Page 3 of Jingle All the Plays

“Something like that.” He jokes back to me. “Nah, man. Hitting the gym. Gotta work off the carbs from the Christmas party last night. How come you didn’t show up?”

My ass cheeks clench at the innocent question about the Christmas party. “Just busy. Had to get up early for this drive. That’s all.”

“Mhmm.” He doesn’t believe me. Nor should he. But at last year’s Christmas party I hit an all time low. A low so low that I don’t know my brain knows how to comprehend the lowness.

“She wasn’t there.”

Fuck. He totally knows. He probably witnessed the whole embarrassing episode from last year. And I couldn’t feel like a bigger loser.

Even though he knows I don’t want to talk about, he doesn’t let up. “You could probably apologize. I hear those work sometimes.”

I was wrong. I definitely feel like a bigger loser now. Can a guy win at losing? Because that’s me right now.

“Ya…for some things. Not this.” I reach my exit and pull off down the dirt road. The bumps jarring me in my seat just a little. It’ll all be worth it.

“Fuck. What’d you do, bro?”

I can’t tell him. For so many reasons. One, he won’t get it. No one will. It runs too deep. Some people might think nothing of it even, but that would be the worst thing to happen. For someone to tell me that it wasn’t that bad. It was worse than bad. I still remember the look on her face. And two, I’m so fucking ashamed of how I acted that I can’t allow myself to talk about it. I can hardly bring myself to think about it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Worse. Worse than anything you could possibly imagine.”

A loud breath rushes through my speakers at his long exhale. “Well, at least it’s a good thing you didn’t do something stupid to someone important, like the owner’s sister.”

“You’re such a fucktard.”

“Just trying to make you feel better about yourself. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Thanks for that,” I mutter with sarcasm just as I pull up in front of a large mansion tucked away behind a grove of looming trees.

“This is it,” I say more to myself than to Rafe. “Wish me luck.”

“Don’t fuck it up, Bo.”

Yup. Sounds about right.

Chapter 3

Maisy

“Can I get you anything else, Ma’am?” The lady’s eyes dart to where the pads of my fingers are tapping against the teacup. Since there’s no nail clicking sound because as a gardener I have no nails to speak of, she can’t possibly be annoyed at the movement, can she? Then again, she called me Ma’am, and I can’t remember the last time someone called me that. I’m only thirty-one for goodness’ sake.

“Uh…no.” I hold up the tea cup, then use it to gesture to the tray of snacks she brought out that looks like I could be feasting at a garden party in regency England. Minus the pants, I could be a character right out of one of the historical romance books I read. “This is perfect, thank you.” Wait. Did I say minus the pants? I mean, swap the pants for a gown. Some floor length gown that covers every enticing part of me.

I snort.

Enticing.

Right. The last time I got hit on—I shudder at the memory from last Christmas. Yes, it was that bad. Yes, it was that long ago.

I look up to see the lady’s reaction to my snort, but thankfully no one’s there. Shoot. I didn’t catch her name. I must be really nervous. Yup. The boob sweat confirms it. I take a quick glance down. Nothing there. But the sweat from my armpits, shit, I should have worn a looser fitting top. Just what I need when I’m about to present myself to the only person—

“Maisy?”

Dread fills me as I’m inspecting my sweat stains.

And not just because someone has caught me inspecting my sweat stains. In fact, it’s almost entirely because I know that voice. It’s a voice from the past that I used to look forward to…until last Christmas when that voice stuck a dagger in my heart.