Hi! This is the Stepbrother With Benefits Christmas story I promised you. Unfortunately it's a little past Christmas. Also this one got a little away with me and I only ended up finishing the first half of it, so…

It's still quite long and a lot of fun so I hope you'll enjoy this “Part 1” of the Christmas novella prequel of Ethan and Ashley's story. I plan on adding to it and extending it for next Christmas, at which point I'll release it officially on Amazon for everyone to read there 🙂

Until then, enjoy!

*** INTRODUCTION

My stepbrother walks towards me, naked, glistening, shining and wet, one eyebrow raised, tossing me a smoldering, wicked smirk, all of his hard… hardness… his…

His muscles! Ugh. His hard muscles. Not his hard… I can't even think the word. Wait, he's not hard, is he? No, he wouldn't… what, wait, oh my God what's going on, why am I thinking about, why is he…

Oh, by the way, he has a towel wrapped around his waist. Otherwise, he's naked. Does that count as naked? I don't know if there's a more accurate definition or not, but right now I'm counting it. Ethan's naked. And, in case you were wondering, he's not hard. I checked. Just now. I didn't mean to! I mean, I did mean to, but I didn't mean to for that reason.

Seriously, he's my stepbrother. That's just… ugh.

Wrong? Yes.

Do I want it to be right? Who is even asking these questions. Come on now!

Also, I have a boyfriend! Yup. That's it. I don't have to even answer any of this because I'm dating Jake and he's the sweetest. Or not. That's something else entirely. Let me deal with one thing at a time here.

“Hey, Princess, my eyes are up here,” Ethan says, two fingers pointing straight at me, rising to lure my gaze from his towel-covered region to his eyes.

Region? I blush at the idiotic idea that I can't even use a word that better defines what's going on.

Except what is even going on? I sure don't know. And what's a better word?

Crotch? Sounds kind of weird.

Penis? A little too technical, but probably accurate. Wait, no, I wasn't!

Dick? Ugh. Cock? Ethan is a cocky, arrogant jerk, so that seems like what I should go with. I mean, these are just my thoughts. I'm not saying the word out loud. I can't say things like that. I just can't.

I'm responsible, the good girl with perfect grades, and I'm not about to act like some blithering, lust-addled idiot girl like the ones Ethan is used to sleeping with just because his abs look particularly interesting when they reflect the light from my bedside table lamp when he turns to the side a little and flexes them, just so.

Which, to be honest, I'm pretty sure he's doing on purpose right now. What a jerk. Ugh!

“I wasn't looking at anything!” I shout at him, trying to bring back some semblance of normalcy. “What are you doing in my room? Why are you naked? Stop calling me Princess. I don't like it! It's weird. You're weird.”

“I'm weird? First off, hey, I'm not naked. I've got a towel on. See?” He taps at the fluffy towel hanging loosely from his perfectly sculpted hips. Why does he have those lines, that V shape that lures your eyes lower? I hate him. I hate that he has sexy hip lines.

I hate that I can't even use better words to describe his sexy hip lines than to call them sexy hip lines.

“Second,” he continues, “They're renovating my shower. Fuck. I miss my shower, Princess. You know how nice it is to shower and step out without clothes on and just walk around your room naked, balls out, drying in the fresh air like nature intended? Yeah, it's great. I can't do that at college. Doesn't really work in the dorm showers.”

“Are you an idiot?” I ask him, scrunching my eyebrows and glaring hard at him.

“Look, I get it, Little Miss Perfect. You're smart. Good grades. Whatever. But that's a little harsh even for you. Why? What's up? Is this literally a case of having your panties in a bunch? I've heard about it but never seen it happen. It's cool. You can fix it. I won't judge. That's what brothers are for, right?”

“First, ew. Second, step. Stepbrother. So, no. Third, ew. Fourth, also ew. Fifth, sixth, and seventh, ew.”

“Oh, hey, thanks for reminding me. I had a third thing I wanted to add before,” he says, ignoring literally everything I just said.

“What?” I ask against my better judgement.

“Third,” he says, definitively, like this is some important rule we have to remember, “I like calling you Princess. What's weird about that? What do you want me to call you?”

