A Kiss for Christmas Page 9

  “Just you?” he frowns.

  “No, my boyfriend is coming,” I say quickly.

  He relaxes into a smile again. “Good, good. Can’t have a pretty girl like you alone on the holidays. You need someone to kiss on New Year’s Eve!”

  I smile, and quickly check my phone to see if Matt’s flight was on time. It’s listed as arriving on schedule. I feel a surge of relief, finally relaxing back into the seat. Matt’s probably already checked us in and is relaxing in the tub. Or, more likely, he’s sprawled out doing what every sleep-deprived doctor loves most in the world. Sleeping.

  He’s been under so much pressure recently, I’ve hardly seen him at all. He warned me when we started dating five months ago that his surgical residency at one of the top hospitals in LA didn’t leave him any free time. I didn’t mind: I’m still in school, too; I just started a master’s degree in psychology, and sometimes I lose sleep over my reading lists and deadlines, not to mention the days I volunteer at a crisis hotline as part of my research. I understood that his career and my school work wouldn’t leave much time to be together, but we had such a great connection, we both swore we’d make it work.

  The first few months went by in a whirl, stealing moments together: a breakfast here, a late-night movie there. It was fun, snatching whatever time together our crazy schedules allowed. I would drop by the hospital to grab lunch with Matt in the cafeteria, and he would deliver triple-shot coffees when I was pulling all-nighters in the library. One night, he even showed up at my apartment just to kiss me before turning right back around and heading to the hospital for another twelve-hour shift.

  It was romantic and thrilling to begin with, but I have to admit, the novelty is wearing off fast. I want something more than fleeting kisses and trading texts. I want something real. I told my friend Tegan that it feels like we’re in a long-distance relationship, even though we live a couple of miles apart. And more and more, whenever I make time for us and plan a special dinner or date, he gets called back in on some emergency and I’m stuck alone at a table set for two.

  I’ve tried to be understanding, but still, I wonder how much longer we can keep this up. I’ve been hinting at moving in together so we can take the next step, and I’m hoping that having this time together over the holidays will give him that spark to make a change.

  Can’t wait to see you, I type out a quick text. I have a special night planned!

  I look up just as we approach the Brooklyn Bridge. My heart catches. The Manhattan skyline is sparkling under the grey, cloudy skies. Towering buildings and glittering lights, already shining in the darkening afternoon.

  It’s perfect.

  As the cab drives closer, I hug my arms around myself and smile. This is going to be the trip of a lifetime, I can just feel it. Matt will finally relax, and then everything will be OK. I’ll finally have the Christmas I’ve been dreaming about.

  And maybe it will even snow.

  Austin

  I’ve never been filled with the Christmas spirit, but this year, I’m officially done with the holidays.

  Keep your merry reindeer. Tell Santa where he can shove it. What I need is a soft bed, a stiff drink, and a willing playmate—and not necessarily in that order.

  “Are you sure you can’t make it?” My mom’s face fills my cellphone screen, messaging all the way from London. The room behind her is filled with antique furniture and a towering Christmas tree, and I can barely see her for holly wreaths.

  “I’m sorry. I was stuck at the airport all morning, but they cancelled my flight and every plane crossing the Atlantic is booked solid.” I explain. “You guys will just have to celebrate without me.”

  “But the holiday vacation was your gift to us, a family trip to England…” she looks upset, so I reassure her with a grin.

  “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’ll have plenty to keep me busy. You guys just have fun.”

  I hang up, sending thanks to whatever higher power sent freak ice-storms raging over London. I’m sorry not to spend time with my folks, but I can see them all the time back home in Texas. No, this was a lucky break. Instead of sitting through a week of jet lag and forced holiday cheer, I have nothing but time. No carol concerts, no Christmas dinner, and no watching schmaltzy movies for the hundredth time. Just a perfect, no-stress, zero-bullshit Christmas in New York: me, a bottle of bourbon, takeout pizza and ESPN.

  What more could a guy ask for?

