Best Friends Don't Kiss(69)

I giggle at that and shake my head. “Probably not.”

But when I glance out the window one more time, I get an idea.

I use his firm chest to push myself to a sitting position, and Luke tilts his head to the side in confusion as I hop off the bed.

“What are you doing?”

I slow-roll my response, waiting until I’ve tossed on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a hooded sweatshirt. It isn’t until I’m slipping on my socks that I let him know the score. “Last person to make a snow angel has to be on hot chocolate duty for the whole day.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he questions and jumps out of bed faster than I knew was even possible.

Adrenaline rushes into my veins as I slip on my boots and try to tie the laces.

But Luke is fast. Like, insanely fast. By the time both of my shoelaces are tied, he is already dressed and damn near beating me out my bedroom door.

In a rush of giggles and shouting, I race down the steps as fast as I can, Luke right on my tail the whole way.

We are loud, probably too loud for this early in the morning, but I don’t care.

During the holidays, my family consumes way too much hot chocolate. Like, Buddy the Elf kind of shit. I’d be busy all freaking day if refills became my responsibility!

Just as my hands make contact with the knob of the front door, Luke wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back.

“No! No! No! That’s cheating!”

He just laughs his ass off and tosses me over his shoulder.

With me shouting and laughing and punching at his back, he opens the door with ease and steps out into the frigid morning air. Snow continues to fall from the sky, and Luke just glances around the front yard like he has all the time in the world.

Even going as far as stretching his free arm into the air and pretending to yawn.

“What a beautiful morning, huh?”

“Luke London, put me down!”

“What was that, Ace?” he asks and tilts his head up toward me. “It’s hard to hear you over Michael Bublé.”

He’s not wrong; good old Bublé is still blaring from the freaking speakers in the front yard, but I know the sneaky bastard can hear me.

“Put. Me. Down. Or. Else.”

“I’m sorry, I mean, I could be wrong, but it sounds like you just threatened me…”

“Because I did!”

He grins up at me, mischief and mayhem in his eyes, and before I know it, from over his shoulder to cradled like a baby against his chest, he repositions my body with ease.

And then he steps out into the front yard, grins down at me, and performs a trust fall right into the snow.

He doesn’t let go until his body is imprinted into the cold, fluffy cloud that is now my parents’ yard, and it is only then that he stretches out both of his arms and legs and makes a goddamn snow angel.

“I can’t be sure, but this feels a lot like victory.”

“You are such a cheater!” I shout at him and grab both of his shoulders, glaring down at him.

But Luke just continues making his snow angel, smiling up at me the whole time.

“This means I won, right?” he questions. “Pretty sure this means I won.”

My glare flames and sparks, and still perched on his stomach, I reach down to grab two handfuls of snow in my bare hands, ready to shove them straight into his face.

The bastard is too quick, though, reaching out to stop my momentum and flipping me onto my back. His body hovers over mine, while his hands ensure my wrists can’t finish the job.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, but it becomes impossible for me to stay angry when Luke is grinning down at me like that. “Ugh! You make me so mad!” I add, but giggles follow every word.

“But you’re giggling, Ace. How can you be giggling if you’re mad?”

I blink my eyes several times, trying to see past the soft, dusty illusions that have settled on my eyelashes. “Because you also drive me insane.”

Luke chuckles, but in an instant, his eyes go from playful to serious. He leans down to press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Merry Christmas, Ava,” he whispers against my skin. “There isn’t anyone else on the planet that I’d want to spend this day with.”

“Ditto,” I whisper, and my breath is pale against the numbing air.

His eyes search mine, and I don’t know what he’s looking for or what he finds, but whatever it is, it makes him smile.

My gaze flits to his lips, and I reach up, placing both my hands on his cool skin, and gently tug his face toward mine. But before I get to do what I really want to do—kiss the hell out of him—I’m startled by the sounds of the wreath on the front door jingling as it swings open.

“What the hell are you two doing out here?” I look over Luke’s shoulder to find my dad standing on the front porch, dressed head-to-toe in red velvet, black boots, and a fake white beard. A cup of hot chocolate steams from his hand.

Luke glances back toward the front of the house. “Oh, holy fuck,” he mutters, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he buries his face against my shoulder. “Am I seeing shit, or is your dad wearing a Santa suit?”

“Oh, you’re seeing crystal clear.” I giggle. “Santa Claus has officially come to town.”




Once Luke and I changed out of our wet clothes, we headed downstairs to find the whole Lucie gang—Kate and Zach, Landon and Em, and my parents—sitting around the breakfast table, feasting on Guy’s famous Christmas Day breakfast buffet.