Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(29)

“Is that our new band name?” Miller asks.

Campbell scratches his jaw, then nods. “It’s better than Other Uses for Ribbons.”

“It’s not a bad name,” I admit.

Miller smiles. “I like Hot Stuff. Want to sing a tune, Ally?”

But before I can answer, Campbell interrupts. “No way. You guys are Not Safe For Work. Or kids.”

I blush but laugh it off. “We’ll be good.”

“We’ll be great,” Miller says. He grabs my hand, and my stomach flips when he slides his fingers through mine. Glancing down at our joined hands, my mind frolics further on tawdrier shores, picturing his fingers tracing my skin, my breasts, my belly.

Shake it off, Ally.

“We can be safe for kids, right?” Miller says in his sweetest, good-boy voice.

Speak for yourself.

He launches into a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells,” and I’ve no choice but to follow him there.

Chastely.

But tell that to my libido. Even with the hand-holding, and the dashing through the snow, my pulse is spiking dangerously by the end of the song, and I still want my best friend to slide his arms around me again, find some mistletoe, and kiss me under it.

Inappropriately.

Senselessly.

For hours.

When the song finishes, I force myself to let go of his hand so I don’t grab him and slam him against me in front of everyone. Swallowing roughly, I walk to the kitchen area, grab the bottle of white wine, and pour myself a glass.

I might die of thirst.

Mackenzie joins me. “The guys sound amazing together.”

“They do. This is the first time you’ve heard them sing together in person, right?”

“Yes. Do they do this every year?”

“They can’t seem to resist singing together. Old habits die hard.”

“But you and Miller sound great too. Are you having a blast playing with him?”

I contemplate that question as I glance at the other half of Hot Stuff. Miller’s floppy brown hair falls onto his forehead, and his toothpaste smile flashes as he builds a Lego train with Ben by the newly decorated tree. Yes, blast is precisely the word I’d use.

It feels a little like my heart’s being blasted by something unexpected.

Something I can’t have.

Yet something I desperately want.

A little later, Jackson takes off, saying goodnight to our crew. Then Chloe unleashes an epic yawn, a sign that it’s time to go.

Once I’m away from Miller, I’ll be able to reset my mind. I’ll knit a new hat and focus all my energy on needles and yarn, rather than sex and kisses.

Needles and yarn, I repeat silently.

I grab my coat and plan to say goodbye to Miller, figuring he’ll head home.

But he says he’ll go with me.

I try to rein in my wild grin and the galloping in my heart.

“We can work on our next song when Chloe’s in bed,” he says, by way of explanation.

I hate how much my heart leaps at the thought.

And I love it too.





Chapter 17





Ally



In the cab, Chloe yawns majestically but still details her plans for Christmas Eve. “We’re going to order Chinese food, go to church, and make cookies for Santa.”

“Gingerbread, I hope,” Miller says as the cab swings down Broadway, dodging past cars and buses.

“His favorite, of course.” She lets loose another epic yawn as her eyes flutter. In a heartbeat, her head sinks onto Miller’s shoulder.

“Don’t forget carrots for the reindeer,” he says softly, patting her hair.

“We never forget the reindeer.”

Somewhere south of Twenty-Third, a faint snore rumbles from my girl.

I smile at Miller, who’s become her pillow. He grins back, and as I regard the tableau they make, my heart expands like a water balloon. It’s too big for my chest. I’ll need a new place to store this organ soon.

But it’s precarious too. It’ll pop any second.

When we reach my block, a quiet stretch of Sixteenth between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, the taxi stops, and I swipe my credit card to pay. Once the transaction is complete, I turn around to find Miller has lifted Chloe out of the cab, and she’s still sound asleep in his arms.

It is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen, and as I shut the door to the cab, I mentally record the image—him holding her on a cold and quiet Manhattan street, with a hint of snow in the sky. In this tender moment, something shifts inside me.

Something unnamed, but something swollen with potential, with hope. This brand-new thing rattles around, both scaring and thrilling me.

I want that.

Right there.

Him.

My heart glows as I flash back on the sweet and silly ways Miller has come to take care of Chloe.

Checking out her photos.

Helping her with projects.

Joining us for dinner.

It’s too much, the flip, flip, flip of images—Miller supporting Chloe. Chloe laughing with Miller. The moments. The days. All the times it’s been the three of us. Everything aches inside me with a terrifying new longing. I’ve resisted closeness and eschewed intimacy because most of the men I’ve dated didn’t want my baggage.