  Back at the hotel, the woman at the front desk, Patrice, lights up when she sees me. “Mr. Kelly,” she beams. “I thought you were all checked out.”

  “Change of plans.” I drop my bag and flash her my best charming grin. “Any chance you can squeeze me in to my old room? Turns out I’ll be staying a couple of days longer.”

  “Let me just take a look…” Patrice clicks at her computer a moment. “Actually, there’s someone scheduled to check in tonight.” She pauses, looking around. There’s nobody but us in the lobby, so she gives me a wink. “But we just had a cancellation and our executive penthouse suite is free.”

  “Darlin’, as long as there’s four walls and nobody around to hear me snore, I’m all set.”

  She giggles. “The penthouse it is. And, I didn’t want to ask before, but…” She trails off, biting her lip with an anxious expression.

  I’ve seen that look on a thousand faces, I know exactly what’s coming next. You don’t spend five years as the lead guitarist in a major rock band without recognizing when a fan’s got a favor to ask.

  “Let me guess, you want an autograph?” I smile, putting her out of her nervous misery.

  She blushes. “It’s just, my daughter is a huge fan.”

  “Not you?” I tease.

  She looks stricken. “Oh no, I am too. But I got her your CD for a gift, and if it was signed, she would think I was the best mom ever.”

  I laugh. “No problem. Just bring it in tomorrow and I’ll swing by to sign.”

  “Thank you,” she breathes. “Oh my gosh, you’ve just made her Christmas!”

  “Happy holidays,” I wink, taking the room key she slides across the desk.

  Instead of going straight upstairs, I head to the bar instead. It’s still afternoon, so the place is almost empty. I pick a booth near the back, and settle in, ordering a double shot of whiskey to get me started.

  I take a long drink, and feel the tension ease out of me. This last six months has been nonstop: an epic world tour with the band, and working on my solo stuff, too. For the last three weeks I’ve been holed up at a recording studio across town, laying down tracks for my first album. After spending so long with my bandmates, it’s scary and exhilarating to go it alone. There’s nobody to bounce ideas off the same way—and no one to call me out when I wind up obsessing over a single lyric or rhythm track.

  Still, I’m happy to be taking that step. The Reckless will always be a part of my life, but it’s fun to challenge myself and try out new material, too. I’ve been drawn to quieter, more acoustic material for a while now. The band’s music is rock—driving, melodic, but hard. On my own, I get to dial it down and go back to my roots. Once a country boy, always a country boy.

  I take another drink and scroll through my phone. With time on my hands now, I need someone to help pass it. “Anika, darlin’,” I call my on-again/off-again girlfriend, an Estonian model who I met on the set of one of our music videos. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Having dinner,” she replies cooly. “In Miami. Where I told you I’d be going.”

  Shit.

  “Call it wishful thinking,” I answer smoothly. “Sure you don’t want to hop a flight?”

  She snorts. “I thought you said we have nothing in common.”

  “Nothing but chemistry. C’mon, baby,” I cajole. “It’s Christmas. Do you want to be naughty or nice…?”

  She giggles, her voice softening. “Sorry, baby, I’m all booked up. But I’ll be back for New Year’s. Call me!”

  I hang up. It’s probably
for the best: Anika can be a high-strung diva when her blood sugar gets low, and since this is the holidays, she’ll be waging a constant battle against carbs.

  I start scrolling through my address book. Becky. Brita. Caitlin, Carolina…

  I smile at the memories. You can’t blame me: I’m a red-blooded male who’s hit a hundred different cities over the past five years. Yeah, we had some good times, the band and me. But lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m too old for the same playboy bullshit. Sure, it’s tough to keep up a real relationship on the road, but the truth is, I quit trying. After my first serious girlfriend and I flamed out over long-distance troubles and her jealous streak, I decided to give dating a wide berth. I was too busy rehearsing all day, and partying all night to care about anything real, but now, that party scene feels hollow and surface. I’m not twenty-two anymore. And seeing my best friend Dex settle down with the love of his life has reminded me that I haven’t met mine yet.

  That’s irony for you: my new album is packed with love songs, but the lyrics I write are all for a girl I’ve never even met.

