Santa Monica Baby (Holidays in LA #3)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

December 17th

Nellie

I had gotten it wrong yet again.

This wasn’t It’s a Wonderful Life or Die Hard or even Rear Window. No, I was living in A Christmas Carol , and I was the greedy, old bitch who ruined everybody’s Christmas.

Minus the ghosts and suffocating nightgown.

“Wow, front-row seats,” Nora exclaimed. “I feel like a celebrity.”

“You are a celebrity,” I reminded her. Just last night, she and Bowie had attended the wrap party for the second season of her show.

She shrugged, tossing her blue hair over one shoulder. “Eh, C-list at best.”

That was what I liked about Nora. She had gained so much momentum in her career these last couple of years and still, she acted like a normal person.

Stars, they’re just like us.

It was the day of Leighton’s knitwear showcase, and the four of us were front row center to the action. We funneled into our chairs beside the runway, Bowie and Killian at our backs. Riley had opted out at the last minute due to morning sickness—in the afternoon—and Devin had stayed home to dote on her. There was no doubt that their bun in the oven would never want for love and attention.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring along your photographer,” Nora hedged, arching her brow.

“He’s not my photographer.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your Santa,” she amended.

“Austin isn’t my anything,” I said, loud enough for the models backstage to hear me. “Not anymore, at least,” I added, evening my tone.

Nora blinked back at me, surprised by my outburst, Killian smiled sadly, and Bowie—bless his heart—ducked his head behind his program.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nora asked.

“No.”

She nodded and turned back to the paper program in her hands. “Oh, look. It says—”

“I fucked it up.” I tossed my hands in the air.

“I guess we’re talking about it,” Bowie mumbled.

“I was frustrated—with myself more than anything—and I took it out on Austin, the one person who has been nothing but nice to me. Do you know that he has left a package of my favorite cookies in my mailbox almost every day since my accident? Who does that?”

I’d almost cried the morning after the Die Hard fiasco, aka the best non-date I had ever been on, when I’d opened up my mailbox, only to find it empty. It wasn’t that I needed more Tim Tams—my pantry was overflowing as it was. I missed the gesture more than anything, the reminder that somebody was thinking about me, looking out for me.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until it was gone.

“Sounds like a man in love to me,” Killian mused.

It couldn’t be. Lust, maybe, but not love. Nobody fell in love with somebody over the course of a few weeks. Not outside of the movies or Highlander romance novels, at least.

A distraction.

I buried my face in my hands, recalling the awful things I’d said to him. They had played over and over in my head all week, like a record stuck on repeat. Of course, I had regretted them the second they’d left my mouth, but by then, it had been too late. Sadly, there were no take-backsies when it came to misplaced feelings.

Or STIs, for that matter.

Nora rested her hand on my thigh. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. People do and say shitty things in the heat of the moment.”

“Besides,” Killian said. “Aren’t we still doing another round of photos tonight?”

I nodded solemnly. “As far as I know.”

Yet another reason to feel sorry for myself. Even after tossing him aside during my moment of weakness, treating him like he was just some random bloke who lived in my building, Austin was still keen on fulfilling his offer.

Stupid jerk.

Why did he have to be so wonderful?

The plan was to meet at Santa Monica Pier, assuming he showed up. I wouldn’t blame him if he backed out, not after the things I’d said and, worse, didn’t say.

I had racked my mind for a way to apologize to him and come up empty. Words didn’t seem like enough, especially since they were what had gotten me into this mess.

I had already decided to throw in the towel on the holiday hoopla, which I was now referring to as the Christmas Crapola. A stupid yacht party or wine tasting wasn’t worth throwing away the connection I had with Austin. There were other ways to earn that promotion, and none of them came at the expense of my integrity.

“I hate feeling like this,” I whined.

“Like what?”

“A mess.” Nora’s lips twitched. “I hate mess.”

She snorted. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you’re a hot mess.”

A beautiful mess.

There he was again. In my ear, in my dreams, by the mailbox—there was no getting rid of him. Austin had stamped a place in my heart with that very first box of cookies, and I feared that no amount of milk would ever wash it away.

“Inconvenient is what it is.”

Bowie and Killian shared a laugh. “The best things often are,” Killian said. “Do you think it was convenient for your sister to pretend to be my fiancée last Christmas?

“Convenient for you, maybe.” Though I hadn’t known it at the time, Killian had been pining after my sister for nearly a year before their fake engagement. In fact, their farce of a relationship had been my idea. “You’re welcome by the way.”

He shook his head.

“It definitely wasn’t convenient when I fell in love with someone who was supposed to be a casual fling, but turned out to be the love of my life,” Nora admitted, resting her hand on Bowie’s lap.

I nearly orgasmed on the spot when he wrapped a hand around her neck and tilted her head back to meet his scorching kiss. Damn. I always knew that guy had a kinky side.

It’s the quiet ones who bite—or spank—the hardest.

