Kentucky Christmas by Sarah Title Read Free Book Online Page B

kindness.”
    Billie thought for a second. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’ve only ever lived in Kentucky. That’s not how it is where you’re from?”
    â€œNo,” he laughed. “New York isn’t as bad as its reputation, but if somebody doesn’t want your help, we tend to just walk away.”
    â€œThere are people like that here. I bet there are people like Libby in New York, too, you know.”
    â€œProbably.”
    She leaned against him for just a second, teasing.
    â€œIt’s not just Libby, you know,” he said, looking down at her.
    â€œNot just Libby what?”
    â€œWho brush off their own generosity. The lady at the hospital did it, the guy who drove me to Bud’s did it. Even Bud did it a little. And you.” He leaned back into her.
    â€œMe? I don’t think so.”
    â€œSure you did. Why do you think I’m staying here?”
    â€œBecause you fixed that expensive machine. For free!”
    â€œNot because I had nowhere else to go?”
    â€œNo!” She paused, wondering if she should say this out loud. “Well, and because I was hoping to get lucky.”
    She felt him tense, even through both of their coats. God, she hoped he was hoping to get lucky, too.
    â€œUh,” said Andrew, “is it time to call the dogs in?”
    She smiled up at him, but she didn’t get far, because as soon as she tilted her head up, he leaned down and kissed her. The light flickered off. Pepe barked. Billie and Andrew kept kissing in the darkness.
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    Holidays were no fun for Andrew, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that Billie’s Kentucky Christmas Extravaganza was changing his mind. He tripped over an errant garland—or was it a cat tail?—as he stumbled up the stairs behind Billie, her walking backward, tearing at her layers of winter clothes, him trying to walk and hold on to the railing and hold on to every new patch of more-exposed Billie at the same time. She was wearing a lot of layers, but when she got down to a red thermal underwear shirt, he was pretty sure she was near the end. Before his brain totally turned off, he made another mental tally of his luck in Kentucky. His car was still totaled (but, somehow, fixable), his job still sucked (although his cousin had been generous enough to give him one), it was freezing (but the snow had stopped), Christmas was annoying (but Billie looked really, really cute in her red thermals). In the plus column, he added Billie in her underwear, the fact that the dogs had pooped out in the snow and were now quietly sleeping the night away in their crates, Billie in her underwear, Dr. Monroe’s overnight call, Billie unsnapping her jeans. He almost put the fact that she was wearing thermal underwear under her jeans in the negative, too—would he ever get to see that girl’s skin? Maybe she was in some kind of weird Kentucky cult where women lured men off icy roads and into warm, aggressively festive houses, and then harvested their brains for science and satanic rituals. At least he wouldn’t have to make sales calls anymore. But he liked his brain. He didn’t want to give his brain to the devil.
    Suddenly he tripped over Billie’s jeans. His last act as a thinking man was to mentally give his brain over to whatever scientific cult experiments she wanted. He caught himself on the top step and looked up in time to see Billie laughing, turning, bouncing down the hall. For a small woman, she had some good bounce.
    He followed her, a little less bouncily, into her room. He wanted to take a moment to soak in the atmosphere, find out what kind of stuff Billie liked to surround herself with. But then she bounced onto the bed and he figured he could get to know what made her tick later. He followed her—he’d probably follow her anywhere—and immediately his hands were on her, running over that thermal underwear while hers fought