at Owen’s indifference all the way to the airport, my bag clutched to my chest. Kitty kept a constant stream of conversation going. Wouldn’t we be glad to get out of all this snow? Did Boston have as much snow as Alaska? What about San Diego, where Owen was from? Would he be excited to get back home? Were they excited about seeing the TV show?
I wasn’t excited about that prospect at all.
I chewed on my lip as Luna dropped us off at the airport. I looked at my airline ticket. “I’m gate B-34 to Boston,” I told Owen.
He held up his ticket with a faint smile. “B-22 to San Diego.”
“I guess we should part here, then,” I said. I felt so…weird. Sad, but resigned. “It was nice to spend my time at the Loser Lodge with you.”
He gave me an awkward smile. “You too.”
I waved and turned away.
Someone grabbed me by the purse strap, and I jerked to a halt. I turned around, and Owen’s hand had my strap.
Then he pulled me close and dragged me into another hot, breathless kiss that sucked all of the air out of my lungs and filled me with longing.
When he released me, he whispered against my mouth. “Just thought I’d leave you with proof that I’m a better kisser.”
I giggled.
He touched my cheek and smiled. “Bye, Luna.”
“Bye, Owen,” I whispered back.
And then we parted.
I was proud of myself. I made it onto the plane before I broke down into blubbery tears.
~~ * * * ~~
Christmas Eve was kind of lame when you didn’t celebrate anything. I fidgeted in my chair, my laptop perched atop my legs. I couldn’t go to the coffee-shop tonight, not with it being a holiday, so I was forced to work at home. Nearby, my mother knitted a hat and watched a re-run of I Love Lucy.
We were so stinking boring.
I was lonely, too. And sad. It was weird, but that cabin in the middle of nowhere with Owen had felt more homey and cozy than being at home with my mother. I thought of the Christmas tree we’d put up, decorated with the world’s longest Christmas garlands, and smiled to myself. Neither one of us had wanted to concede to the other, so we’d ended up making chains over a hundred feet long, and then laughed ourselves silly when we realized how long it took to wrap around the tree.
I’d have loved to spend Christmas Eve curled up in front of the fire with Owen, drinking hot cocoa, eating his delicious cookies, and then fucking like bunnies. Instead, I was home. Home with my mother, because she’d struggled with being alone after my father died, and I’d moved back in…and stayed. I sighed.
“You’re moping,” my mother said, not looking up from her hat.
“I’m not,” I protested. “I don’t mope.”
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in five minutes,” my mother said. “I recognize a mope when I see one.”
I glared at my laptop screen. My working draft of TERMITE 3: IT SLAYED UPON A CHRISTMAS EVE was open. I typed in, “Sugarman walks in. His mom is knitting a hat. She gives him an annoyed look.”
Then, I deleted all of it. It was crap. Owen would know what the scene needed. His ideas were always great. Mine alone? Sucked.
“Luna Marie Collins, don’t sit there and tell me you’re not moping. What’s wrong?”
I sighed and picked at one of the loose threads on the arm of the couch. “Nothing.”
“Is it because you lost at the game?”
“It wasn’t just any game,” I muttered. Count on my mother to make me feel like I was five instead of twenty nine. “It was Endurance Island. And I didn’t just lose, I came in last place.”
Later, when we’d relaxed, we lay in front of the nearly-dead fire, the cushions scattered everywhere. There were marshmallows and graham crackers all over the floor, but neither of us cared.
I twined my fingers with his. “So…that had potential,” I told him in a sly voice.
“Just potential, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, and ruined it with a giggle.
He leaned down and licked my collarbone. “I bet my potential is bigger than yours.”
“I think I need proof,” I told him, sliding my body against his.
“You’re on.”
~~ * * * ~~
At some point, it got too cold in the living room and so we retreated back to Owen’s room. We squeezed both of our bodies into his small twin bed, and if it meant I slept pressed up against his rock-hard chest all night? I wasn’t complaining. I slept like a baby.
The sound of a vacuum running downstairs woke me up.
I yawned, pushing my tousled hair out of my face and peered around.
I…was still sleeping on Owen’s bare chest. Who the heck was downstairs with a vacuum?
“Owen,” I murmured, tweaking one of his nipples to wake him up.
“Mmmm.” He grabbed my ass and began to drag me over his already-impressively-erect cock. “I like the way you think.”
“No!” I scolded, squirming out of his grasp. “There’s someone downstairs running a vacuum. Do you hear it?”
He jerked up so fast that his forehead almost smacked mine. Owen frowned and glanced around, then slid out of bed. “Wait here. I’ll see if it’s a burglar.”
Owen ran out of the room.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my panties and Owen’s cupcake shop shirt. “If it was a burglar, why would they vacuum?” I muttered to myself, but there was no one to hear my awesome powers of deduction. So I went downstairs.