“Um, Ashley?” I offer. “That works. That's my name.”

“Nah, too on the nose,” he says, tapping his nose and furrowing his brow. “How about… Little Miss Perfect? That sounded good just now.”

“Shut up.”

“Good Girl Goodie Two Shoes?”

“Can you please get out of my room now?”

“Little Miss Perfect Goodie Two Shoes?” he offers. “I combined the first and the second, see? More emphasis. It's a little long, but it gets the point across. Fuck, my English teacher would be so proud right now.”

“I think you underestimate how much it might take to make your English teacher proud,” I tell him. “Also, go. Get out. You're naked. In my room. That's… don't do that, Ethan. Seriously! This isn't funny. Stop laughing!”

“Hey, if you want to touch the goods, just let me know. What are brothers for?” he asks, lifting his arm and flexing his bicep like he's offering it for my approval.

“Stepbrother!” I screech. “I don't want to touch anything. What are you even talking about?”

I say this as I am most definitely touching him, but to my credit it's more to push him out of my room than anything. And he's being the biggest jerk ever by using his height and his strength to push back against me so I'm not getting very far.

“Stop being such a… a…” I start to say, stammering on the word that I really want to say.

“What?” he asks, smirking at me. “Tell me how you really feel, Princess. Then I'll leave, I promise.”

“Stop being–” An asshole. That's what I want to say. But I… I can't. Because. Just because. “A butthole,” I say instead.

“Seriously?” he asks with a sigh, shaking his head. “It's not like I'm going to go running to mom and dad if you call me an asshole, you know? You can do it. It's completely cool.”

“It's not,” I say, holding my ground. “It's a mean thing to say.”

“Yeah, but I'm kind of being an asshole,” he adds. “So I think it's warranted.”

“Well, I wish you'd stop.”

“Being a…?” he coaxes me.

“Ethan, come on? I get that your shower is being redone or whatever, and I wish you'd just waited and asked me, but I guess I wasn't here when you got home and maybe you didn't know when I'd be back, so I understand that part, but… can you please stop being such an asshole?”

I say this in the sweetest, most good girl way possible, and I'm pretty sure I took all the vulgarity out of the word right then. I don't know how. I might be on to something, though. Yay, me!

“Aw, that was cute,” he says, grinning at me. “Let's hug it out. I think we're really making some progress.”

“Progress towards what exactly?” I ask.

“Fuck if I know,” he says. “Family bonding? Just seemed like the right thing to say.”

At which point he spins around a little too quickly and wraps his arms around me in a hug. While still naked. Not too wet, though. Not as much as I would have thought. I'm sort of a cuddler, or I like to be except–let's not talk about Jake right now, please–and, um… so I hug Ethan back.

It's not on purpose, I assure you. It's an instinctive reaction. Honestly, though? Yup, he's pretty easy and nice to hug. I like it more than I will ever tell anyone, ever. Taking this secret to the grave.

Oh, and, um…

“Ethan?” I ask, unsure how to broach this hard subject.

“What's up, Princess?”

“You're… naked, um…”

“Princess, I've got a towel on,” he says, except then we both look down and, nope, there is no towel wrapped around his waist.

Sometime between him spinning around, apparently just before he hugged me, his towel came loose and decided it wanted to fall to our feet instead of staying safely wrapped around his hips.

Which is where the hard subject comes in. It's not too hard. I mean, I don't think it is? I'm not looking! Oh my God. I swear I'm not looking. I mean, I might have accidentally taken a peek. Because I looked down and saw the towel. On the floor. Which isn't where his cock is.

Yup, I'm going with cock. That's the word, people. If I can say asshole, I can say cock.

Not that I want Ethan's cock near my asshole. I didn't say that! What's anal sex like, though? Is this really the time to be thinking things like that, Ashley? I need to stop asking myself questions I never plan on answering.

Or do I?

See! That's one of the questions I need to stop asking myself.

Ugh.

“Hey, so, I like you and all, but we're sort of related, so…”

“We're not even related,” I tell him. “Your dad married my mom. You're my stepbrother.”

“Oh, so this is cool?” he asks, confused. “Uh…”

“Um, no, it is decidedly not cool,” I tell him. “Why are you still hugging me?”

