Naked. Megan Hart
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and ads I’d created for personal clients. I relaxed and enjoyed my family and hoped they enjoyed me, too.
I declined the offer to spend the night, and drove the hour and a half home with my iPod blasting everything I could play that wasn’t a Christmas carol. I pulled my car next to Alex’s in my parking lot at just past midnight.
It had been over a week since I’d seen or spoken to him, and I thought about knocking on his door as I passed. Not that he was required to check in with me or anything. In fact, so long as the rent was paid on time, we really didn’t have to interact at all. But we had, and I missed it. I peeked and saw a line of light beneath his door; I took a deep breath and knocked. He didn’t answer, and my courage fled. Rather than knock again, I started up the stairs, and had made it just inside my door when I heard his voice.
“Olivia?”
The best part of skiing is that first moment looking down the mountain. Getting ready to push off. To speed and swoop. To fly. This felt like that moment.
“Hi, Alex. Merry Christmas.”
He wore a pair of jeans and an unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt over nothing else, his hair rumpled and one cheek creased. “Merry Christmas. I heard you come in.”
“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I was in a post–Christmas dinner stupor.”
“Do you want…to come in?” I held the door open wider.
“It’s late. That’s okay. I just wanted to give you this.” Alex held up a small box wrapped in silver paper with a crisp blue bow.
I looked at it and then at him. “You got me a present?”
“Sure. It’s that time of year.”
“But I didn’t get you anything.”
“That’s okay. Just open it.”
“Well, come in, then.” I stepped back and he followed, but not too far inside the doorway. The box had been wrapped so I could simply lift the lid without removing the paper. Inside, nestled on a soft bed of pretty fabric, was a bracelet made of polished stones. “It’s beautiful!”
“I’m glad you like it. I know it’s not much—”
“I didn’t get you anything,” I reminded him. “It’s pretty. You shouldn’t have, Alex. Really. But thank you.”
“I just wanted to give you something,” he said. “Prove to you I’m not a total douche bag.”
I was startled into laughter. “Oh, God. I don’t think that.”
“No?”
“Of course not.” I paused. “Should I?”
He studied me, brow furrowed. “I just thought…Never mind.”
“Thought what?”
He waved a hand. “Nothing. Really.”
I wanted to press him for an explanation, but didn’t. I slipped the bracelet on my wrist and held it up to tilt it back and forth, admiring it. “Thank you.”
Neither of us moved. I hefted a tote bag full of leftovers Marjorie had packed for me. “Are you hungry?”
Alex put a hand on his stomach. “Wow. Um…no. I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again.”
I laughed. “Until tomorrow.”
A smile drifted slowly across his mouth. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll want to eat again tomorrow.”
“All right, then.” Again we stayed still, him a step inside the doorway. “Sure I can’t convince you to take a slice of Christmas ham?”
“Hmm…I didn’t have any ham. We had something called a turducken, if you can believe that.”
“You did?” I laughed some more. “Wow. Patrick always said he wanted to make one of those for Christmas.”
“Well…yeah,” Alex said. “He invited me over.”
I could think of nothing to say to that but, “I’ve never had one.”
“You should try it. Well, I’m going to bed. See you, Olivia. Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you for the bracelet.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled over his shoulder at me as he left.
I closed the door behind him and leaned against it, not sure why knowing Patrick had invited him over for Christmas had been such a big deal, only that it was.
If Patrick’s Chrismukkah extravaganza had been an orgy of food, music and drama, his New Year’s Eve party was much quieter. Still plenty of food and music, but the guest list had been cut way down. Teddy’s sister, Susan, and her teenage son, Jayden, Nadia and Carlos from next door, and a few of Teddy and Patrick’s friends I’d met but didn’t really know. Patrick’s brother, Sean. Me.
And, of course, Alex Kennedy.
He came in the back door, arms laden with packages wrapped in silver paper tied with blue bows. I turned from the counter where I’d been slicing cheese and laying out a new supply of crackers. My heart gave a stupid little skip of surprise.
“Alex!”
“Olivia.” His smile flashed white teeth that had never seen braces, I’d bet, because they were just endearingly imperfect enough. “Happy New Year.”
He saw me looking at the bundles he carried. “Patrick said you all exchange New Year’s presents.”
We did. Small things, usually. None of the elaborately wrapped gifts in Alex’s arms looked small.
I grabbed at the one getting ready to topple. “Let me help you.”
“Thanks.”
We piled the presents on the table. I gave him a sideways glance. I was used to the men in Patrick’s house looking pretty and smelling good. Truthfully, it had sort of spoiled me for men in general. Tonight Alex wore jeans, faded just right, and a black fitted T-shirt beneath the heavy peacoat he shrugged off and tossed onto a chair. His hair fell down a little into his eyes as he straightened the packages. I didn’t want to stare, but did anyway.
Dinner was simple but good, and the conversation flowed as sweetly as the wine. I sat next to Sean and across from Patrick, Alex at the other end of the table. Maybe I liked leaving the conversation up to everyone else. Or maybe it was still the season making me quiet and watchful. It wasn’t until I saw Patrick touch Teddy’s hand that I realized it was more than simply holiday blues.
There wasn’t anything sexual about the touch. That I’d seen plenty, in the days when Patrick in his newfound gayness had fucked his way through half the city and not been too ashamed or too tactful not to include me. The way Patrick touched his lover’s hand was comfortable, a gentle, brief squeeze.
My eyes burned. Next to me, Sean leaned to say something to Teddy’s sister on the other side of me. Everyone was laughing at something I’d missed while I’d been taken up with unexpected jealousy. When I glanced down the table to the end, Alex met my eyes.
In his gaze I saw a mixture of emotions, most of which looked like some form of pity. It stung. It left me naked.
It also lasted only seconds before he was laughing, too, ignoring me and my plight, but instead of being grateful for his compassion, I wanted to poke him with a fork. Alex Kennedy, the man who’d had a diva breakup anthem tossed in his face at a holiday party, then let the singer blow him on a back porch, didn’t have the right to judge me.
“So, Liv,” Sean said when he turned back to me. “What’ve you been up to lately?”
“Yes, Liv. Tell everyone what you’ve been doing.”
Suddenly the