This wasn’t like that. Hell, he wasn’t even keeping score with this one. It was coming from a different place, one he didn’t want to examine too closely. But it wasn’t any less cataclysmic on his system. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to cradle her face and push his fingers into her hair and kiss her in the kind of ways parents should never see.

So he pulled back. “Shall we hang the ornaments now?”

After a discussion initiated by Simone—to establish a plan for the tree that would look the most aesthetically pleasing—was loudly overridden by Suzanne, they got sucked into the trimming. Playing his part, Grady paid no attention to aesthetics or her mother’s attempts to police the placement of ornaments, whacking them on wherever took his fancy.

The more Simone winced, the more he knew he was doing it right.

Not that he could blame her for the wincing. Somehow, somewhere, Suzanne had found cat baubles. Baubles with cat faces on them. And she’d bought out the entire fucking shop. They were the most un-Christmas things he’d ever seen. Add miles of blue tinsel and Grady’s laissez-faire attitude toward ornament placement, and the tree looked like it’d been decorated by a crazy cat lady.

Not to mention how much of a fire hazard/death trap it was.

The pièce de résistance was the angel on top. Suzanne had truly outdone herself with the angel. Although festive dominatrix Barbie was probably a better title.

Who knew sex shops sold Christmas decorations?

Beneath her long red coat with vampy white fur trim, she wore tight black leather pants and a crop top. Her shoes were the kind of stilettos made for niche activities like walking all over a man’s chest while he masturbated. She held a glittery star in one hand, which he supposed was meant to look symbolic but was more ninja warrior than religious.

The only thing angelic about her was the mass of blond hair and the halo positioned above her head. But even it was crooked.

She looked like she’d just come from her angel-of-no-mercy routine at the kink club.

But Suzanne had already proclaimed it to be Grady’s job to place her on the tree, giving some bullshit story about how it had been his job ever since he was a boy, so he was holding it dutifully, waiting for her go-ahead to place it. He didn’t need to confer with her to know she was drawing everything out for maximum effect.

“So, Grady,” Simone said as she surreptitiously shifted a bauble to a more aesthetically pleasing spot, “you mentioned your mom? What does she do? Do your parents live in Credence?”