Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 23

23

Alexander

A Week Later

" J agger, take over," I shout, then walk over to Phoebe, who just stepped outside. "Hey."

"Hi. The boys wanted to go to town with Evelyn and the kids. Is that okay?"

I nod. "Sure. It'll give you time to sharpen your skills."

"Ummm…"

I keep a serious expression, relaying, "I have a bet to make with you."

She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. "Oh? What are we betting?"

"It involves Christmas trivia."

"Christmas trivia?"

"Yeah, I need to see how sharp your Christmas trivia skills are."

She laughs. "Okay. When and where are we figuring this out?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yep. But I have a challenge for you."

"And that would be?" Her lips twitch.

I glance behind me and then put two fingers on her collarbone, sliding them back and forth.

She inhales sharply.

I step closer, adding, "The winnings are high stakes."

"Does this involve more money I don't have? I really don't like using your cash to bet," she frets.

I chuckle. "There's no money involved."

"Okay, good."

I glance behind me again, ensuring no one's around, then lock eyes with her. "When I win, I get to lick your pussy."

She bursts out laughing, then wipes tears from the corner of her eye. She asks, "And what do I get when I win?"

I lean closer, brushing my lips to her ear, stating, "I still get to lick your pussy." I retreat, trying to keep a serious face.

She muffles her laugh and asks, "So either way, I win?"

"No. Either way, I win," I declare.

She bites on her lip, her cheeks red.

"So, do I have a date, or are you scared to see how good my Christmas trivia skills are?"

She studies me, claiming, "I didn't know you were so serious about Christmas trivia."

"Oh, us Cartwrights take Christmas trivia extremely seriously."

She asks, "Is everyone else coming with us?"

I shake my head. "No. Guess who's taking care of the boys?"

She thinks for a moment, then says, "Evelyn."

"Nope."

"Willow and Paisley in the main house?"

"Nope."

"Who, then?" she questions.

I announce, "Ace is at Mason's and Wilder's at Jagger's."

She scrunches her face. "They're staying at Mason's and Jagger's?"

"Yep."

"They've never mentioned staying at their place. Do they do it often?"

I puff my chest out. "No, they don't. And it's because my brothers are usually out at night, but not tonight."

She studies me harder. "So… They just volunteered to each take one of the boys?" She arches her eyebrows.

My stomach flips. I lower my voice again. "Well, you know they know about us."

Her face falls.

I quickly add, "You know how they saw us kiss the first night?"

"Yeah, I know," she admits.

I continue, "Okay, so I made a bet with them, and they lost."

"You really do have a gambling problem," she teases.

"I won," I remind her.

"Yeah, but you seem to always be betting."

"Only on calculated risks...bets I'm sure I'll win," I confidently state.

She points out, "But you lost the race and your money to me."

I wave my hand in front of our faces. "Minor setback. Anyway, they lost. The boys will stay with them for the night, and we get to have a hot date."

Her face lights up. She asks, "How hot are we talking?"

"Superhot, and full of Christmas trivia."

She bursts out laughing again.

I wiggle my eyebrows. "It was pretty smart of me, huh?" I grin bigger.

She snickers. "Yeah. Pretty smart."

I glance around and then lean back into her ear. "So it's a date? And if I win, I'll take my prize. If an act of God happens and I lose, then I'll take my punishment like a good boy."

She turns her face, inches from my lips. "Sounds like a date."

I almost kiss her but stop myself. Anybody could be looking, so I remind myself to wait until we're out tonight. "I'll pick you up at seven." I wink and then strut across the yard, excited I get adult time with Phoebe.

Plus, we'll have the house to ourselves tonight. It's hard to constantly be sneaking around. Someone in my family is always around the corner, ready to interrupt us.

It's been two weeks, and I hate every moment I have to pretend like we're just platonic. We're not anywhere near just friends.

I go over to the corral. Mason and Jagger are inside it, running three horses. I lean against the fence, assessing things. A few minutes pass, and then Phoebe sidles up next to me.

"Pheebs, is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah. Where are we going, so I know what to wear?"

"Wear whatever you want…or nothing," I suggest, feeling giddy.

She wags her finger in front of me, reprimanding, "Uh-uh-uh, that wouldn't be appropriate now, would it?"

I chuckle. "Only if we're at the house with no one else."

She questions, "So what is the attire?"

"Whatever you want. It'll be at a bar, so wear something similar to what you wore when we went to the racetrack, okay? Unless you're dying to slide into something besides jeans."

She winces, admitting, "I don't have anything besides jeans and casual stuff."

"Perfect. We're going somewhere casual, so no need to worry. Besides"—I glance around, then lower my voice—"you look hot in anything you wear. Or don't wear." I wink again.

She nudges me with her elbow. "I'll see you at seven."

"Sounds good."

I watch her walk away, staring at her ass and thinking about how much I want to bend her over tonight until she makes those noises I love so much.

The rest of the day seems to drag by. Every moment of it, I spend thinking of Phoebe, excited about our date but also pumped she'll be able to stay in my bed until morning.