“And I wouldn’t change any of it for the world,” Bowie said after he removed his tongue from Nora’s mouth.

“Nothing at all?” Nora asked, searching his face.

“Nothing. Even the messy, inconvenient bits.” He spared a glance in my direction. “It’s all part of our story.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until the first tear hit my wadded-up program. Only this time, it wasn’t because I was sad—the pity party was officially canceled—but rather because I was thinking about my story. Mine and Austin’s, messy bits and all.

Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to rewrite our ending.

Austin

When we’d been kids, my sister, Madison, had gone through a phase where she’d only spoken in riddles.

“What kind of cup doesn’t hold water? A cupcake.”

Stuff like that. The kind of shit that was cute when a nine-year-old said it, but insufferable coming from an adult. Eventually, she’d outgrown the habit, though I knew for a fact that she had a special place in her heart for word puzzles to this very day.

I would have to run this one by her during our next phone call.

What’s a single thirty-four-year old’s favorite ride at Santa Monica Pier? The emotional roller coaster.

And the crowd goes mild.

“Careful of the ice cream, Leighton.”

“I can’t help it,” she cried. “It’s dripping all over me.”

We were finishing up the last of today’s shooting schedule. We had already snapped four pictures before the sun had gone down. The only one left to go was their photo in front of the Ferris wheel.

In the original photo, a four- or five-year-old Leighton swung her legs off a bench while enjoying an ice cream cone as big as her face. Beside her, Nellie, who couldn’t have been more than one or two at the time, clung to a cheap stuffed animal—clearly a prize won at one of the nearby game stalls. A glowing Ferris wheel backlit the two of them, just as it did now.

“Alright, we got it.”

“Oh, thank god.” Leighton tossed what was left of her ice cream into the nearby trash can. “I need to wash this off. It’s too cold for ice cream.”

She wasn’t kidding. Fifty degrees was downright freezing by Los Angeles’s standards, and yet, it hadn’t deterred locals and tourists alike from visiting the pier tonight. The place was bustling with folks of all ages, many of whom had come to see tonight’s holiday-themed lighting display. They lit the Ferris wheel up year-round, but only in December could you see a ninety-foot-tall, super-sized snowman, animated to wave merrily over the Pacific Ocean.

“Can we talk?”

I sucked in a breath and twisted to face the woman I had been avoiding for days. Old habits die hard. We hadn’t so much as texted until today, when I’d reached out to confirm the time of our photo shoot.

I’d wanted to call her. I had even written out a script, which, spoiler alert, was about as good as my riddle. As per usual, my insecurities had gotten the best of me, and the incessant questions had taken the leftovers. If she wanted to talk to me, she could just knock on my door, couldn’t she? Does she really just consider me a distraction? Will I ever be enough for her?

That last one hurt the most, probably because it wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind. On the contrary, it was an obstacle I had been working to overcome with my therapist for a while now—blame it on thirty-plus years of being the family outcast.

That was my issue to work through, not hers, but I still needed to know if there was even the slightest chance that we might have a shot.

“Sure.”

Her eyes skated over the pier. “Here?”

“Unless you want to do it up there?” Her mouth dropped open when I pointed toward the Ferris wheel. As a photographer, I was very well versed in both human emotions and facial expressions. I knew fear when I saw it. “I was just kidding. What did you want—”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

She nodded toward the wheel. “Let’s go.”

“You’re serious.”

“About us, yes.”

There was still an us. If that were the case, I would climb the fucking Ferris wheel.

“Let’s go.”

Leighton stopped us on her way back from the restroom. “Killian’s picking us up in five minutes. Wait, where are you guys going?”

“To ride the Ferris wheel,” I told her.

She scrunched her eyebrows together, confused. “ You’re riding the Ferris wheel?” The question was directed solely at Nellie.

“That’s right.”

“But—”

“Oh, look, there’s no line. I’ll call you tomorrow, sis.” She caught my hand in hers and dragged me toward the entrance to the ride, pausing only to call out, “Great show today!”

I waved goodbye to a dumbstruck Leighton.

Two minutes later, we were seated in a private car, a partially enclosed orb with a bench on either side and an attached umbrella overhead to block out the California sunshine. Not that that would be an issue at night.

Nellie took the seat across from me . . . at least until the ride started. The second we shoved off from the ground, she leapt across the space, planting herself beside me.

For a minute, we just took in the view, or at least I did. She kept her eyes firmly shut and her hands clenched tight. I was starting to think this might have been a bad idea. From the looks of it, she was about three seconds away from hyperventilating.

“Nellie, we can ask them to stop the—”

“I owe you a huge apology,” she blurted out.

“What?”

She smiled sadly. “I never should have snapped at you at the theater. I was frustrated by the whole holiday party crap and, frankly, a little embarrassed—”

“You had nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Believe me, I know.” She fumbled with her scarf. “I just . . . It was a vulnerable moment for me, and let’s just say, I’m not very good at feeling vulnerable in front of other people.”

