“Gee, thanks.”
A beefy hand landed on his shoulder. “My friend, I love you like a brother,” Vlad said.
Colton patted his hand. “Thanks, man. I love you too—”
“But I am predicting a disaster.”
Colton barely had time to process that nut punch before Malcolm turned his gaze squarely on him. “And remember, Colton. No one hates Christmas. They hate their own Christmases. If you hope to start something with Gretchen, don’t fuck it up by confusing the two.”
CHAPTER NINE
This isn’t a date.
For the past two days, Gretchen had chanted those words in her head enough times to actually come close to believing them. And when her faith in the words began to wane, she buried herself in work or went on a punishing run. But now here she was, trying on a third possible outfit with just ten minutes left until he was supposed to pick her up. Either it was more complicated picking out clothes for a nondate than an actual one, or her brain was officially calling bullshit on her attempt to pretend she wasn’t nervous about seeing him again.
This was ridiculous. And humiliating.
But who was she kidding? Gretchen didn’t dig out her skintight leather leggings that showed off her toned runner’s legs for just anyone. She didn’t accessorize for a business meeting. And she sure as hell didn’t curl her damn hair for a nondate.
Pa-the-tic.
The buzz of the intercom sent her heart into a frantic zigzag. He was here. Shutting her bedroom door—mainly so he wouldn’t see the mess she’d made of discarded outfits—she hurried down the hallway and pressed the button to let him in. Moments later, his footsteps grew louder as he climbed the stairs. She opened the door just as he was raising his hand to knock.
“Where’s the wreath I gave you— Wow.” He stopped and planted his hands on either side of the doorframe. Then he dragged his eyes down her body and back up again. “If you dressed up for me, it worked. I’m yours.”
Warmth spread over her skin as if she’d just sunk into a bubble bath. It quickly scalded like spilled tea. What was she thinking, dressing like this? Now he would know she considered this a date. And since that was worse than admitting it to herself, she covered her embarrassment the only way she knew how. She scowled. “Nothing else was clean. Don’t read anything into it.”
“I already did.” He stepped inside and swung the door shut behind him. “As I was saying before you damn near killed me in those pants . . . Where’s the wreath I gave you?”
She pointed to the coffee table, where it sat atop a pile of books she had vowed to someday put on a shelf but probably never would.
“Want me to hang it for you?”
“No.” She retrieved her coat from the back of the couch. As she reached for the belt to tie around her waist, he gripped her hands.
“Let me do it,” he said, his voice like melted caramel.
Probably she should have swatted him away. Probably she should have backed away from his reach.
Probably.
But she didn’t.
Colton took his time tugging the belt into a knot, somehow managing to also reel her closer to him with every twist of the fabric. When he was done, he moved his hands to her hips and closed the remaining minuscule distance between their bodies to a mere inch. The heat of his fingers soaked through her coat and her clothes, but it was nothing compared to the scorch of awareness when he dipped his mouth close to hers. “You give any more thought to that unresolved agenda item?”
Yep. A lot. Pretty much nonstop. “Nope.”
“Too bad,” he murmured, his lips hovering over hers. “Because I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
Her common sense finally slapped her weakening willpower. “I think we have other pressing issues to discuss first.”
She walked to the small dining table adjacent to the living room to retrieve the manila envelope with the information Evan had put together. She turned back around and held it out. “Here. A formal proposal.”
“Great. I look forward to your thoughts on this too.” He rolled the envelope and wrapped both hands around it. “Ready to go?”
“Do I get to find out where we’re going this time?”
“You sure you don’t want to be surprised?”
“One hundred percent sure.”
“We . . .”—he dragged the word out—“are going to decorate my Christmas tree.”
“Please tell me that’s a euphemism.”
Colton waggled his eyebrows. “It can be.”