And, I know it sounds corny, but I really like Christmas trivia. I love the holidays. You can't be a Cartwright and not love them. Yet, ever since my wife died years ago, things haven't been as happy as they used to be. This year, I feel happy for the first time since before she got cancer and passed away.

Since Phoebe has come into my life, the typical, normal stress hasn't felt so intense. She's always making me smile or laugh, even when we have to be platonic in front of the others. And true happiness isn't something I've felt in years.

When it's quitting time, I go into the house. She's in the bathroom, but the door's locked, and she won't let me in. So I go into my en suite and shower. When I come out, she's standing at the window, staring out.

I step behind her, put my arm around her body, and splay my hands across her thighs. I kiss her neck.

She shivers slightly and turns her head.

"You smell good and look good," I admit, my gaze darting to her lips.

Her beautiful face lights up. She teases, "Well, that's good. It'd be a crappy date if you thought I looked bad and smelled bad."

I chuckle. "Very true." I give her a quick kiss. "You ready to go?"

"Bring on the Christmas trivia," she chirps, pumping her fist in the air.

I chuckle, leading her to the car, careful not to get too close to her. I hate that I have to be conscious about our closeness, but I don't know who's watching.

We get to the truck and I open the passenger door. She gets in, and I go around, practically prancing, reminding myself not to look so jolly, but it's hard. I slide into the driver's seat, and we make our way into town.

She inquires, "So, is this Christmas trivia a serious thing? Like, is everyone in town involved, and the stakes are high?"

"Something like that."

"Are we on the same team?"

"No. Opposite teams. Remember, if I win, I lick your pussy. If I lose, I lick your pussy," I remind her.

She laughs. "Oh yeah, I forgot."

"You forgot? I guess I need to do a better job at licking your pussy."

Her face turns red and she slaps my bicep.

I chuckle.

She claims, "Okay, so it's me against you. But don't worry, I know my Christmas facts."

I grunt. "We'll see about that."

We flirt and tease each other the entire way to the bar. When we get to town, I parallel park, get out of the truck, stride around the hood, and open her door. I help her out and hold her hand, walking inside.

The Stomping Ground is full of lots of people I know. I introduce Phoebe to several of them and then we get into a booth in the back corner. She slides in and I sit next to her.

Carrie, one of the servers, approaches us. She chirps, "Hey, Alexander, I haven't seen you in a long time."

"Carrie, how's it going? This is Phoebe."

"Oh, I've heard about you. You're the nanny, right?" she asks.

Phoebe's body stiffens.

I put my hand on her thigh, answering, "Yes, she is. And she's great with the boys. Pheebs, you want a beer?"

"Yes, please."

I refocus on Carrie. "Can we get two cold ones?"

"Sure. It's nice to meet you, Phoebe," Carrie offers.

"You too," Phoebe replies, nodding.

Carrie smiles and turns to head to the bar.

Phoebe questions, "How does everybody in town know about us? Well, about me?"

"It's a small town, don't let it bother you. People love to gossip," I state.

"What if somebody says something to the boys?" she asks.

My gut flips. "They won't."

Worry fills her expression. "How do you know?"

"Everyone in town also knows how protective I am of my kids. They won't," I insist.

She looks at me like she's not so sure. I pick up her hand and kiss it. "Stop worrying. You need to start thinking about whether you're going to win or lose."

Her lips twitch. "Oh, I'm going to win. Remember, I win either way." She smirks.

I put my hand between her thighs and flick my middle finger against her slit.

She inhales sharply.

I challenge, "Really? Are you sure you're the one who wins? Or am I the winner either way?"

Her gaze darts past me.

I turn and then sit back.

Carrie's walking toward us with two beers on a tray. I remove my hand before she gets to the table. She sets them down and hands two trivia sheets to us. "I assume you two are playing tonight?"

"Of course," I say and then take a mouthful of beer.

"I'm going to show Alexander he doesn't really know anything about Christmas trivia," Phoebe declares.

Carrie smiles. "I'll leave you two to it, then. I'll be back later."

I nod. "Thanks, Carrie."

She leaves, and Peter, a guy I know from town, booms into the microphone, "It's that time of year again. Who's ready for Christmas trivia?"

The room erupts into cheers.

A Christmas song starts to play. He asks, "Which popular Christmas beverage is also called milk punch?"

"That's easy," Phoebe says, writing down her answer.

I write down mine, claiming, "Agreed. If you get that one wrong, you know nothing about Christmas."

"Totally," Phoebe agrees.

Peter asks, "What did the other reindeer not let Rudolph do because of his shiny red nose?"

Phoebe states, "I feel like the kids would do really well at this."

"Yeah. They usually ace it," I admit, and we write down our answers.

She frets, "Aww. I feel bad they're going to miss out this year."

I grunt. "Don't be. There's a family night we can bring them to."

She beams. "That's awesome."

I hold up my beer, feeling a surge of giddiness. I declare, "Tonight, I get you all to myself. To date night."

A tiny flush creeps into Phoebe's face. "To date night." She clinks her glass to mine, and we each take a drink of beer.

Peter's voice calls out, "How many ghosts show up in A Christmas Carol ?"

I groan.

"Oh, do you not know the answer to this one?" Phoebe taunts, tapping the pencil against her jawbone.

