Page 81 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
God, she’s…she’s…fuck, she’s cute.
No!
Delete that thought. Delete.
I mean irritating.
Annoying.
Impossible!
Growing frustrated, I say, “If this is how you want to play the game, Storee, I can play it like this.”
Max clears his throat and steps in. “I think what he meant to say was, how about we all take a second to breathe and find a more productive way to create some positive chemistry between the two camps instead of continuing to rock the boat?”
“No, I did not mean that,” I say. “Iwantto rock her boat.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do…pervert,” Storee replies.
“I don’t want to rock your boat likethat,” I say. “Fuck, you’re the furthest thing from what I’d want to rock.”
“Says the guy who secretly wants to date me.”
“I’d rather date the hoof of one of my reindeer,” I snarl.
“Well, if we were honest,” Max says, “you did crush on her when she came to visit, back in the day.”
Jesus fuck, Max.
“Oh…is that right?” Storee says, sitting up, looking so fuckingridiculous in her blankets, headdress, and feet in a bucket of water…water that I assume is hot. “You had a crush on me?”
Yes.
Terribly.
Embarrassingly so.
“No,” I say flatly.
“Well, it seems like your friend thinks differently.” She casually points toward Max.
“Max was mistaken. He sometimes thinks Martha and Mae have a crush on him.”
“They do and you fucking know it,” Max says, outraged.
“So let me get this straight,” Storee says. “I come into town, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, you have all this…hatred for me after I thought we were friendly, and now I’m your mortal enemy, and all you want is to beat me at a Christmas competition? Is this because you have a crush on me and don’t know how to handle it?” She presses her hand to her chest and tilts her head ever so slightly. “Cole, you could just tell me rather than using negative tactics to get my attention.”
I feel my jaw grow tense and my eyes narrow. “I do not have a crush on you—that’s the furthest thing from the truth, so get it out of your head.”
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
“And I really don’t care,” I reply. “What I do care about is you trying to sabotage us, and if that’s how you want to play it, then let it be known you started this war.”
And with that, I head out of the house, Max following. I don’t shut the door behind us. Instead, I reach up to a strand of lights framing the front door and yank on it, sending the string to the welcome mat.
A gasp sounds through the house, followed by a distraught Taran. “My display!” she cries out.
But I keep striding forward. They want to play dirty? Well, they have no idea how low I can go.
