Beyond the Play (Out of Reach 3)

“Ha-ha,” I say, tickling her side and making her shriek with laughter.

“Christmas is three days away.”

“I’m going to need it anyway.”

“But all that decorating for three days?”

“Come on, Parker. You know you want to.”

“You’re right! I do want to.” She claps her hands. “Can we go now?” she asks.

Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s just after seven. “I think the stores are open a couple more hours.”

“Come on, Bailey. What are you waiting for? We have shopping to do.”

“I’ve created a monster.” I laugh as she grabs my hand and pulls me back to the garage. I open the door for her, and she climbs in, the happiness still on full display on her face.

“Where are we headed?” I ask once I’m behind the wheel. I hit the button to open the garage door and start the truck that’s still warm, and back out of the garage.

“Just follow my directions,” she tells me. “And what we don’t get today, we can get tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got plans tomorrow.”

“What?” She turns to face me. “What plans? You can’t dangle decorating this blank canvas”she points over her shoulder at the house as we’re pulling out of the drive“like a carrot. You said we could decorate.”

I pull up to the stop sign at the end of my road. “I did say that, and we will, but I promised you I’d spend all day tomorrow kissing you.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, we’re going to have to work that into decorating. Make a right,” she says, patting my cheek.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She points me to the nearest Hobby Lobby and tells me we’re both going to need a cart. I don’t argue and grab a cart, following along behind her. Everything she oohs and aahs over, I put into the cart. It’s a big-ass house, and if it puts this kind of smile on her face, it’s worth whatever this little shopping trip is going to cost me.

CHAPTER 17

Parker

“Maybe we went a little overboard,” I say to Holden. We’re sitting on the island in his massive kitchen eating burgers and fries we picked up from the drive-thru on the way back to his place.

“There is no we in this equation, sweet pea,” he teases.

I smile at the use of the nickname he’s given me. I love the play on the fact that my first name begins with P. Clever one he is. “What do you mean?” I ask, pretending to be appalled.

“You loved it all.”

“Of course I did. That doesn’t mean we had to buy it all.”

He shrugs, popping a fry in his mouth. “It’s a big house.”

“You’re crazy.” I shake my head at him, grabbing the chocolate shake sitting next to me on the counter and taking a drink.

“Crazy about you.”

His confession hits me right between the thighs. Sure, my heart flutters in my chest, but it’s the heat that rushes to my core that has me squirming on the counter. Holden cocks a brow, and without a doubt, he knows exactly what I’m thinking and why I can’t sit still.

“Are you still on this no-kissing-me kick?” I ask, my face flaming. I’m not usually this bold, but something about Holden brings it out in me. I sobered up hours ago. Sure, I might have been a little looser-lipped than normal, but I knew exactly what I was asking for. Him and his lips on mine. It’s a simple request, really.

“Parker.”

I turn to look at him, and his lips press to mine. It’s a peck, just a quick press of our lips, but to me, it’s more than that. It’s him and me sitting here together in his empty house, our legs swinging from the kitchen island with the bag of takeout between us, and his living room floor full of Christmas decorations and his new Christmas tree. It’s more than a kiss. It feels like a promise—a promise of more.

“We’ve got work to do.”

“Slave driver,” I complain, shoving the last bite of my burger into my mouth. Jumping off the counter, I wad up my trash and place it in the bag. “Ready?” I can barely contain my excitement, and I know my smile must be splitting my cheeks wide open. I love Christmas, and the fact I know he’s doing this for me, well, that warms every part of my soul.

He hops down from the island and places his trash in the takeout bag. “What’s first, boss lady?” he asks.

“This is your house.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But this is your project.” He sweeps his hand out in front of us as if offering up the entire house to me. “Blank canvas, sweet pea, and it’s all yours.”

Tilting my head back, I smile up at him. “We might need more decorations,” I tease.

“That will have to wait until tomorrow. Let’s start with what we have.”

His easy acceptance of my claim is not what I expected. “Let’s put the tree up first and go from there.”