“Why am I hugging you?” he asks. “Why are you hugging me!”

“I'm—” Oh, wait, I am. I stop that immediately. Because! “There! I'm not! Can… can you, um… I'm going to turn around and not look at you now.”

“Cool,” he says. “Thanks. You're great.”

“Can you please stop being naked in my room?” I ask.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and I hear him swoop down to pick up his towel.

I'm sure he wraps it around his waist, but I still don't turn around. My cheeks are far too red right now and I would probably rather just hibernate for the rest of winter, or die, or I don't even know.

Something.

“You excited for Christmas?” he asks, this time from the hallway outside my bedroom door.

“No, not really,” I say, probably a little too depressing and straightforward.

I mean, everyone's excited for Christmas, right? That's how you're supposed to be.

And I'm… not.

“What? Are you–“

He starts to say more, tries to, but I'm a little too this, and far too much of that to, um… I just need some privacy, alright? I spin around fast, avert my eyes from the rock-hard sculpted muscle and sin that is my stepbrother, and slam my door shut. I lock it after for good measure.

I really wish he hadn't brought up Christmas. I really wish everyone would stop bringing up Christmas.

Look, I get it. It's happening. Christmas is in less than a week and everyone's out buying presents, getting excited about the holidays, doing all of the amazing and wonderful Christmas things that everyone always does every single year.

When they can. Unless they can't. And then they don't. And then they…

They see everyone else doing all of the amazing and wonderful Christmas things that they won't ever be able to do…

That's me. That was my entire life growing up, at least until Ethan's dad married my mom. Which was still most of my entire life since they've only been married a couple years now.

I hate Christmas. I don't like it. I'm sorry, but I just don't.

*** ETHAN

What the fuck was that?

I'm trying really fucking hard not to think about it. Keyword here being hard, if you know what I mean.

Which, yeah, is pretty fucked up. I don't even want to get into that one.

It's kind of like when you wake up with morning wood, right? If you know what that's like. Maybe this is just me here. Fuck if I know. But yeah, so when I wake up with an erection, my cock standing tall, and it's not like there's a reason. Maybe I dreamed a reason, or maybe it just decided to do some pull ups or something. I have no idea, but it's happening and what's done is done and what am I supposed to do about it?

The problem is the more you think about what's going on, or at least the more I do, well… what's a hard cock for, am I right? It's got a purpose, some biological instinct, a mind of its own over here, and my mind isn't helping things. It's doing a really fucking bad job of helping anything.

Basically the more I try to stop thinking about my throbbing hard cock, the more it, uh… stays hard and throbs. That's the problem I have right now.

The first problem.

The second one is the fact that this happened because of Ashley “Good Girl” Banks, my stepsister.

Which is kind of fucked up, man. Not that she's actually related to me, so it's not fucked up? Nah, that's a dangerous line of thought. Also, she's completely not interested. She's got a boyfriend, as she so quickly decided to tell me.

And that's great. I'm real fucking happy for her. I hope he's awesome. I bet he's not awesome, but I hope he is.

What the fuck is that about? Why am I secretly hoping her boyfriend is a douche? Because, yeah, what am I going to do about it if he is?

Look, in case no one told you, I'm not a nice guy. I'm what most girls who randomly fall in love with me like to call a “bad boy” but I don't know if that's accurate, either. I never asked them to fall in love with me. I never told them we'd be serious. I don't go around saying things like, “Hey, you're different than all those other girls. I think I'm really falling for you. I could see myself building a future with you.”

I don't do that. Fuck. I've never done that. I don't think I'll ever do that.

Girls get into shitty relationships with guys who treat them like trash, and I guess I feel responsible to show them what a real man can be like once they inevitably get dumped and feel like complete and utter shit. Guys are assholes. I know it. You know it. We all know it.

Girls can be assholes, too. Equal opportunity, you know? We're not talking about that right now.

I date girls. For a week. Maybe two at the most, but rarely. We have a fun time. I treat them like a princess. The sex is good. I've never gotten any complaints.

And… yeah… once they know what they can find, I let them go find it. They aren't going to find it with me. That's not my thing. I never tried to tell them any differently, but they all think it, they all want more, and I can't give that to them.