  It’s why I’ve hung on with Anika for so long. Deep down, I know that we’re not right for each other, but it’s still nice to see the same face over the breakfast table in the morning, and have someone to call up to make plans for dinner the same night.

  Even if she won’t eat a damn thing.

  The empty seat beside me in the booth feels like it’s taunting me, so I find myself scrolling through the list and making calls. But every girl I talk to is way ahead of me: they’re either out of town with family or off the market for good.

  “Sorry, babe. I’m at my parent’s place in Arizona.”

  “I would be there in a heartbeat, but I’m at a yoga retreat in Peru.”

  “You’re two months too late, Austin. I’m engaged.”

  I finally quit around the Ks. This is crazy. Is everyone in the world except me spending this weekend with their nearest and dearest?

  Maybe this is a sign to get your shit together.

  I sit back and take a look around the room. There are a couple more people here now. Some middle-aged tourists poring over maps in the corner, and—

  Her.

  I stop. She’s perched on a stool by the bar, chatting to the bartender as he fixes her a drink. She’s dressed in a slinky navy dress that hugs her curves, her auburn hair gleaming under the lights. Every few seconds, she glances back at her phone, like she’s waiting for someone.

  Whoever he is, he’s too late. I’m already here.

  I slide out of the booth and head over. Up close, she’s even more beautiful: expressive hazel eyes and a sweet, glossy mouth curled in an excited smile. The bartender passes her a martini and she takes a sip, her pink tongue darting out to lick the moisture from her lips.

  I feel a surge of lust. Damn. Five seconds in, and I could already write a song about that mouth.

  I lean against the bar beside her and flash my best grin, the one Nashville Sound voted the hottest smile in music.

  “Hey darlin’,” I drawl, “have you been waiting for me?

  I wait for that flash of recognition on her face—for her eyes to brighten, and her breath to catch, and her to swoon right into my arms the way women always do.

  Instead, she bursts out laughing.

  Sophie

  “I’m sorry,” I splutter with laughter. “I can’t… I mean…”

  I gasp for air, trying to stop my hysterics. He’s standing there in front of me, looking totally dumbfounded. I can understand why. A man like this has probably never been turned down in his life. Smoldering blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and messy brown hair just begging to be touched. He’s wearing a pair of worn dark jeans that fit his ass like a glove, and with that ass…?

  I’m guessing women throw their panties at his feet before he even opens his mouth. And if they didn’t, well, they certainly would be stripping once they get a hint of that smoky Southern drawl: low and sweet and sexy.

  This guy is illegally hot. He’s also the same man who knocked me over at the airport, stole my cab, and has spent the past halfhour hitting on every girl in his phone book.

  “Are you OK?” He recovers that charming grin. “Maybe you’re having some kind of fit?” He gestures to the bartender for a glass of water.

  I take it, and thankfully take a gulp.

  “OK,” I gasp. “I’m good, I promise…” I catch his eye again and can’t help but giggle. “I’m sorry!”

  “No problem,” he looks puzzled. “Mind letting me in on the joke?”

  “I’m afraid it’s you.”

  He stares.

  “I mean, the way you hit on me just now,” I add quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just… I’ve been sitting in the booth over there.” I point. “Right next to you. So, I’ve heard pretty much everything you’ve said for the past half hour. And all the girls you’ve been saying it to,” I add meaningfully.

  Realization dawns. “Oh shit.” Then he laughs, a full, throaty laugh—full of warmth. He shakes his head. “That wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

  “I’d imagine not.” I smile, relieved he’s taking this so well. Other guys might have gotten angry or offended to have some girl laugh hysterically right in their face. “So what’s the big emergency?” I ask curiously. “It’s your last night on earth, and you don’t want to die alone?”

  He gives me another devastating smile, casually stealing a sip of my drink. “Would it work if it was true?”

  I take my drink back from him and ignore the flutter in my stomach. God, this guy is hot.

