Santa’s Mistletoe Playbook

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

C alm. Cool. Casual. This isn’t a big deal. You’ve had sex before. With other people. Not people who look like models, but still. Other people. You’ve known Neal for a while. How many times have we grabbed lunch or dinner together lately? Those were dates, so this is at least… what? The sixth date? The eighth? Yeah. It’s normal to take this step.

You’ve shaved your legs. You have your good shapewear on. Yeah. It’s all good.

“There you are!” Neal tugged her into his dorm room and immediately collapsed on his bed. It was made with a black sleeping bag and a pillow that was covered in MMA logos.

Not very romantic, but…

“The email just came in! You’re late.” Neal waved his phone accusingly.

“Huh? Oh wow, I guess it took me longer to walk across campus than I thought. Curtis was really worried about me walking over alone, so he insisted on walking me here.”

“Idiot. There are like—six people left on campus. Today was the last class before break!”

“Hey. He’s protective. There are a lot of men who wouldn’t even think to?—”

“Cozy Country Cabin! What the fuck? It says we have to have a pumpkin spice gingerbread element, a dark German gingerbread, and three non-gingerbread edible cookie types in addition to our structure. No less than seven decorative elements. Multiple edible confections.”

Bea waited for Neal to invite her to sit, but he didn’t, so she hesitantly sat beside him on the bed—only to have him rocket off of it in a huff. “Don’t stress. They know that everyone is an amateur. I mean, sure, there are some really great bakers in this town, but?—”

“This is so much stupid baking shit. It’s a waste. People can’t even eat some of this, and if they did, they’d all balloon up to like three hundred pound fatasses.” Neal slammed his hand down on his desk and caused a cascade of empty energy shot bottles to careen to the floor.

Bea swallowed. Her weight wasn’t quite 300 pounds, but Neal’s tone made her wince. What would he say if he ever saw the numbers on her scale? “I love baking! Why are you getting so worked up?”

“I… You’re right. I’m being an ass. I’m being stupid.” Neal turned to her with his arms out. “I forgot I had you for a second, baby. I could never do this on my own, that’s all.”

Neal’s chest was hard and packed against her soft curves as he gave her a quick squeeze.

“C’mon. Let’s plan.” He sat backwards in his desk chair and swiped a new tab open on his phone. “I’ll take the notes. You be the brains of the outfit, and I’ll be Santa’s hungry little helper.”

“Hungry? For what?” Bea sat back on the bed, hoping her voice was a sultry purr.

“Albacore tuna in a pouch!” Neal said, whipping two thin silver baggies out from the back of his desk. “Protein, baby. Plus brain food! You want?”

“Uh. No, thanks. I’m pretty full.” Curtis had made homemade ravioli yesterday and shared his leftovers with her while they looked at the new texture mats and talked about building a life-sized gingerbread holiday maze with different scenes from fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Then, they scarfed down a bunch of misshapen ginger pizzelles that were too thick or too thin but still tasted like crispy heaven.

Neal’s eating tuna out of foil packets. I’m sitting on a sleeping bag.

I think I shaved my legs for nothing.

Curtis: Text me that you’re home safe. Or just text me. Any time.

Bea yawned and tried not to frown at the phone in her hand. It was almost three in the morning. Her romantic night had turned into a lot of arguing and planning. Her feelings about Neal were… changing.

They were shallow to begin with, weren’t they? You wanted a hunk to prove the short, fat chick could get one. Or because every other girl wants him, and you never get the prize.

Is he a prize, though? Is he?

Because I don’t think guys that qualify as “prizes” would ? —

“Beatrice!”

“I have mace!” Bea screeched and whipped around in the archway leading away from Neal’s dorm. He hadn’t asked her to spend the night and had declined to meet with her until Monday, claiming work responsibilities.

“Well, don’t use it on me!” Curtis was behind her, muffled up to the eyes with his beanie pulled over his ears. His collar-length hair stuck out from under it like a wayward bird’s nest. “It’s three in the morning!”

“I know that!”

“Then why are you up, you overgrown pine tree?”

“Leave my height out of this! Also, I’d be short for a pine tree!” Curtis protested, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “How would you like it if I called you my sweet, delectable plum pudding, huh? Or my gorgeous glossy snow globe?”

Bea froze, blinking up at her friend as snow settled on them both.

Fuck, I might like that a lot . If Neal said those things. Neal. Not Curtis.

Right?

“Why are you out here at three in the morning?” Bea demanded.

“Well… You didn’t text me. I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to know if you were safe. Where’s Neal?”

“Asleep. With tuna breath.” Bea wrinkled her nose. There had been no kiss goodnight, but the way he leaned over her in the doorway, eyes smoldering at her… Her knees liquified.

“He didn’t walk you to your car?”

Bea looked around, rolling her eyes. “Not unless he got real tiny and invisible, Sherlock.”

“So… You want to spend the night with me? I mean, at my place? Or are you going back home?”

Bea blushed. She’d already texted her parents that she was working late on a big project and spending the night at Curtis’ place. They trusted him. She trusted him.

That should tell you something. You didn’t think they’d trust Neal.

“I’m beat.” Exhaustion hit her suddenly. “If I crash at your place, I’ll make you brunch.”

“Mmm. Saturday brunch with Bea. You know, that could be your show title one day. Brunch with Bea, exclusive to Foodie TV.”

“You think?”

“Duh. You’re going to be famous.” Curtis stuck his arm out, inviting her to interlock her elbow through his.

“No, we’re going to be famous.”

“With a whole fleet of Street Sweets trucks?”

“All in different colors.” Bea yawned and leaned against her friend. He wasn’t big and bulky like Neal, but his height and warmth made her feel beyond safe. Happy.

“No, man, you have to be consistent. Branding.” Curtis chuckled against her.

“I think they should be green with really bright pink accents.”

“The cupcakes?” Curtis looked down at her, eyebrows disappearing under his beanie.

“No, the trucks!”

“I don’t know. We can talk about it over brunch. Hey… Um. You want to go Christmas shopping at the Night Market in town tomorrow?”

“I have to start working on the baking and designing. This year’s theme is Cozy Cabin.”

“Oooh! I got an idea for the roof!”

“Yeah?”

“Are you thinking of shingled or like, thatched? I have an idea, either way.”

“You’re the best, Curt.”

Was it her imagination, or did her best friend hang his head and blush?

His cheeks are just pink because it’s twenty degrees out here. And he’s ducking his head to keep that long giraffe neck of his warm.

Ten minutes later, Bea slipped into one of the hoodies that she’d left at Curtis’ apartment during the semester. It was the only thing in his apartment that would begin to fit her.

No pants. No bra. No worries. She padded barefoot to the bedroom because Curtis insisted she sleep in the bed. Two minutes later, she padded back out to the tiny cubby of a living room, where Curtis was folded up like an accordion on the loveseat-size futon. “You. Get in bed with me.”

Curtis sprang up so fast that he crashed to his knees. “What? Really?”

“Yeah! You’re smushed there.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. Now. Bed. March.”

This time, she didn’t imagine the blush and the little wistful sigh as Curtis slipped past her with a tiny smile. “Yes, Chef.”

Do not think unclean thoughts about your best friend. Do not think unclean—crap, how have I never noticed how hot he looks in sweats before?

Bea jerked her eyes to the ceiling as Curtis flopped onto the bed.

The long bulge in his sweatpants flopped, too.

If it’s that long when he’s soft, what do you think he’d be like when he’s hard?

What do you think Neal would be like?

Guilt bit her smartly on the ass, and she hurried to tuck herself into bed, well out of Curtis’ reach.