I scribble the violation as quickly as I can, popping it on Ryan’s nightstand before he can wake up. Then I slip out the bedroom door and down the stairs with my shoes in my hand.
And then I nearly trip over Rudy.
Thank God the dog doesn’t bark. He must remember me from before, because he immediately wags his tail and sniffs at my pockets.
“Whoa there,” says an unfamiliar male voice. An unfamiliar, deep and loud male voice that’s practically guaranteed to wake up Ryan. I look up to find the source of the voice and find a tall, extremely hot male specimen standing before me.
Clearly this is one of Ryan’s brothers. Based on the package of genetic perfection and the fact that he’s standing in Ryan’s house with Rudy.
“Rudy, who’s your friend?” the guy asks. “I’m Jake, by the way.”
He extends his hand, and I slip mine into his for the briefest, most perfunctory handshake I can manage in the circumstances.
“Maggie,” I tell him, already edging for the door. Catching a glance of myself in the hallway mirror tells me that I have bedhead, my dress is on backwards and I’m still holding my shoes in one hand. I place them quietly on the floor and stuff my feet in, then straighten, trying to maintain an iota of dignity.
“I gave Ryan a ride,” I tell him, like he needs an explanation. He doesn’t, I’m sure, and I’m already second-guessing how that sounded. “In my car, I mean. He got snowed in.”
“That was nice of you,” Jake says, clearly on the verge of laughing. “I’m sure he appreciated it.”
“Hmmmm,” I murmur, digging around in my purse and avoiding making eye contact. Finally locating a biscuit, I hand it over to Rudy, who has been patiently sitting at my feet, one paw raised in the air. “Okay, well, it was great meeting you. I think I’m late for something so I gotta run.”
I bolt before Jake can say another word. Once in my car I give myself a pep talk.
“People do crazy shit at the holidays,” I tell myself. “Christmas is a menace.”
I gasp out loud at myself. Who am I even?
“You are not responsible for Ryan Sheppard’s poor behavior,” I amend. “He’s the one in violation of everything good about Christmas. Not you.”
The thought settles me. I take a deep breath and head home, ready to restart this day with a hot shower and perhaps a peppermint hot chocolate, if necessary.
Unfortunately, it appears that no amount of goat milk soap can wash away the memories of Ryan, hard and heavy, raised on his arms above me as he pressed inside of me.
Doomed, I think. I’m completely doomed.
I head to City Hall to get my mind off of Ryan Sheppard. I decide this is a drastic time, and drastic times call for Christmas-color-coded spreadsheets. The one I’m making today marks all of the holiday parade route houses that are sufficiently festive in green, the ones that are on their way to being festive in blue, and the ones that are showing severe lack of festivity in red.
There is only one house in red.
Still, it keeps my mind busy. It’s not my day to use the office, so I’m forced to use a table in the lobby, but I don’t mind. It means I get to work next to the giant Christmas tree, inhaling the scent of pine as I type away.
Once I’m done with the first spreadsheet, I open up my gifts spreadsheet. I’ve been updating this one weekly since October. Mom’s done, I’m giving her some of Sutton’s soap and a Jack Frost candle. Dad’s getting Reindeer Falls socks and some of Sutton’s shave cream. I’m getting Sutton a hand-knitted sweater, but that’s still being, well, knitted, and Lexi… Lexi I still haven’t decided on. She’s a bit of an enigma, that girl.
My cursor blinks at me, as if there’s someone missing on the list. Okay, I’m probably projecting, but it really feels like there’s another name that should be on there.
Except that’s ludicrous. One-night stands do not get Christmas gifts. One-night stands—
“This latest ticket can’t possibly be real.”
I jump in my seat. It’s Ryan.
He smells like cedar and coffee and reminds me of sex. I bristle and nearly knock my coffee over onto my laptop, but I manage to keep my face neutral.
“Which ticket, exactly? I told you the violations needed to be fixed immediately. I gave you several days, and still nothing’s been fixed.”
“The ticket you left me this morning.”
I shrug, turning my eyes back to my laptop. He steps closer and sits next to me, turning my face to his by taking my chin in his hands. Just that slight touch reminds me of his hands on my breasts, my hips, and inside of me last night.
I hope I’m not blushing, but I probably am. It comes with the red hair territory.