Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

1. Amy

Chapter 1

Amy

“Here? Really?” I groan as my car sputters and dies right in the middle of nowhere. Snow floats down, peppering my windshield. My car’s been more and more uncooperative lately, but did it have to pick today of all days to throw a tantrum?

I slump in my seat, letting out a long, dramatic sigh that fogs up the windshield. Great, now I can’t even see the snow.

I’m wearing three layers, comprising of my clothes, a thick sweater, and finally, my winter coat. My car’s heating barely works. Why I ever thought that I’d be able to drive to Snowfall Springs without incident is beyond me.

Stepping out onto the street, I shiver. It’s colder than expected. My fingers shake as I pull my phone out and check.

No service.

Snow has covered everything in a thin layer of white. Beautiful, mesmerizing, and colder than my freezer. I am torn between the urge to jump back into the relative warmth of my car and the need to actually do something about this mess. The responsible adult in me nags that I should pick the latter.

By the time I get the hood propped up, my fingers are numb. The holiday season is my favorite, but the weather is something else. New York winters can be brutal.

“Uggh.” I give the tires a frustrated kick and instantly regret it. Hopping on one foot to relieve the ache in my toe from my efforts to vent, the sound of a car coming down the street fills the air.

A car means help or my potential kidnapping. At least if I was shoved in the trunk of someone’s car, it would be warmer than out here. It’s worth the risk. I’m about an hour from Snowfall Springs and six hours from New York City.

The red Porsche comes closer and starts to slow down. The knot in my stomach loosens. Maybe luck hasn’t completely abandoned me.

As it comes to a stop beside me, the passenger window rolls down.

Strong jawline. Broad shoulders. Long fingers gripping the leather steeling wheel and a flash of blue-green eyes that I’d recognize anywhere.

My heart skips a beat, but not in a good way. Nope, nuh-uh, absolutely not. I do not recognize this person. No siree. Not even a teensy bit. And I am certainly not going to acknowledge that sexy scar near his eyebrow or his unfairly chiseled jawline.

My bad luck usually caps at harmless stuff, like spilling coffee on my favorite sweater or tripping over my own feet. This whole encountering-a-definitely-total-stranger-while-stranded-on-a-snowy-road thing? It’s not happening. I refuse to let it happen.

Mr. Definitely-Stranger turns toward me. Oh no.

That profile. That straight nose. That slight cleft in his chin.

His eyes lock into mine.

“Amy Bennet?”

His deep voice rolls over me, once my favorite sound in the world. My heart sinks. Please, not him. Anyone but him. I wish I’d worn more layers. Maybe then he wouldn’t have recognized me.

Blue-green eyes take me in from the top to the bottom, and a crooked smile lifts his perfectly sculpted lips. His short brown hair is styled just so, not a strand out of place.

Dylan Carter.

A familiar ache clutches my heart in an iron vise. Stolen kisses in high school hallways, promises under starlit skies, and the day he walked away without looking back.

If there were a list of people I’d want to encounter while stranded on a snowy road, Dylan would be at the very bottom. Right below my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Pinkerton, who I spectacularly threw up on during the last day of school. At least she had the decency to retire and move to Florida, never to be seen again.

“Yes, it’s me.” I shake my head. This is a hallucination. It’s got to be. Too much coffee and too little sleep.

He’s staring at me too intensely. The air is crackling with an electric tension, making me hyper-aware of every inch between us. His eyes slowly move away, focusing on the raised hood of the car.

“Having car trouble?” He raises his eyebrows, and a smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t believe you’re still driving the same old car from college.”

Of course, he’s going to enjoy this way too much. I’m not helping matters in my bulky three layers of clothes, a broken down heap of metal I call my car, and a phone with no cell service.

He can’t come in here and make me feel bad for something that is uncontrollable.

“It’s fine. I’ll wait for the next person to come along.” I’m not accepting help from Dylan. The love of my life in college and in high school, the man I thought I’d marry and spend the rest of my life with. Also, the man who broke my heart and threw everything we had away as if it never mattered.

He pulls forward, parking in front of my car. Of course, he’s not going to listen. I used to love his bossy side. I consider begging him to leave, not that it would make a difference.

He steps out of the car and stuffs his hands into his jeans as he saunters over. He’s wearing a black winter coat that almost reaches his knees, accentuating his sharp jaw and wide shoulders.

I draw in a sharp breath.

Stop it. Focus. A shudder of breath runs through me.

Seeing him up close reminds me of just how gorgeous he is. The last eight years haven’t hurt him one bit. He looks even better than I remember. I wonder if Clara thinks so too, if she still gets to see him. Losing him nearly broke me, but finding him with my nemesis so soon after our break up destroyed me.

Are they still together? Or maybe he broke up with her too, moving on to thousands of others. With a face like that, I'm sure he's had no shortage of options.

“So, what seems to be the trouble?” He asks in that low timbre that makes my insides shake.

