"Baby, it’s nippley outside."

Clad in her way too sexy Mrs. Claus dress, Gigi pauses ringing the bell to glare at me. "Will you stop?"

"I can’t. I’m bored."

Gigi dragged me to the grocery store to stand on the sidewalk in our Santa outfits and beg for donations. I didn’t want to go. I really didn’t. Dealing with crying children for hours was bad enough. My voice was hoarse.

But she wanted me to come.

I’ve got her right where I want her. Panting for me. Gigi’s a woman I could fuck seven ways to Sunday and never get bored. I hope she comes to her senses before we leave. Until then, I’m roped into all kinds of stupid events, like this dumb charity drive. I’ve always wondered how many give money to people ringing a bell outside grocery stores. Now I know—not a lot.

"Donate to the children’s hospital," Gigi deadpans to customers leaving the store. "Please help others."

"You could sound more excited. How 'bout putting more pep in your step? A little zing, some oomph—"

"How about you be quiet?"

"I was under the impression I was supposed to be loud. You’re sending mixed messages, Good Girl. In more ways than one."

Gigi halts ringing to face me, agitation written all over her features. "Don’t call me that. I’ve told you a thousand times."

"I know, but most of what you say goes right through me."

"Because you’re a brainless jock?"

"Because I can see your nipples." I point at her chest. The thin velvet-like fabric reveals exactly how cold she is. "I’ve been trying to give you a heads up."

Mortified, she glances down. "Well, there’s nothing I can do about them."

"Yes, there is. Let’s go home."

Her saccharine smile twitches. "I thought football players were supposed to be tough."

"I don’t want to be here! I want a break from this Santa Claus shit."

"Fine, then give up like the spoiled brat I know you are."

Behind her snark is a throbbing ache for my cock. It’s the only explanation for her hostility. "Babe, I’m not going anywhere. Wherever you go, I follow."

"Lucky me."

"I’m the one who should be bitching. You think I want to spend my holiday like this? What’s the point, anyway? You hate this Christmas shit as much as I do."

"That is the point, Ronan. You hate it."

Well, fuck.

"Kids coming," she hisses. Gigi grins a ridiculous smile.

I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to my side. A family with two toddlers in tow spills from the grocery. The little boy shrieks with excitement, and his Mom and Dad put a five-dollar bill in his mitten, which Gigi slides in the donation box. “Merry Christmas!"

I splay my fingers over her midsection, thumbing her waistband.

Should I do it?

Fuck it. I slide my icicle hands against her bare waist.

She releases an ungodly shriek. "God, that’s cold!"

"I had to do it. Sorry."

"You’ll pay for that!"

She shoves my chest. My boot slides on an icy patch. "Fuck!"

I lose my balance and fall, my ass slamming onto concrete. A family walks from the sliding doors, gasping at the sight. Horror fills Gigi’s gaze as she looks at the five-year-old girl in a pink parka, and then to me.

And the child screams. "You hurt Santa!"

"Oh no," Gigi moans. "Sweetie, I didn’t hurt him."

"I saw you push him!"

Much as it’d be hilarious to continue watching Gigi’s epic fall from grace, I should probably save her. I stand, grinning. "I’m okay, little girl."

She peers at me. "Are you really Santa?"

I rub my beardless chin. "Nah. I’m one of his helpers. So’s my wife. We were only horsing around. "

"Oh," she says. "Okay."

The mother tugs the child along, and the family walks to the parking lot.

Gigi releases a sigh.

"Close shave, Good Girl."

Tension knots her jaw as she rings the bell.

"Gigi, seriously, how long are we going to stand here?"

"Until my damn toes fall off. Is that all right with you?"

"No, not really." A couple in their twenties approaches us, smiling. I put my hand on Gigi’s shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

"You guys look so cute together!" The woman in a blue North Face jacket drops coins into the box.

"T-thanks," Gigi chatters.

"Gigi, you’re freezing," I whisper when they’re gone. "Come on. Let’s go inside."

"No."

"Then I’ll be forced to resort to desperate measures."

An eyebrow arches high. "Which are?"

