Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-Up Christmas Relationship

“This is for her…for your angel who’s stronger today than she was before. Merry Christmas, Penny.”

As the tears flow freely from my eyes, I turn my head away from her so she won’t see them. Our fingers tighten against one another, and effortlessly, she sends waves of warmth through me, and touches my soul.

I’m still angry at Penny for the choice she made, for not fighting harder, and then I become angry with myself because how do I know she didn’t fight? I’m still sad, and wish I could have held her one last time and told her everything would be okay. Yet Jules makes it a little easier to forgive, to not fear the sad memories, and to not allow the angry feelings to overtake me.

The snow picks up and floats down on our faces, painting us with its beauty before it melts away. I part my lips to taste it, the wetness of the night gracing us in the moment. It’s therapeutic, this moment. It’s real, and it’s very much needed after all of these years of never speaking about it. If anyone should be paying anyone, I’m pretty sure I owe Jules a check.

My heart beats a slower rhythm, and it’s easier to breathe. It’s beautiful, this made-up relationship.

Before we stand to move toward the house to dry off, I look up to the sky one last time to see a few stars shining in my direction. Perhaps the stars in the sky are loved ones letting us know they are nearby, guiding us through the night.

Merry Christmas, Penny.

Soaking wet, we make our way to the bedroom, leaving puddles of water trailing through the cabin. I can’t stop thinking about what Kayden shared with me, of how he opened up to me. If we could make believe forever, I know I would never tire of the sound of his voice and the stories he tells. He’s intriguing and intense, but he’s equally just as humorous and sweet.

I would never have imagined that the tattoo on his chest had such meaning associated with it. When he opened up to me, I saw it, the cracks inside of him. The hurt. I feel honored and immensely grateful that he allowed me to enter his private world.

Grabbing a pair of black sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, I head to the bathroom to change while he changes in the bedroom. Sliding out of the wet clothes, I toss them into the tub, a problem I will deal with at a later time. Staring into the mirror, I study my wild hair and the eyeliner that is awkwardly spread across my face. In the past I would have cared about guys seeing me look like a hot mess, but with Kayden I don’t care at all.

It feels good to not care.

Then I realize I do care—a little at least. As I leave the bathroom, I kind of hope that Kayden wants me. Okay, that’s a lie. I need Kayden to want me, because I want him so bad. I miss his taste. I crave his touch. I can’t help it—he’s everything I’ve always wanted and nothing I’ve ever had. Pulling my hair together, I toss it into a high ponytail, and I wipe all of the make-up off my face. Holding my hand in front of my face, I do a br

eath check, blowing into my palm. Holy crap! I have monkey ass breath. I am heavily suffering from morning breath with a mix of pancake breath, and a dose of what-the-freaking-hell-is-that breath. Gross face. Reaching into my duffle bag, I pull out my zipped up toothbrush and paste and prepare to kill mega things that decided to live—or die—within my mouth.

After disinfecting myself from head to toe, I open the door and see Kayden standing there in a white Henley shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. The way the shirt hangs from his body and the sweats fall against his hips makes my lady parts want to follow him until he allows me to taste every single part of him.

“Can I tell you something without it being weird?” he asks, rubbing his hand against his jawline. What a perfect jawline it is.

“No. Please make it weird. I like weird. I love weird.” He crosses his arms and smirks, and I am almost certain that my heart has never loved the idea of making someone grin more in all its life. If I could, I would make it a daily routine to make those lips curve up in pleasure.

“I lust you, Jules. I lust you so hard right now. It’s almost impossible for me to be around you and remember that this is all an act. I just, I haven’t felt…” His shoulders shrug up and he bites the bottom corner of his lip. “I haven’t felt anything in such a long time. I avoid my feelings like the plague. I sleep with random girls to forget about emotions, to get lost in the act of sex, to make those kinds of moments lose their true meaning. I haven’t made love in years, but after meeting you, I want you to know that I may consider it someday in the future. I may consider falling in love again, because I like the way I feel when I’m with you.

“I want you to know I appreciate the fact that I can talk to you about who I am and where I come from and not feel awkward about it. I appreciate that I can kiss you and not want to retreat after the kiss. I really appreciate how whenever I make you laugh I feel like a better man. I know this isn’t real or anything, and I know I may be suffering from actor’s syndrome where you fall in lust with your co-star. But dammit, if I had to be in a fake relationship with someone, I’m really fucking happy it’s with you.”

When he finishes speaking, I sit quietly and contemplate what he has just shared with me. The way each word replays in my mind makes me glow from the tip of my head to the bottom of my feet. “I lust you, too.” We stare at each other, and momentarily, I forget.

I forget about all of the past hurts. I forget about all of my insecurities when it comes to guys. I forget that right here, right now is all an act; and I allow myself to fall so deeply in lust with this stranger I feel I have known all my life. It feels so damn good to be forgetful.

“Hot cocoa?” he asks. I bite the bottom of my lip, and glance toward my cell phone, seeing that it’s almost five-thirty in the morning.

“Hot cocoa.”

Entering the kitchen to see our pancake mess still there is pretty nice. It wasn’t a dream. This is simply the weird, awkward, totally ridiculous life I’m currently living. Moving to the cabinet, I reach up to grab the mugs and feel two hands land on my waist.

“I don’t want hot cocoa,” Kayden whispers, his lips ever-so-slightly touching the edge of my ear. Twirling me around, I meet his stare. He brushes his finger against my chin and my insides churn in frenzy. His green eyes focus on me, and I cannot tear my gaze away from him even if I want to. He’s smirking with such a strong sense of knowing that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on this planet.

“Kayden…” I whine with pleasure as he brings his lips close to mine, millimeters apart, and our breaths comingle into one. His hands wrap around my waist, and he lifts me onto the top of the marble counter. Any minute now, Dad will be around to start his six a.m. coffee pot. Mom will wander down the steps of the isolated cabin soon after, wanting her peppermint tea, her chocolate croissants. “We can’t…” I whisper, pulling him closer to me, rejecting the very definition of my own words.

He doesn’t kiss me, but I want him to. I want him to kiss me in a way that makes real lovers cry out of mere jealousy. I want him to hold me the way he’s never held anyone before. My back arches my body toward him, pressing me against his chest, making our bodies become one.

I don’t know how we got here; I don’t even fully understand why he’s here in Wisconsin with me. Why did I even decide to hire an actor? Why did Stacey decide to sign Kayden that day? Call it a moment of weakness, call it a dark period in my life—or hell, call it fate. All I know is that within the past twenty-four hours Kayden Reece has interjected himself into my life and I am oh so glad he did.

He wraps his hand around my neck, pulling me closer as he separates my legs, stepping in between them. His lips brush across mine, and my eyes want to close, but he warns against it.

“Stay with me, Jules. I want to experience all of you. I want to smell your strawberry lip gloss. I want feel your smooth thighs. I want to get lost in those blue eyes, I want to hear all of your whispers, listen to your secrets, and I want to taste your lips against mine.” When he kisses me, he makes sure I’ll never forget it. I run my hands through his hair, light moans fighting to escape my covered mouth. His hands run up and down my back, holding me still against the countertop.

He kisses me as if we have been doing it all of our lives. He kisses me as if he wishes to do it until the day we die. He kisses me as if he’s so deeply in love with me and he fears that it will be the last kiss we will ever share.