Lockup? As in… jail?
Not that Strawberry Hollow has an actual jail. It’s more of just a small four-by-four cell with an old rusty door.
But still…
Surely he’s not actually going to put me in a cell like some kind of… criminal. Wait until my parents hear about this. They might literally kill me.
“You’re throwing us in the drunk tank? We’re not even drunk, Wayne!” Jackson groans. “Come on, man. For once in my life, I have to agree with Emmie. We got into a small disagreement, and accidents happen. You know that. We’ll pay for the damages and get everything cleaned up.”
“Sure, I do.” Wayne nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “But this was no dang accident, Jackson. Look, we’ve all had enough.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling as his eyes fall shut. When he opens them, they’re filled to the brim with frustration. “Both of your families have been at this for years, and everyone in the town has had about enough of it. I mean it. You’ve given me no other choice.”
I can see Jackson shake his head beside me before he retorts, “Yeah? This is going to make for a great conversation at the next poker night. Share a beer and tell all the guys about how you threw me in jail for fighting with Emmie Worthington.”
I snort.
Of course, Jackson Pearce would play poker with the sheriff. Too bad that little detail isn’t helping in this situation since we’re about to spend the night in jail all because he’s got the maturity level of a teenage boy.
Some of us have grown up, but he’s obviously still the same immature boy from when we were in school.
Clearly, this is all of his fault.
If he would’ve just let go of the stupid nutcracker and left me the hell alone, then none of this would have happened in the first place.
But no, he had to go and try and one-up me, as he and his family always have done.
“Yeah, well, maybe both of you shouldn’t have gotten into a fight in the middle of the general store and broken a whole bunch of shit, then, huh? Now, let’s go. Don’t make me handcuff you.”
My eyes widen as panic rises in my throat. “You… wouldn’t.”
His brows rise. “Try me.”
Great.
Add felon to the list of my most attractive qualities.
jackson
You’re a mean one, Jackson Pearce
The sound of the metal door slamming shut echoes throughout the concrete walls, a deafening sound that has an air of finality to it. My gaze meets Wayne’s, and I just shake my head, pushing off the bars in annoyance.
That fucking asshole actually put me in jail.
I didn’t think he actually had the balls to do it, and he sure as hell proved me wrong.
Emma sighs behind me, and when I turn to face her, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, the tight fabric of her emerald-green sweater clinging to her in a way that I shouldn’t notice. But then again, when have I ever not noticed Emma Worthington?
She’s impossible not to notice. Even if she’s my enemy by birthright.
Her long, honey-blonde hair falls in silky curls down to her waist. The red on her lips has faded slightly but makes her pouty lips no less kissable. Her bright blue eyes are framed by long, thick, dark lashes that kiss her eyelids.
She’s more than beautiful. She’s the kind of beautiful that sucks out all the air in a room the moment she enters.
Fuck, I hate that I’m attracted to her. She’s the last person I should ever want, yet… I can’t help that I do. Not that I’d ever be admitting that out loud to anyone. Nah, that shit is staying locked away in my brain safely where the ice princess can’t wield my weakness as a weapon against me.
That is absolutely something she would do.
“You know this is all your fault, right?” She huffs, leaning against the back of the concrete cell. It’s bad enough that the cell itself is the size of a small closet, but there’s only a single bench that sits to the side, roughly a few feet long.
Clearly, this place wasn’t built for comfort. But I guess a jail cell isn’t supposed to be comfortable.
“My fault?” I scoff. “Sorry, Ice Princess, but had you not tried to fight me over a damn Christmas decoration, then we wouldn’t be here right now. You could be in your mansion, sipping your expensive wine, clutching your pearls, and pretending that the world is perfect.”
She laughs, the sound forced and lacking any real amusement. “I know you, Jackson Pearce. I’m not surprised at all that you’d stoop so low. Let me guess, this is some elaborate plan to ruin our party? Buying decor you don’t even like so we can’t have it. That seems very on brand for you. What a very Pearce thing to do. You heard that my parents have now passed the party down to me, and you’re out to sabotage me. Fuck me, right?”
Christ. Here we fucking go.
It all goes back to the godforsaken parties. Every damn time.
The Worthingtons and Pearces have been at odds for years over our competing town Christmas parties, so our mutual aversion for one another is always amplified during the holiday season.
But what started it all?
The fact that our family never got invited to their generations-old annual Christmas party when everyone else in the town was included. My parents had just moved to Strawberry Hollow. New to town and not invited to the town Christmas party. Clearly, the Worthingtons didn’t want newcomers at their party. It was a very cold welcome to their new town, and so, the next year, my parents, who wanted to have their own Christmas celebration, threw their own party on the very same day and didn’t invite the Worthingtons. Which is something the Worthingtons have never gotten over, especially since now half the town attends our parties instead. It’s been like that every day since—tit for tat.
And thus, this not-so-friendly feud was born.
Immature and excessive? Definitely.
Trivial?
Probably so, but things are different when you live in a small town.