Page 4 of A Very Cheeky Christmas

She’s got it all wrong. Everything she just said is wrong. I grin at her.

“I’m beginning to think that you might be slow-witted, as they say,” she hisses.

“A little closer, Andrew,” Luca barks.

And a little closer is all I need to completely close the distance between our mouths. I can’t help myself. I’ve got to taste for myself and see if all those snarky words make for a tart kiss. I should have known better. She tastes like cinnamon and cloves and Christmas morning.

Her fingernails—blunt though they are—dig into my hips as she tightens her hold on me. She kisses me back, her tongue sweeping into my mouth in a bold, take-charge kind of way.

She makes a whimpering noise in her throat.

Laughter sounds from behind us. Fucking Luca and the camera guys. It definitely breaks the spell though because the next thing I know, I’ve got a knee to my groin and two palms pushing against my chest.

I fall to the set floor with a ‘oof.’

“Jackass,” she mutters, then she storms off.

Luca meanders over, still chuckling. “You probably want to ice your balls.” His laughter increases.

“It’s not that funny. I’ll just go see the medic,” I say, wincing in pain.

Luca howls with laughter. He tosses his thumb over his shoulder. “Maxine IS the medic.”

Fuck my life.

chapter three

Maxine

Today really can’t get any worse.

I mean I suppose I could be forced to sell a kidney in order to pay the rent on my shoebox they call an apartment. Or groceries. I’m already living off of tuna fish and egg salad because my ass can’t deal with ramen. Too many carbs.

Isn’t that what got us into this mess to begin with?

No, no it’s not. My plus size ass is just fine.

It’s my selfish, judgmental grandfather, who is the problem. The size of my hips, ass or anything else shouldn’t matter to anyone, especially not a relative.

Your body is damn near perfect.

Andrew’s words, complete with that slow Texas drawl of his, replay in my mind as they’ve done for the last week and a half since we first met. Those words and that goddamn kiss.

I’ve done my level best to avoid him at work, which for the most part has been simple since our paths don’t regularly cross. But I catch glimpses of him. It’s impossible not to. Unfortunately, I seem to have a beacon for his unruly mop of dark blond hair and his tall, muscular frame.

“Stop it!” I yell at myself. No one on the freeway even notices because this is LA and everyone talks to themselves. In any case, the day is already shit and not because I’m foolishly mooning after Mr. Tall, Tasty and Texan.

No, the day is bad because I’m already running late. There was an accident when I first hopped on the freeway. To make matters infinitely worse, I spilled coffee all down my left leg. So, I’ve got coffee sloshing around in my shoe and my pant leg is shellacked to my thigh.

“Just fucking perfect.”

If I could absorb the caffeine through my skin at least that might help.

When I pull up to the kiosk gate at the studio, I can't find my ID to show the guy. Even though he’s seen me every day for nearly two weeks, he acts like he has no idea who I am. So I show him my driver's license. He still has no clue.

I have to make a call to Luca, the director, so someone can call this security guard.

I hear the phone ring inside the kiosk. Meanwhile there are cars lining up behind me and they’re already honking. Security guard pokes his head out the window and looks at me.