One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(47)

I pause. “How do you know I want him?”

“Ten years I’ve known you, we’ve never gone more than a day without checking in.” His eyes darken a bit. “I ruin your date with the rich boy, and you freeze me out for an entire week. Not rocket science, babe.”

I press my lips together, trying to come up with a retort. Nothing comes to mind.

Luca’s big hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m not saying I know what’s best for you, or that he’s the right guy, or even that I approve of the idiot. All I’m saying is, you’re not required to suffer forever. Your parents would want you to be happy, Zoe. You have to know that.”

My eyes are stinging. I tell myself it’s from the cold. “I had no idea there was such a mushy, emotional girl hiding beneath that badass exterior, Luca. You want me to run to that convenience store we passed a few blocks back? Grab you a box of maxi-pads and a few chocolate bars?”

He grins. “Come on, you priss. We’re already late.”

I make a growly sound at the back of my throat and follow him down the street. A few minutes later, we come to a stop outside a beautiful brownstone, every light shining like a beacon, the sound of laughter and music pouring out onto the street.

“Think we’re here.” Luca looks over at me. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He gives me his trademark you-can-do-this nod as we walk up the stairs and ring the bell. The door opens almost instantly.

“You’re here!” Phoebe yells at the top of her lungs. She’s wearing what must be the singularly most unattractive sweater on the planet — garish red with a horrific sequined snowman on the front. There’s a glass of what looks like eggnog in one hand and the tiniest dog I’ve ever seen in my life tucked under her other arm. My eyes widen as the ball of white fur leaps from her grip onto the hardwood floor and begins to bark at us like we’re about to rob the place armed with AK-47s.

“Boo!” Phoebe scolds. “Be nice.”

“Is it a cat or a dog?” Luca mutters under his breath.

“Not entirely convinced it isn’t a Furby, back from the ‘90s to kill us,” I murmur back.

“Come in, come in!” Phoebe reaches out, hooks her arm through mine, and yanks me inside. Luca follows close behind, closing the door with a gentle click. Boo trails after us, running dizzying circles around our feet. He’s got a bedazzled red collar around his tiny neck, appliqué jingle bells chiming every time he moves.

“Everyone’s in the living room, but the liquor is in the kitchen.” Phoebe glances at me. “What’s your poison? We’ve got spiked eggnog, rum punch, champagne, and whiskey.”

I grimace. “Whiskey. Definitely whiskey.”

“My kind of girl.” Phoebe grins. “Knew I liked you.”

“Eggnog for me,” Luca chimes in.

I raise my brows. “Really?”

“What?” He shrugs. “Just because you’re a scrooge, doesn’t mean I have to be. I happen to like Christmas.”

Phoebe laughs. “Knew I liked him, too.”

I examine the space as we make our way toward the kitchen, taking note of the expensive art on the walls and the gorgeous furnishings. The whole place looks straight out of a Restoration Hardware store, and I’ve never seen so many Christmas decorations in my life. Mistletoe hangs in every doorway, holly boughs wind up the stair bannister, frosted pine cones sit in baskets scattered on every table.

Once we’ve got our drinks, we follow Phoebe into the massive, high-ceilinged living room, where the party is in full swing. Despite what the noise from the street led me to believe, there aren’t all that many people inside. Maybe fifty, at the most, eating from a makeshift buffet by the window, admiring the towering Christmas tree on the far wall, clustered on couches making small talk.

My eyes sweep the crowd, searching for him. Every corner, every face, every inch of the room. And…

He’s not here.

I must make a tiny sound of disappointment, because Luca leans his shoulder lightly against mine, lending me his strength.

“The redhead isn’t here either,” he grumbles.

“And there it is, ladies and gents! His true motivation for dragging me to this…” I smirk. “You are such a bullshit artist, Luca Buchanan.”

“Takes one to know one,” he counters.

I spot Gemma — there’s a tall, blond man by her side, looking down at her with adoration. Chrissy and a man I assume is her husband are busy chasing a towheaded toddler and a squirming baby around the room. Shelby is standing alone, sipping rum punch at an alarming pace and picking out songs for the Christmas playlist blaring from the speakers. Nate is standing by the door with a trio of badass, mega-hot macho men.

There are a few dozen people I don’t know — WestTech employees, most likely — camped out on the couches… including, to my great delight, the Three Stooges from the IT Department.

“Moe! Larry! Curly!” I laugh and wave. “You’re here!”

“Not her,” Moe moans. “Anyone but her.”

Curly and Larry both glare at me.

“You know them?” Phoebe asks quizzically.

“It’s a long story,” I say, laughing.