  “I’m meeting my boyfriend,” I say firmly. My boyfriend who’s running two hours late now. I checked into the room and hung out for a while, but I got too impatient up there, so I came down for a drink to calm my nerves.

  He’s probably just caught in traffic, I’ve been telling myself. Or off buying a last-minute surprise gift for me. That has to be it.

  “A boyfriend, huh? I should have known. But he shouldn’t keep you waiting,” the hot stranger grins at me. “Some handsome stranger might come along and sweep you off your feet.”

  “Why, have you seen any?” I shoot back.

  He clutches his chest. “Struck down again. You wound me.”

  “You’ll live,” I smile. “Something tells me, you have a very healthy ego. Like the number of girls you just called. They were really all busy?” I ask, frowning. Unless this guy has terrible personal hygiene or doubles as a serial killer, I can’t understand why he’s struck out.

  I lean in and subtly inhale. He smells like winter: crisp and clean, with a hint of spicy cologne.

  Must be the serial killer thing.

  “What can I say? The universe is conspiring to bring us together.” He’s still leaning against the bar, watching me with those piercing blue eyes, and looking like he just stepped out of a magazine spread.

  Or your dreams.

  I shake off the traitorous thought. “You really believe in fate?” I ask him, dubious. Guys who have that many girls on speed-dial don’t tend to be the soulmate kind.

  He shakes his head. “Not at all. Just make believe bullshit. We’re all random atoms spinning in the vastness of space.”

  “That’s depressing,” I protest.

  “Not at all,” he shrugs. “There’s something pretty beautiful, if you think about it. All of history, since the very beginning of time, has had to align to bring us both to this moment, right here. A hundred million random coincidences and split-second choices, just to put two people in a bar together on the night before Christmas.”

  “We’re not together,” I smile. Despite everything, I’m charmed. It’s not just the smile and the body and the laughter in his eyes; he’s funny and smart too. There’s a poetry to his words, and I wonder for a moment if he’s a writer.

  “We could be,” he contends. “C’mon,” he adds, his voice turning quiet. Intimate. “Let me buy you dinner. You can tell me all about this asshole ex-boyfrien
d of yours who stood you up.”

  “He hasn’t stood me up.” I bridle defensively. “We flew all the way from California to spend Christmas together in New York.”

  “And yet here you are, all alone.”

  I stare at him, feeling that shiver of unease again. Matt was supposed to be here hours ago. It’s not like him not to call or text.

  Except it is, a little voice reminds me. He’s been dropping out these past couple of weeks: showing up late, not replying to my messages. He swears it’s just work, they’re always slammed in the ER before the holidays, but now I wonder…

  My feelings must have shown, because the hot stranger softens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure he’s just running late.”

  I slowly nod.

  “There’s no way he’d stand a girl like you up,” he adds with a rueful look. “Trust me. He’d have to be crazy, or strung up in traction somewhere.”

  Fear slams through me. “You think he might have been in an accident?” I didn’t even think of it, but it happens all the time. Some unsuspecting tourist steps off the curb without looking twice, and BAM.

  “Oh my god,” I gulp, scrabbling for my purse. Panic races in my veins. “Should I start calling hospitals, you think? It’s been hours now. They don’t let you file a missing persons report for a full day, but maybe I should call the police and—”

  My cellphone starts ringing just as I pull it out. I check the caller display, my heart still racing with terror. Matt.

  Relief crashes over me. “It’s him!” I quickly lift the phone to my ear. “Thank God, I was freaking out thinking you got into some kind of accident.”

  Matt clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

  “Is everything OK?” I ask, worried. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”

  There’s silence.

  “Matt?” I check. The hot stranger is still standing beside me, listening to every word, so I slip down from my stool and walk out to the hotel lobby. It’s quieter here, all gleaming marble floors and chic cubed furniture. I sink down on one of the square seats in the corner and try to ignore the knot in my stomach. “Matt?” I ask again, hating the trembling note in my voice. “When do you think you’ll get here? I picked us a great place for dinner,” I add, “and this bar I read about online. It’s hidden away, nobody knows about it, and they say it’s the best spot in the city.”