Knowing Tess is probably about two seconds away from punching me in the dick for bringing her here, where so far there has been anything but peace and quiet, I quickly grab onto both of Tess’s shoulders and turn her to face me. Tugging her against me until all of her soft, perfect parts are pressed up against my hard ones, I drop my mouth to hers and kiss the hell out of her, hoping it will at least distract her long enough that she doesn’t reach for the lighter in her bra.
CHAPTER 4
Tess
“I’m gonna Comet on her Vixen.”
“I want—”
“I want a—”
“I want a hippo—”
“I want a hippopotamus for—”
“Bodhi!” I shout, wincing when the sound of my own voice makes my headache get worse. “Stop opening and closing the door.”
With a big sigh, making me feel bad for about two seconds that I cut off his fun, Bodhi finally leaves the door to our room shut for the first time since Allie brought us up here and happily informed us her father-in-law installed a mechanism in the doors of each guest room to play the coordinating song that goes with the room’s theme every time you open and close it.
I am in hell when I enter this room, and I am in hell when I leave this room. Everywhere I look, there are jolly hippos wearing jolly Santa hats. We have Santa hippo sheets and a Santa hippo bedspread with a mountain of pillows with hippos on them, an animated hippo in the corner on the floor that slowly takes his Santa hat off and then puts it back on again, a five-foot-tall tree in another corner with white lights filled with nothing but, you guessed it, Santa hippo ornaments. And about a million other wall-hangings, knickknacks, and decorations all around the room and the adjoining bathroom to go with that horrendous Christmas carol theme that I have no other choice but to start reaching for the lighter in my back pocket.
“Sweetie, you can’t burn anything in this room. We’re guests here, and it wouldn’t be polite,” Bodhi speaks in a slow, calm voice over by the door so as not to spook me while I pace back and forth by the end of the bed, and I regrettably remove my hand from my back pocket. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I might throw up, but I’m sure it will subside the longer I’m away from the sticky, soul-sucking demons downstairs.”
Bodhi chuckles, and when the soft, deep sound makes me feel all tingly, I know I’m still fucked in the head after my momentary loss of brain cells earlier downstairs, when he picked up that damn baby and I felt… mushy. My entire body turned to liquid, and everything got warm and gooey watching him stand there snuggling a baby to his chest, and some weird, gasping-choking sound came out of my mouth before I could stop it. Wren has a term for it—a babygasm. An involuntary loss of motor skills that results in a climax of emotional excitement when you witness the man you love holding a baby. I had a goddamn babygasm!
Gross! Snap out of it, Tess!
“How did you ever help Wren raise Owen when you can’t stand kids?” Bodhi smiles in amusement, tucking his shaggy blond hair behind one ear as he casually leans against the wall next to the door, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his shorts while I sit down on the end of the bed.
He’s the only man I know who looks hot in cargo shorts. Cargo shorts and a white fitted T-shirt with a green Christmas tree and the words Lit AF printed on it. Whether it’s sunny or snowing, Bodhi will only ever wear shorts and a T-shirt. He says he’s allergic to pants and long sleeves after spending his entire life wearing nothing but pretentious designer suits and clothing. And let’s just say I’m perfectly fine with his choice in wardrobe, especially the fitted shirts.
If you’ve never seen a surfer’s body, you should really google that shit. And I’m honestly truly and deeply sorry for anyone who has never gotten the privilege of being up close and personal and been able to reach out and touch one. It takes a lot of muscles to paddle out through the surf and catch a wave, and Bodhi has caught some of the biggest ones out there all over the world. He’s so ripped I almost want to lift my crying ban and weep every time he takes his shirt off.
I suddenly remember Bodhi asked me a question about Owen, and I should probably stop drooling over him and answer it.
“Honestly, I couldn’t stand Owen until he could walk and wipe his own ass.” I shrug, making Bodhi chuckle again as he grabs a red leather book from the side table next to the door that Allie told us has a list of all the amenities offered at The Redinger House, as well as what there is to do in Snowfall Mountain. “Go ahead. Tell me all the fun things there are to do around here.”
Bodhi is practically vibrating with excitement as he thumbs through the book, his eyes getting as wide as a little kid on Christmas morning when they first come downstairs and see what Santa brought. I can’t help but laugh at his exuberance, all the stress from downstairs slowly starting to slip away just listening to him adorably ramble.
“They’ve got a trolley ride around the mountain to look at lights, Christmas PJ game night in the basement, Christmas movies showing every night in the barn behind the house, a Christmas parade down the cobblestone main street, a gingerbread house decorating contest, a Christmas cookie decorating brunch, and oh my God!” Bodhi gushes, bouncing up and down on his feet. “Santa comes on Christmas Eve and gives every single person a present! So freaking cool! I mean, we won’t be here on Christmas Eve, but you know, it’s cool for everyone else.”
For another few seconds, once again, I feel bad that Bodhi’s fun is being taken away and we’re only going to be here for three days. As crazy as it was downstairs when we got here, I still like that it’s just me and Bodhi and we can do whatever we want without following someone else’s schedule or feeling guilty if we don’t want to attend something.
I’ve been spending the night on Christmas Eve at Laura Bennett’s cottage since the year I turned eighteen. Their Christmas Eves are the craziest things I’ve ever seen. Everyone including the Bennetts, me, Emily and her parents, Murphy, and a few extended family members and their kids from the mainland spend the night eating, drinking, and playing card and board games until we all eventually pass out all over the cottage on furniture or curled up on the floor with blankets and pillows. Then everyone wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn, and we all open presents. Together. Everyone ripping into everything at once and no one even paying attention to what’s being opened by others.
Laura had the wall knocked out between her garage and the family room ten years ago to make it one ginormous family room just for Christmas Eve. I am not even kidding. She added on an addition to her cottage for one twenty-four-hour period of the year. And on top of all those people, this year we’ll have the addition of Palmer, Shepherd, and Bodhi. And as great as it is being with everyone every year, the idea of having a nice, quiet Christmas with just me and Bodhi where we can exchange presents in private, and screw under the mistletoe after mimosas if we want, then hang out with everyone later is sounding more and more appealing.
But telling Laura, Birdie, and Wren that I’m not spending the night on Christmas Eve would go over just about as well as me telling Bodhi all the weed in the world suddenly disappeared overnight.