"I’ll say filthy things to get your blood running hot." My hand wraps around her shoulder as I pull her closer. She leans into my warmth. "The first thing I’ll do to you when I get you alone—"

"—if you get me alone."

"Hush, I’m talking. When I get you alone, I’ll tug that dress down your unbelievably tight body, starting with the straps. Like this."

I slide my pinky through the tantalizing strap, snapping it against her skin.

"Ronan, don’t be a troll."

"Shh, I’m just starting. Now, you’re cold, so I’ll probably do this in front of the fireplace. When I’ve pulled your dress and stockings free, I’ll hold your body, cradling you against my chest. I liked having you on my lap—I want to feel your naked ass touching my cock—but I’m getting ahead of myself."

Tight-lipped, Gigi watches the customers ignore us as she keeps ringing the bell.

"First, I need to remove your bra. Like so."

Finding the strap takes a moment, but once it’s in my grasp I twist. The latch pops, and Gigi’s eyes widen. She stops ringing, hands white against the brass.

"Then I’d slip off that bra and spend a lot of time playing with your tits. They’re cold, especially your nipples, and they need my attention."

Gigi’s cheeks are on fire. "Stop."

"Not until we’re breathless and spent from fucking."

Suddenly, Gigi marches to the parking lot, bell tolling at her side. She snatches the red hat from her head and stalks to her car.

"Why?" she snaps.

"Why what?"

"Why should I have anything to do with you? Sell yourself."

I laugh. "Do you want the numbers of the girls I’ve banged? I’m an amazing lay."

She pops the trunk and hurls the hat inside, along with the donations. "So are hundreds of other men."

"First of all, I seriously doubt that. Second, we have unresolved sexual tension."

Slipping her hair behind her ear, she yanks open the driver’s side of her mom’s car. I slide into the passenger seat, sighing when a blast of hot air strikes my knees. She closes her eyes, basking in the heat, thawing her hands in front of the vents.

"Just because I gave you a boner once, doesn’t mean I’m lusting after you."

"Enough with the I-don’t-want-him act, because you’re not fooling anyone." I slip from the Santa suit, throwing the jacket in the backseat, watching her gaze rake my chest and arms. "You want me. And why shouldn’t you? I’m the hot, young stud next door, who you’ve always dreamed of—"

"Always?"

"Yeah, you’ve clearly had a crush on me since the beginning."

I expect her to blush and turn away, but Gigi laughs, the sound like chiming bells. "Ronan, I hated you. You were the jerk who pulled down my pants in front of everyone—"

"I apologized for that!"

"How about the time you filled my locker with condoms? Or when you snuck into my house and glitter bombed my panties? Or when you sent me an invitation to the 'party in your pants?'"

It was getting harder to smile. "I’m sorry. It was all in good fun, honestly."

"Was that your excuse for ruining my sixteenth birthday?"

"Oh, come on. I didn’t—"

"You’re really going to sit there and deny you filled those balloons with glue?" Gigi starts the car and pulls from the parking space, her rage growing the further she goes down memory lane. "You egged my prom date. Remember that? Because of you, I spent the whole night crying on my couch."

"It was a coincidence. I didn’t know he was your date."

"Whatever. You were in every horrible incident of my childhood."

My insides churn. "You’re right. I was an unbelievable prick, and I’m sorry."

She softens. "Thank you."

"I’m not the same guy. I’m really not."

She keeps her eyes straight ahead as she shrugs. "I want nothing to do with you."

Does she mean it? "Look, that’s not only the reason I tag along everywhere you go. I promised Mom I’d watch over you."

"Why?"

"Er—she was worried about you after your breakup."

Gigi turns onto our tree-lined street. "So all this time…you weren’t just trying to get into my pants?"

"I’m a complicated man."

"No, you’re not." She pulls into the driveway. "And you can tell your mom your services are no longer needed. I’m fine."

But people who are fine don’t hurl the word as though it’s a dagger. I leave the car after grabbing my suit, wishing I could trash it. I sling it over my shoulder without a goodbye from Gigi, whose Christmas wreath falls when she slams the door.

I walk home, heaving a sigh. A pale, malevolent face shines from my brother’s bedroom window. He smirks, giving me two thumbs up.