Truthfully, I have no idea why they never invited my parents, but they’ve snubbed my family at every turn. Ever since that first year, our families have made it their mission to “one-up” the other with our holiday parties, both families taking great effort to make their party the better one—better food, better fun, better traditions.
The tension has only gotten thicker between our families over the years, and somewhere along the way, a bit of sabotage got added to the one-upping. My siblings and I have partaken in… some pranks on the Worthingtons and their party preparations, a youthful tradition that we still enjoy as adults. One year, my brother Jameson filled their mailbox with coal, and there was that year in high school that we stuck forks in their yard the day of their party. We’ve stolen Christmas decorations, which we of course returned later, and we may have even built some naughty snowmen in their yard as teens. The Worthingtons have always retaliated, in their own way. They’ve tried to have our party permits revoked several times, sent the town police on a noise complaint, and Mr. Worthington has even gone so far as to use his connections at the electric company to cut our power one year.
At this point, most of the town has taken sides, and it makes the holidays stressful as fuck.
It’s ridiculous when you actually say it out loud. Two families throwing parties just to outshine the other. Like copying each other’s theme to see who can do it better. Or who can get more of the town to come by offering better food and an open bar. Nothing is off-limits when it comes to this party, and that’s exactly the problem.
It just so happens that this year, the torch was passed down to us from our parents. So of course, the first year we’re responsible for throwing the damn party, we end up in jail over a fucking nutcracker.
But honestly, me?
I don’t give a shit about the stupid feud with the Worthingtons. Not really. The only thing that matters to me is Ma, and unfortunately, she does care about the stupid feud and our epic parties, which in turn makes me have to pretend that I’m so bothered that we’re not included in their uptight, lavish cocktail party where the champagne alone costs more than what my company makes in a month.
If my family wasn’t so invested, I wouldn’t give a shit about any of it. But I have to admit, I love messing with Emma Worthington, to drive her as crazy as she does me. I want to push every button she has just to get a rise out of her.
I’ve always liked this… game between the two of us. This delicious tension that makes my dick hard.
She just thinks it has to do with our families hating each other. But the truth is, I don’t actually hate Emma Worthington. I just want to shove my cock between her lips to shut her up.
“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking I care that much. Not everything is about you. I know it’s hard to think of the world not revolving around you, but it doesn’t,” I tell her, ignoring the sneer she throws my way as I walk past her to the concrete bench and take a seat. I cross my arms over my chest, lean back against the bars, and shut my eyes.
As much as I like fucking with her, I don’t particularly like being stuck in a jail cell that smells like mildew and faintly of piss.
“This is going to be the longest night of my life,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, I think.
I hum in response but keep my eyes shut. “I’m stuck in here with you too, Emmie.”
“Emma.” I can hear the annoyance in her tone, and it makes my lips tug up into a smirk. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
Cracking one eye open, I see her shuffling from one foot to the other, and my gaze flicks down to her feet. She’s wearing ridiculous black heels that make absolutely no sense with the amount of snow that’s currently on the ground outside.
“You know there’s another side of this bench for you to sit on, right?” I say, gesturing to the spot next to me. “I don’t bite. Well… depends on who you ask.”
“You’re disgusting, and this entire place smells like pee. I’m not sitting on any surface in this place.”
I shrug, dropping my head back. “Suit yourself.”
Silence hangs in the air between us for a few minutes, even though I expected her to have a smart-ass reply to what I said.
“Are you really going to sit there… and not offer your shirt or something for me to at least sit on? That’s what a gentleman would do, Pearce.”
Sighing heavily, I sit up as I drag my hand through my hair, then stand from the bench. In two short strides, I close the distance between us, my hand finding a spot on the cell wall next to her head as I peer down at her. “And whatever gave you the impression that I’m a gentleman?”
The wide, shocked look in her eyes makes me deliriously fucking happy, and her plump lips open, then close. As if she might say something, but she’s trying to find the right insult to throw my way.
For the first time, maybe ever, I’ve shut Emma Worthington up.
Unfortunately for me, it’s not with my cock, but a win is a win.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“And you’re a pretentious ice princess, but I think it’s a waste of time to talk about the shit we already know, isn’t it?”
Her lips flatten and then twist into a scowl as she looks up at me through her thick lashes. She’s short, but thanks to her ridiculous heels, there’s only a few inches between us. My head dips lower to respond to whatever insult she’ll spew, and she rises ever so slightly on her toes to reach my height.
Call it what you want, but I think she just might want me to kiss her as badly as I want to kiss her right now.
Thick tension fills the air. A beat passes with neither of us speaking. Moving. Breathing.
Then, I lean in a little further, but right before I meet her lips, I turn toward her ear to murmur, “I am an asshole, and I’m sure as fuck not a gentleman, so let’s not pretend that I am.”
With that, I push off the wall and walk back over to the bench. Before I sit down, I unbutton the flannel I’m wearing and shrug it off, leaving me in my white T-shirt decorated with holes. I spent the majority of the day on a jobsite, so it’s the best I have.
Looking directly at Emma, I smirk as I spread it out on her side of the bench. “I’m only doing this so I don’t have to spend the next eight hours listening to you complain about how bad your feet hurt in those things.”
My gaze drops to her feet, and she huffs, “These are Valentino.”
“And this is Ariat. Now, sit the fuck down before you get blisters. Some of us want some peace and quiet around here.”
The daggers her eyes are shooting my way tell me just how much she wants to hit me, and I’m honestly a little surprised. It takes a lot to push her buttons this far, so she must have really wanted that damn nutcracker for her to be this angry.
She chews her lip for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, wincing as she does.
“God, I hate you so much,” she mutters, stomping over to the bench and sitting down gracefully next to me on top of my shirt. It’s comical how prissy she is.