"This one always stumps me," I confess. "I want to say four, but it's three. Past, present, and future."

"Oh, you know the tenses. Great job," she teases.

"I may not have liked school, but my English teacher in third grade was hard not to pay attention to."

Amusement fills her expression. "Oh? You had a crush in third grade?"

I shrug, revealing, "She was fresh out of college and smelled good."

Phoebe laughs.

I debate, then write down three, cross it off and write four, then return to three.

Peter's voice blares across the bar. "The movie Miracle on 34th Street is based on a real-life department store. What is it?"

"This is easy," Phoebe says, and we write down our answers.

Peter states, "Elvis isn't going to have a white Christmas. He's going to have a what?"

The crowd shouts, "Blue," and the song starts playing.

Phoebe arches her eyebrows. "Wow. Peter knows how to bring it home."

"Hey, I didn't say it wasn't going to be cheesy," I admit, but I still love it.

"That was a freebie for you all!" Peter exclaims, then asks, "What's the green thing you stand under if you're desperate for a kiss and can't get it any other way?"

Phoebe giggles, then writes down her answer.

Peter adds, "I'm going to take a song break, grab a beer, then I'll be back. Make sure you tip your servers. And no cheating! Remember, that's bad Christmas behavior."

Mariah Carey's voice singing "All I Want for Christmas is You" comes from the speakers.

"I love this song!" Phoebe declares, then belts out the next few lines.

I stare at her in awe.

"Sorry, I get a tad carried away with that song," she claims.

"Don't apologize. And don't let me stop you. Sing away."

She takes another sip of beer.

I ask, "You hungry?"

"I could eat something."

"You want me to order some appetizers, or do you want your own entrée?"

"Appetizers are good. I've got to run to the ladies' room though."

"Okay, no problem." I scoot out and rise. I help her exit the booth, and she disappears into the women's room.

I put my hand in the air to call Carrie over when Cheyenne slides into the booth across from me, cooing, "Well, well, well, stranger."

I groan inside. The last person I want to see is Cheyenne. I tell her, "Hey, I'm on a date, so..."

I motion for her to go away, not into her antics. What she did the last time she saw Phoebe wasn't cool. She texted me a week ago, and I told her our arrangement was over.

She pouts. "Aw, is that any way to treat an old friend? Especially a nice friend?" She bats her eyelashes.

"Cheyenne, you need to go," I repeat.

She leans over and puts her hand on mine. "What's gotten into you, Alexander? I know you're into this nanny, but come on, haven't you had your fun? Surely you're bored by now? I know damn well she can't do what I do to you."

I open my mouth, but Phoebe's voice pierces the air, "Cheyenne, fancy seeing you here."

Cheyenne keeps her hand on mine and slowly looks at Phoebe. Her lips form into a smirk.

I move my hand back. "Cheyenne was just leaving, weren't you?"

Her eyes widen into an innocent expression. "Oh? Was I? I thought you were about to tell me you were ready to leave with me."

I look at Phoebe and say, with no emotion in my voice, "She's lying." I get up and put my hand on Phoebe's back, motioning for her to take her seat.

She doesn't. She continues to glare daggers at Cheyenne.

I softly order, "Pheebs, have a seat."

She glances at me. I give her a quick kiss on the lips. "Sit down."

Phoebe quietly takes her seat, and Cheyenne stays planted across from us. I put my thumb in the air and motion toward the door. "Up, Cheyenne. Now."

Cheyenne doesn't obey. She sits back and looks at Phoebe. "So you're from California, huh?"

Phoebe doesn't answer.

Cheyenne questions, "Oh, are you mute all of a sudden?"

"Cheyenne, that's enough," I reprimand.

Phoebe leans across the table. "I think it's clear you're not welcome here. Alexander doesn't want you. And frankly, the only thing boring anyone around here is you. So before you go, is there anything else you need to say?"

Shock fills Cheyenne's face.

I reiterate, "Cheyenne, time to go."

She doesn't move, glaring at Phoebe.

I bark, "Cheyenne! Go!"

"Come on, Alexander, enough with the games. I know you want a real woman," she claims, and it may sound confident to others, but I know her. Her statement only sounds desperate to me, which is an even bigger turnoff.

How was I ever with her, even just in a friends-with-benefits arrangement?

I hadn't met Phoebe.

She pouts. "Stop playing games. I'm ready for the stallion." She slowly glances at Phoebe, her lips twisting.

My gut churns with anger.

Phoebe's face hardens.

Time to get out of here. Cheyenne's going to cause trouble all night if we stay.

I reach into my wallet and pull out a wad of cash. I take several twenties and drop them on the table. I put my wallet back in my pocket and then reach for Phoebe's hand. "Come on."

She glares with disgust at Cheyenne, not moving.

"Pheebs, let's go," I insist.

She slowly breaks her stare and takes my hand. She slides out of the booth, and I lead her out of the bar.

We take a few steps and I reach to open the door to The Corral, suggesting, "Let's try this bar."

"No, I've had enough. Let's go home," Phoebe states, marching ahead of me and hightailing it to the truck before I can stop her.