Maybe it's wrong. Fuck if I know. I'm saving that side of me for… someone, something else… fuck if I know. Get off my case about this, will you?

Fuck.

My semi-hard cock went to a full-on throbbing monstrosity as soon as I left Ashley's room. I blame my towel. Why the fuck did you fall to the floor, Towel? What kind of bullshit is this?

It's just instinct. It's not because I find Ashley attractive. I mean, we've hugged before. Reluctantly. That's kind of why I like doing it. She looks so annoyed when it happens, like, ugh, do we really have to do this? Just because you're my stepbrother doesn't mean…

Nah, Princess. We're family now. Family hugs each other.

Usually not naked. That's the fucked up part here. Look, it was an accident, alright? Goddamn. Leave me alone.

My phone is going crazy over on my desk, which is kind of par for the course at this point. I come home for Christmas and I get mass texts from literally every girl I've fucked asking if I can cum with them.

Home: optional.

Their orgasms: that's never optional. They always cum for me. I don't stop until they're satisfied.

I guess I should check what's up, though. Maybe something else is going on.

Door closed, in the privacy of my own room, I whip my towel off and fling it onto my bed. Walking to my desk, my cock bouncing and throbbing the entire way there, I pick up my phone and scroll through my text messages.

Holy fucking shit, are you for real? Am I Santa Claus or something? Every girl I've ever known is sending me their Christmas wishlist and basically they all involve my cock. Fucking…

I read the first one, because why not?

“Ethan, are you home for Christmas? My family is going to a ski resort for the week. I hate skiing. Come keep me company? I just bought this…”

Attached is a picture of Erica in a barely-there set of holiday themed lingerie, all red velvet and green trim, but mostly see-through. Damn, she had a nice rack. Still does, but I'm not breaking my one week rule to get up close and personal with those babies again.

And next is…

“Ethan, I just want your cock. Let's fuck. Merry Christmas!”

This picture doesn't even have lingerie. Holy fuck, did Nicole get even more flexible?

The next one is an invitation for a threesome, two-in-one. I don't even think I know the second girl, which I think is some attempt at finding a loophole to my one week rule, except, nah, not going to work, Megan.

You girls have fun, though. Looks like you're going to do it with or without me. Good job, ladies.

I have too many fucking voicemails to listen to, and I'm about to just delete everything, but then I see one from Ashley's mom and I probably shouldn't delete that one. Might be important. Also a good way to get rid of my erection. It's mostly gone now, but you can never be too sure with these things.

And, uh… yeah, not that anyone would know, but I feel sort of obligated to put clothes on before listening to a voicemail from my stepmom. Because, you know, it seems like the right thing to do?

Probably also shouldn't tell her that I hugged her daughter naked just a little while ago. My stepmom is cool and I'm glad her and my dad found each other, but I think there's, uh… limits to the boundaries of something or other, family, all that.

Yeah…

Clothes. Check. They're on. Fuck, man, I love this fitted henley. Christmas is amazing. Winter is the fucking best. I'm with Erica as far as skiing, because that's not really my thing, but the rest of winter is awesome.

And sorry, Erica. You're cool, I guess, but no, I won't fuck the shit out of you on your family's ski resort Christmas vacation. Or any other time. You're on your own.

I jump onto my bed and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, envisioning all of the cool Christmas shit I'm going to do during my college break, and play the voicemail from my stepmom.

“Ethan! Are you home? I guess not, or else you probably would have answered. Sorry about your shower. Your father thought it'd be a quick job, and I told him if we went with that contractor it'd take longer, but he wouldn't listen. Actually, that's a long story and it's very nice of your dad to help him out, so I understand, but it means you won't have a shower. Sorry! Ask Ashley if you can use hers. I'm sure she won't mind.”

Uh, yeah… about that… Ashley minded. Pretty fucking sure she's never going to let me in her room ever again.

Sorry, Princess.

