Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
It turns out Ryan didn’t want to date me at after all. He asked me out to get my opinion on what I thought Heather would think, about him wanting to date her.
And now they are. Dating, that is.
The relationship is only about 24 hours old, but it’s looking pretty solid so far.
When the song ends, I fan my face—trying to cool off. My mouth is dry and my t-shirt is sticky with moisture. I tell Charlie that I’m going to grab a drink and he gives me a thumbs-up before dancing over to his parents.
I feel giddy and light as I walk across the room . . . right into the tractor beam that is Jace’s gaze. He’s leaning back behind the bar, watching the party, wearing jeans and a dark blue Henley that molds to his sculpted arms in an amazing way.
“Hey,” I call softly when I reach him.
He lifts his chin. “Another vodka and cranberry?”
It’s my third, so I’m buzzing but nowhere near drunk.
“Yeah, thanks.”
A minute later I sip my drink and watch Jace—still my top favorite thing to do.
“Everything going okay?” I ask.
He takes a long pull from his beer—I didn’t think I’d ever be so jealous of a bottle.
“I’m good.”
“You’ve been . . . kind of quiet,” I say.
It’s not like he’s normally Mr. Sharer or anything, but the last few days Jace has kept to himself a lot. He’s seemed almost contemplative. Broody.
But still very, very hot.
He gives me a lazy shrug.
“Just thinking about some things.”
My vodka buzz pulls my lips into a teasing smile.
“Oh yeah? What kind of things?”
The music starts up again—this time from the stereo, because the band’s on a break—and Dean Martin’s smooth Baby It’s Cold Outside, fills the room.
Jace’s mouth quirks.
“Naughty things.”
And I almost swallow my tongue. No one around here has mentioned the Naughty List, so I’ve pushed any potential embarrassment from my mind. Until now.
“What?” I choke.
He leans in closer.
“I said, all sorts of interesting things.”
Oh. Right.
Of course, that’s what he said—that makes so much more sense.
“Do you mind staying to help me clean up later, Eves? Kevin already took off and Heather and Ryan seem kind of . . .”
I follow his gaze toward the back of the bar—where my roommate and Ryan are plastered hot and heavy against the wall, putting the mistletoe hanging above their heads to excellent use.
“Busy.” I finish for him.
Jace snorts. “Yeah.”
Hmm . . . extra alone time with Jace Winters? Looks like I got an early Christmas present.
“Sure, no problem.”
He nods slowly, and his eyes seem deeper, darker, more intense.
“Good.”
The families with kids head out first—it is Christmas Eve, after all. By midnight, the Black Diamond is empty except for me and Jace. While he straightens up out front, I bring the trays of leftover food to the kitchen, sliding them into the fridge. I wash up a few serving utensils and wipe down the stainless-steel counters, and when that’s finished I walk back out to the main room.
The lights have been turned down—the only illumination coming from the warm glow of the fireplace, the Christmas lights on the tree, and twinkling white lights strung behind the bar. The festive music is gone, replaced by the soft, sultry sounds of Amos Lee coming from the jukebox.
Set in the middle of the bar is a rectangular box, wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with an emerald green bow.
“What’s this?” I ask Jace.
He drags down the shade on the big picture window, making the room feel even more cozy and secluded—like we’re the only two people in Alpine. The only two people in the world.
“That’s for you, Evie. A present.”
I smile—little sparks of excitement dancing across my skin. We all exchange gifts every year—thoughtful tokens or playful gag gifts. I always look forward to Jace’s. The idea that he was thinking of me when he picked it out is a thrilling thing.
He edges closer as I tug at the silk bow, peel off the paper and lift the lid of the box.
But when I peer inside, my stomach flips and falls, my face goes slack and my hands go numb.
Because The Naughty List is staring right back at me.
My words, my fantasies—Jace’s name written by my hand.
And suddenly he’s right beside me, his heat and scent surrounding me, his voice a rough rasp in my ear.
“Is it true, Evie?”
My heart pounds so hard I can almost hear it. And my breath comes quick, racing.
“Which part?” I ask.
“Any of it. All of it. Is it true?”
Part of me wants to melt into the floor under the hot glare of my embarrassment, like a snow-woman on a sunny day. But another part—a stronger part—wants to go for it. Go for him. To take a chance, make the jump, bare my soul.
Grab him and kiss him and tear at his clothes and tell him every fucking word is true.