How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas

But also in the box was a bright blue wrapped package with a silver ribbon.

A Christmas present.

A long time ago I’d established with Betty that the cake, the coffee, and the safe and lovely place to go on Christmas was gift enough from her, so that present could only be from Sam.

I touched the silver ribbon, stretching a curly strand of it straight and then letting go. In my bedroom I had a present for Sam, too. A new headset for when we gamed together. His piece of crap had been left overseas when he’d gotten hurt and I’d gotten him the model he’d had his eye on forever.

Of course, I’d gotten it for him before the whole warehouse incident.

I’d been trying to—if not forget, at least stop remembering—what had happened between us. What he’d done to me. How his hands had felt on my skin, his mouth on my body…

Fuck.

Nope. No. I was not going to sit around getting turned on by memories of him. I wasn’t going to sit in my own house and be agitated by this gift. As a rule I wasn’t a big drinker. Hangovers were the worst. But if there was a day for a few cocktails it was my All Alone on Christmas Day day. I had a bottle of good gin, some tonic, and a few hard limes. I fixed myself a strong one and sat back down to my game.

Ignoring the gift.

But then I couldn’t ignore the gift.

I paused my game and contemplated the pretty wrapped box on my island. Two choices. I could just throw it away. That seemed like a waste of a good gift. Or I could open it. But that seemed dangerous. Foolish, maybe, for a girl trying real hard to eradicate the roots of her years-long infatuation with her brother’s best friend.

What I really couldn’t do was ignore it. That I was failing miserably at. So I picked up the box and put it outside my door. In the cold. Out of sight. Not throwing it away, per se. But not having it in the apartment either.

After that, the first cocktail went down pretty smooth so I made another and then put the potpie in the oven to heat up. This day wasn’t so bad.

Sam

The gift was outside her door. Snow burying the blue wrapping paper, dampening the ribbons. Perhaps I should have expected that.

Fuck. I really did ruin everything.

I threw the shovel back in the truck and took the steps up to her apartment. I dusted off the snow on the present as best I could and knocked on her door. Sophie should have presents on Christmas Day and I knew she would like these. I’d known it the second I saw them in the market in Ankara. The woman who made them even showed me how to use them and I’d imagined showing Sophie. How close I would have to stand to her. How she would feel under my hands.

That’s probably why I bought them.

And she might not want them, she certainly didn’t want me to touch her, but Sophie Kane should have a Christmas present on Christmas.

I knocked. Waited. Hoped she wasn’t changing out of those short shorts. Really hoped she wasn’t changing out of those just-over-the-knee bright red socks. Knocked again.

The door opened and she stood there (socks and shorts intact), hair a wild, curly mess over her shoulders and around her head. I wondered, for maybe the millionth time, how some guy hadn’t snapped this girl up. Put her in his bed and hadn’t let her out except to get food when they’d fucked themselves close to starvation.

That Joe guy wanted to. I could smell it on him.

“Sam,” she said, trying to sound firm but only sounding angry. “You done shoveling?”

I nodded and held out the present. “This is for you.”

“I…” She licked her lips and inside my coveralls I went hard in a heartbeat. “I don’t think I want it.”

I deserved that. I deserved everything she wanted to throw at me. “It’s Christmas Day.”

“I know.”

“Do you have other presents?” Her apartment, as usual, was completely empty of Christmas. Like it was a holiday that happened around her. Not for her.

She took in a deep breath through her nose. “Not…here.”

I held out the box. “You deserve presents on Christmas Day, Soph.” She was still hesitant. “How about if I let you yell at me while you open it?” I smiled at her, willing that she take the offer. I saw over her shoulder the bottle of gin and the 2 liter of Tonic. “I’ll make you a drink.”

“I can make my own drinks.”

“I’ll let you make me one.”

She sighed and stepped back, and I was allowed inside her apartment. Sophie Kane’s inner sanctum, where she was most herself and everything in the place reflected it. Bright green walls in the kitchen and soft gray in the living room. Shelves full of books, a great big TV. A big comfy couch and the beanbags on the colorful rug in the center of the room where she sat when she played video games.