The voicemail continues:

“Are you still ready to help me out? Come down whenever you want! We're making Christmas dinner baskets for everyone at the shelter. The kids miss you. You're always so good with them. It's really sweet. Are you done your Christmas shopping? Maybe we can go later. Ashley's not very into the Christmas spirit. I thought it'd be different after I married your father, but… I don't know. Don't bring it up to her, please. It's kind of a sore spot of hers. Anyways, bye! Merry Christmas! Can't wait to see you and Ashley again. Hope college has been nice. I know it has, but let's try to work on those grades of yours, huh? Maybe Ashley will help you out. Study buddy, right?”

And that's it. The voicemail is over. My stepmother is done, in her overly bubbly, occasionally rambling way.

I'm really glad my dad found her. I think she's great. For him, and also just great in general. I think my mom would like her, too. Even if, uh… yeah, that's a rough one. It's Christmas, man. Don't put me through feelings like that right now.

Also, fuck, it's Christmas! What the fuck, Princess?

Ashley's mom asked me not to say anything to her. What's the first thing you think I should do?

Probably not say anything, but I'm pretty bad at rules. That whole bad boy thing, right? Some rules, at least. Other rules are important and personal and I follow those, but this one…

Yeah, no fucking way. Christmas is amazing.

Sorry, Princess.

*** ASHLEY

I may have lied before. It was just a little fib. It's not like Ethan's going to find out.

We talk, but we don't talk talk, you know? I mean, it's hard not to talk to someone when they live in the same house as you, but for the most part I don't think either of us has ever gone out of our way to have super detailed discussions about our feelings or whatever.

We're not friends. He's my stepbrother. He's…

It's complicated.

Jake's also not really my boyfriend. Not yet? Does that sound desperate or hopeful? We've gone on some dates, and I kind of brought up the idea of being exclusive once or twice, but he asked why we have to put a label on what we have. Do I want to date someone else?

“No, I… I just…” I said at the time, not even sure what else to say. Stammering and stumbling and thinking that words are very hard but feelings are easy to understand.

For yourself. I can understand my feelings just fine. It's only when I try to explain them to someone else that I struggle. It's the same with telling people I don't really like Christmas. No one understands.

“Do you want to date anyone else?” I asked him after, which I guess was kind of the same way as asking if we were going to be exclusive or not, but different.

“Ash,” Jake said, letting out a deep, extended sigh. “We're in college, babe. Things happen. Don't make this complicated.”

Which… what? What does that mean? He didn't say he didn't want to date anyone else, but he said things happen, and dating someone else is definitely a thing, so…

I pick up my phone and think about texting him. That's what a girlfriend would do, right? Or even someone you're dating. That's what someone you're dating would do, and Jake and I have been on dates, so it makes sense. Makes perfect sense.

Instead of texting, I call him, though. The phone rings once, twice, and I think it's going to go to voicemail, but shortly after the third ring he picks up.

“Oh, hi,” I say, nervous. “I just, um… did you make it home alright? I just got home a little while ago and I was thinking about you…”

“Ash,” Jake says, short. “Didn't we agree not to bother each other while we were on Christmas break?”

“Well, I thought that was more about constant texting or being annoying,” I say, trying not to whine. I'm not a whiner. I'm a good person. I'm a good girlfriend, or I would be if I was one, which I'm not really sure I am, especially not now.

But I could be. I will be.

“Yeah, this? Right here?” Jake says, almost like he's pretending to be gentle about it, acting like he's teasing me, except he's not and he really means it. “Annoying. Don't do this. Don't make it into something it's not, either.”

“I just, um… I wanted to–“

“See you when we get back to the dorms,” Jake interrupts. “I'll even get you a Christmas present. Nothing big. We aren't that serious. I was thinking of checking out some sexy lingerie, though. I know you've got that whole good girl vibe going on, but don't be a prude. We've been on more than enough dates already.”

I'm going to say something, or I'm going to try. I feel a little more empowered after my more than slightly awkward conversation with Ethan early. Ethan was being an asshole, and I called him out on it. Eventually. I can do the same with Jake, right?

Except I haven't dated Ethan. And I've known him longer. And he kind of asked me to call him that. Jake didn't ask me to, but he's… he's being one!

Yup, he's being an asshole.

Which I'm about to say, but then he abruptly says, “Bye, Ash,” and then hangs up the phone.