It was Kitty and a few other crew members. Kitty was talking to Owen, their heads bent together. Another assistant ran the vacuum over the messy carpet we’d left from last night’s make-out session.
Frowning, I went down the stairs and headed toward them. “What’s going on?”
“Oh!” She gazed at bare-chested Owen and then at me, pants-less. “Um, good news. Shooting wrapped early.”
“It did?” I was surprised to hear that. “But I thought we had…” I counted on my fingers. “We’re still a week out from Christmas.”
“I know,” she said, beaming. “But like I said, the producers wanted to do some crazy stuff this time because it’s a holiday season filler, and with the final five and a couple of double eliminations, we’re wrapping up now. I’m taking you guys to the airport in about two hours, so go ahead and pack up.”
“Oh.” I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking. “Um, so who won?”
“It’s a secret,” she said, and winked at me. “I can’t say.”
I didn’t much care, to be honest. I was just making conversation. I looked at Owen, not sure what to do. We’d just made love last night, and it had been wonderful. What now?
Would he tell me that he wanted to stay here with me a bit longer? Make plans to spend time together?
“Well,” Owen said, and rubbed his head. “I guess I should pack up.”
Chapter Six
This is the part where I need a Christmas miracle. You sure we can’t stay another week or two? No? Just until the New Year? – Owen MacIntosh, to Kitty
~~ * * * ~~
I masked my hurt at Owen’s indifference all the way to the airport, my bag clutched to my chest. Kitty kept a constant stream of conversation going. Wouldn’t we be glad to get out of all this snow? Did Boston have as much snow as Alaska? What about San Diego, where Owen was from? Would he be excited to get back home? Were they excited about seeing the TV show?
I wasn’t excited about that prospect at all.
I chewed on my lip as Luna dropped us off at the airport. I looked at my airline ticket. “I’m gate B-34 to Boston,” I told Owen.
He held up his ticket with a faint smile. “B-22 to San Diego.”
“I guess we should part here, then,” I said. I felt so…weird. Sad, but resigned. “It was nice to spend my time at the Loser Lodge with you.”
He gave me an awkward smile. “You too.”
I waved and turned away.
Someone grabbed me by the purse strap, and I jerked to a halt. I turned around, and Owen’s hand had my strap.
Then he pulled me close and dragged me into another hot, breathless kiss that sucked all of the air out of my lungs and filled me with longing.
When he released me, he whispered against my mouth. “Just thought I’d leave you with proof that I’m a better kisser.”
I giggled.
He touched my cheek and smiled. “Bye, Luna.”
“Bye, Owen,” I whispered back.
And then we parted.
I was proud of myself. I made it onto the plane before I broke down into blubbery tears.
~~ * * * ~~
Christmas Eve was kind of lame when you didn’t celebrate anything. I fidgeted in my chair, my laptop perched atop my legs. I couldn’t go to the coffee-shop tonight, not with it being a holiday, so I was forced to work at home. Nearby, my mother knitted a hat and watched a re-run of I Love Lucy.
We were so stinking boring.
I was lonely, too. And sad. It was weird, but that cabin in the middle of nowhere with Owen had felt more homey and cozy than being at home with my mother. I thought of the Christmas tree we’d put up, decorated with the world’s longest Christmas garlands, and smiled to myself. Neither one of us had wanted to concede to the other, so we’d ended up making chains over a hundred feet long, and then laughed ourselves silly when we realized how long it took to wrap around the tree.
I’d have loved to spend Christmas Eve curled up in front of the fire with Owen, drinking hot cocoa, eating his delicious cookies, and then fucking like bunnies. Instead, I was home. Home with my mother, because she’d struggled with being alone after my father died, and I’d moved back in…and stayed. I sighed.
“You’re moping,” my mother said, not looking up from her hat.
“I’m not,” I protested. “I don’t mope.”
“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in five minutes,” my mother said. “I recognize a mope when I see one.”
I glared at my laptop screen. My working draft of TERMITE 3: IT SLAYED UPON A CHRISTMAS EVE was open. I typed in, “Sugarman walks in. His mom is knitting a hat. She gives him an annoyed look.”
Then, I deleted all of it. It was crap. Owen would know what the scene needed. His ideas were always great. Mine alone? Sucked.
“Luna Marie Collins, don’t sit there and tell me you’re not moping. What’s wrong?”
I sighed and picked at one of the loose threads on the arm of the couch. “Nothing.”
“Is it because you lost at the game?”
“It wasn’t just any game,” I muttered. Count on my mother to make me feel like I was five instead of twenty nine. “It was Endurance Island. And I didn’t just lose, I came in last place.”
