I knew he would.

An eight-by-ten framed picture of Caitlyn O’Leary and her husband John. Signed of course by John, not Caitlyn. And John had added a note: To Asher, the founding member of the John O’Leary fan club.

“Now you.”

I tore open the paper knowing by its shape it was a book. But when the paper came free and I saw it was my favorite Caitlyn book, I shouted my joy.

“I love it!”

“Open the book.”

I flipped it open and saw Caitlyn had signed it and under her signature, John had left his own note: Sloane, I hope to meet you at the inaugural fan club get-together. -John.

“They probably think we’re crazy,” I said and closed the book.

“Baby, we are crazy.”

That we were, and I still didn’t give two shits.

“Thank you for my book.”

“Thank you for my autographed John picture.”

He leaned over, set the frame on his nightstand, tagged the book from my hand, and set it on top of the frame. And when he was done with that, he came down over the top of me.

“Happy first Christmas, baby.”

“Happy first Christmas, Asher.”

His lips brushed over mine and he murmured, “I love you.”

I didn’t get a chance to say it back before his tongue pushed into my mouth and he kissed me breathless. A few minutes after that he commenced fucking me senseless. It wasn’t until much later after Christmas orgasms had been had and my head was on his chest, our legs tangled, my arm resting over his stomach, that I finally got to reply.

“I love you more than breath.”

26

Cole Keniston

I peeled one eye open and squinted at my alarm. 3:07. Nothing good comes from the phone ringing at three in the morning. I tagged my phone off my nightstand, praying to all things holy it wasn’t Wilson telling me we were rolling out.

Unknown caller.

Fuck.

“’Lo,” I grumbled.

“Cole.”

The sound of my name rushing out from an old friend had me rolling up on my elbow.

“Pete? What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, Cole, I need a favor.”

A favor at three in the morning from a Navy buddy could mean anything from bail money to needing a shovel and manpower. I was hoping it was the former. Dirty work wasn’t my favorite.

“Whatcha need?”

“I need you to stash my sister.”

What the fuck?

“Why do you sound out of breath?”

“Because I’d prefer not to get dead tonight.”

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and was up looking for pants when I asked, “Where are you?”

“Mexico.”

“What the fuck are you doing in Mexico?”

Pete left the Navy the year after I did. Last I talked to him he was selling real estate.

“Listen, I don’t have time to explain. Can you take Mia?”

I froze in the middle of my bedroom and hung my head.

Why did it have to be Mia? Why not his sweet baby sister Camilia?