That made two of us.

“That’s not an excuse for treating you like crap or pretending like you were just some random guy, when you’re anything but.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

She arched her brow. “But?”

My lips kicked up to one side. “But, I also don’t want to get in the way of anything.”

“You’re not,” she said, shaking her head with vigor. “ Holy fuck, we’re up high.”

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and closed the distance between us. With my other hand, I gripped her chin, turning her face back toward mine.

“Eyes on me,” I growled. She must have recognized the warning in my tone because her eyes snapped up to meet mine. “Were you going to tell me you were afraid of heights?”

“No.”

Well, at least she was honest.

“Why did you say yes to riding the Ferris Wheel?”

When her attention started to wander, I lowered my hand to her throat. There was no real pressure, just enough to make her squirm, no doubt soaking the seat beneath us. She could tell me to stop at any time and I would. But we both knew she wanted this.

We both knew she was my naughty girl. And naughty girls needed to be punished.

“I don’t do well at giving up control.”

“That’s now what I asked.” She practically purred when the hand around her throat slightly tightened. “Why did you say yes to riding the Ferris Wheel, Janelle?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because you asked me to.”

That was all I needed to know. I slammed my lips down on hers, tangling our tongues together when she opened her mouth on a gasp. There was nothing sweet about this kiss. This was a good old-fashioned, desperate tongue fucking, a duel to the finish, only there were no losers here.

She threaded her fingers through my hair, scraping my scalp in a way that sent shivers down my spine, all the way to my cock. This time, I was the one moaning. “Fuck, Janelle.” I groaned into her mouth.

Before either of us had time to overthink it, I released her throat and lowered my hand to the hem of her skirt. Inch by inch, my fingers danced across her upper thigh, until finally nudging the wet material covering her core.

She tore her lips away. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good.”

Her pupils flared with intrigue. “People might see.”

“Let me worry about that.”

Truth be told, there was nothing to worry about. It was dark out, save for the glowing snowman on the side of the wheel, the compartment beside us was empty, and nobody would be able to see what I was about to do to her thanks to the wall surrounding our seats.

“Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Do you want me to make you come?” Another nod. “Then widen your legs, sit back, and enjoy the ride.”

I know I will.

She did as I asked, allowing me plenty of room to access her pussy. I dipped under the lace band, scraping through the thin path of pubic hair paving the way to her clit.

Her head lolled back against my arm when I circled the bud.

“ Fuck ,” she groaned. “Please don’t stop.”

That’s right, baby. Beg.

I slid my fingers lower, dragging them through the wetness at her entrance. She was melting faster than the ice cream cone, dripping all over my hand. I needed a taste.

I swirled my fingers through her juices once more before removing them completely. She whined, then moaned when I licked them clean.

No use crying over spilt pussy juices, baby.

“Been dying to taste you for months now.”

She blushed. “And?”

“And now I want more.”

There would be plenty of time for that later. I planned to spend tonight, tomorrow, and hopefully the rest of our lives with my tongue buried between her thighs. That required a little more space and a lot more time, both of which we didn’t currently have.

My fingers delved back inside her panties.

Her warm breath fanned the bare spot beneath my beard, while my thumb toyed with her clit. Teasing, tormenting. Exquisite torture.

“Please, Austin,” she begged. I nearly came in my pants when she nipped my neck, no doubt leaving her mark. Cheeky brat.

“Only good girls get what they want for Christmas.” I slid my middle finger inside until I was knuckle deep. She was tight, but she was also dripping wet. “Have you been a good girl, Janelle?”

She shook her head, muttering a barely intelligible “no” against my neck.

I doubled my efforts, adding a second finger. To the casual onlooker, Nellie and I might look like a couple enjoying a romantic ride on the Ferris wheel. Little did they know that I was drawing figure eights inside her cunt.

I crowded in, pinning her back against the wall while my fingers plunged in and out of her. Faster, deeper. I knew we had to be making a mess, what with the wet, squelching noises we were making, and yet I couldn’t be bothered to care. Nellie was hardly the first girl to get fingerbanged on the Ferris wheel, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

My free hand threaded through her hair, tugging her head back until her eyes met mine.

“Are you a naughty girl?”

“Yes,” she answered with zero hesitation.

“Are you my naughty girl?”

She fisted my jacket when my fingers scissored inside her, brushing against that spot that I knew would set her off any second now. Her pussy pulsed in response.

“ Yesss. ”

“Good fucking answer, baby.”

I thrust my fingers inside her again and again, all the while rolling my thumb over her clit. And to her credit, Nellie’s gaze never wavered from mine. Not until I leaned forward and nipped her bottom lip. It was that last little bite of pain—pun intended—that sent her flying over the edge.

Only this time, there was no fear or trepidation. This time, she had somebody to catch her.