“I said it’s fine. I’ve already called someone. They won’t be long.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but anything to keep him away from me will work at this point. This whole situation is absurd. When I accepted the position to help with Snowfall Spring’s biggest fundraiser ever, I checked every detail and read every guest list.

What is he doing here?

“You’re no better at lying now than you were the last time I saw you,” he smiles knowingly. “Besides, I was on the phone about five minutes ago, and the call dropped because of no service.”

Embarrassment heats my cheeks, but I decide to ignore his accusation.

“So, I’ll walk back about twenty minutes and then call someone. I don’t need your help, Dylan.” My voice shakes. So much for sounding in control. Eight years. Eight years since I last saw his face, heard his voice. Eight years since everything fell apart.

I thought I knew him. The reformed playboy who looked at me like I was his whole world. We had plans, dreams, a future mapped out together. Then, out of nowhere, he shattered it all. Maybe I never really understood him at all.

“You’re not staying here on the side of the road.” He steps closer, and the warm scent of cedar tickles my nose. How is it legal to be so intoxicating?

“You’re not walking anywhere, and I’m not leaving you with a broken down car.” He glances toward my open hood. “You’re going to Snowfall Springs?”

“Yes.” I cover my mouth to stop myself, but it’s too late.

Why on earth did I just admit where I’m going?

“I’m heading that way myself. We’ll have a tow truck deal with your car later.”

“I am not riding with you. And there is no we.” I take a step back, needing distance, air, anything to clear my head. Does he really think he can boss me around like that? And why did it have to be Dylan, of all people? I’m almost wishing for the imaginary kidnapper with the warm trunk.

He sighs, and the sound twists something inside of me.

Dylan makes his way to the front of my car, his jacket stretching taut across his back as he peers under the hood. His brow furrows in concentration, and his muscles flex as his arm moves deftly among the parts. After a few minutes of tinkering, he shakes his head, his expression turning smug.

“There’s nothing I can do to fix your car, Amy.” He straightens and comes back to the side of the car with me.

“Then keep on going and I’ll deal with it.” My racing heart betrays me. I trace the sharp line of his cheekbones and the familiar curve of his lips with my eyes. My fingers itch to brush back that wayward lock of hair falling across his forehead.

Fixing cars might as well be rocket science to me, and Snowfall Springs feels impossibly far away. Do the benefits of some help and a warm ride outweigh the danger of being around Dylan?

If there's one man I can't let myself fall for, it's him.

“Would you seriously rather freeze to death, or have some creepy stranger catch you out here alone just because you dislike me?” he asks.

Dylan is as calm as can be, as if running into exes is just another Tuesday for him.

“That depends. Will the creepy stranger give me a ride to Snowfall Springs?” I square my shoulders and his expression darkens.

“Amy …” He holds out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

Of all the infuriating things …

I’m just another ex to him, an annoying one he feels responsible for because I’m at risk of freezing to death on the side of the road.

Bitterness rises in my throat. My stubbornness flares.

“Why? I’ve already tried starting the car at least half a dozen times.”

“So I can get your luggage out of the trunk.”

“I’m not riding with you.” I cross my arms, staring him down. He’s not about to boss me around.

“You are.” His grin widens.

“No, I’m not.” I glare, trying to ignore the way he looks like he still knows me. Like I wasn’t still half in love with him.

“Don’t make me carry you to the car.” He takes a threatening step and I scramble out of his reach.

"You're not going to carry me," I squeak. The last time we talked was the day he tore my heart out of my chest. Sometimes, I almost ask what changed, why he suddenly decided I wasn't enough. What made him give up on us right after we planned our future together? But my weak heart probably can't handle the answer, so the questions stay buried.

“It’s freezing out here.” Dylan’s rough voice says. “Let’s set aside our differences and just get to town, okay?” His tone drops and for a moment, it’s so gentle, my resolve almost crumbles.

I imagine myself falling into his arms, ugly crying, asking to start over, the whole nine yards. If I really overdid it, it would be like one of those cheesy movies where the past magically disappears. But this isn’t Hollywood, and I’m no damsel in distress. Maybe a little distressed, but definitely not in need of a Dylan-shaped knight in shining armor.

A shiver racks my body, and I can’t feel my toes anymore. My phone’s “No Service” message mocks me from my pocket. My stomach does an anxious flip as I weigh my options: losing a few toes vs. tolerating Dylan’s stupidly perfect face for an hour.

I drop my keys into his palm.

“Fine. I’ll ride with you to Snowfall Springs.”

Maybe my brain is starting to freeze a little too, because that would explain why I gave him the keys and willingly agreed to ride with him.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His eyes twinkle mischievously, and I frown as he gets my suitcases from the trunk and transfers them to his. I linger behind. It’s still not too late for someone else to come by, perhaps a nice old lady who needs someone to keep her company on the long drive. When he holds the passenger door open for me, I can’t hold off any longer.

The car door slams shut and Dylan’s cologne fills the space. How is it possible to make a cologne that smells so much like cedar wood? My relaxing getaway just morphed into a front-seat view of my devastatingly handsome ex.

Note to self, choose losing a few toes next time.