I can text it to him, though. Right? Except texting “Asshole” to my not-quite boyfriend seems more permanent than calling Ethan an asshole. It's… it's different. Somehow. I don't know how, and I'm not trying to be a doormat, but Jake's the first guy I've dated. Or the first one I've gone on multiple dates with. He's really nice when we're together, I swear.

I can't really explain it, but this conversation is different. Kind of different. We have some good conversations. We talk? About things.

I'm doing a really bad job of explaining this, aren't I? I swear it's true, though. Jake's almost opened up to me a few times, which I think is hard when you first start dating, and he's always been upfront with me about his feelings and how he doesn't want to go too fast because we're just in college, and it's a time for… experimenting, I guess?

I don't know. I'm not against trying on some lingerie for my boyfriend, but I think he could have said it a little nicer.

I'm probably being stupid right now. I'm smart when it comes to school and grades, but I don't really understand relationships. I've always been too busy studying and doing homework to date, and I can't say I've been to a lot of parties.

There was this one time with Ethan after our parents got married and then went away for a weekend. That was more Ethan's party than anything, and since we were home alone together I was invited by default. I remember getting really upset at him for reasons that we're not going to talk about right now!

Very awkward reasons, made even more awkward by the fact that he was just naked in my room. Mhm…

Suddenly, as if the universe is conspiring against me, someone knocks loudly on my bedroom door. I jump up, startled, and then come crashing back down. Except the whole jumping up thing happened on my bed, and the crashing down part is on my bedroom floor. I topple to the ground, blinking fast, staring at the door.

“Hey, uh, Princess? You alright in there? What's the noise about?” Ethan asks through the closed door.

“Go away, Ethan!” I shout back at him. “It's nothing!”

“Noises don't just fucking happen for no reason,” he protests.

“You startled me and I fell off my bed,” I admit, groaning. “Happy? You can leave now. Thanks.”

“Shit,” he says, and for whatever stupid reason he actually sounds concerned. “You alright? You didn't twist your ankle or anything, did you? I can get some ice. Fuck, hold on. I'll be right back.”

“I didn't–” But it's pointless to keep going. By the time I get two words out I can already hear him running downstairs to get me some ice.

Which is actually a really sweet thing to do, but I'll never admit it, because as we've already confirmed, Ethan Colton is an asshole. A sinfully sexy asshole, but that just makes it even worse.

Asshole…

Thirty seconds later he's back outside my bedroom and knocking on my door again.

“Hey, open up,” he says. “I've got ice.”

“I didn't even hurt my ankle!” I shout at him. “I'm fine. Go away!”

He pauses, maybe thinking about something. I don't know. I don't really care, either. Can I please just have some privacy? The door is closed and locked for a reason.

“So, your mom called me,” Ethan says. “Earlier, I mean. I must have been in your shower, so she left a voicemail, and we're going to meet up later. Maybe tomorrow since it's getting kind of late now. And, so yeah, she told me not to tell you she told me, but she said something about how you don't like Christmas? I mean, yeah, I guess I should have realized it sooner since we've spent the last few Christmases together, but I figured maybe you were just one of those quiet shy girls. Which… alright, now that I think about it, you aren't that quiet because you're always yelling at me, but I'm kind of fucking bad at this shit.”

“If my mom told you not to tell me she told you, why are you telling me?” I ask, rhetorical. Also, come on, Mom. Really? “And why are you meeting up with my mom?”

“Look, Princess. Christmas is some serious shit. People are supposed to be happy, because it's… I don't fucking know, it's Christmas. It's cool and fun and there's a lot of awesome stuff about Christmas.”

“For you, sure,” I tell him. “I bet it must have been nice growing up with a rich dad who could put tons of presents under your Christmas tree, and you probably had a big one like always, and I bet you even had some huge Christmas dinner every year with a ton of people stuffing their faces with food. Don't even try to lie. I've seen the past few Christmases with you and your dad and I'm sure it's always been like that for you. Must be nice, Ethan.”

“I guess?” he says, his voice rising in a shrug. “It's not about presents or who can have the bigger Christmas. It's… it's just about Christmas, Princess. I don't fucking know how to explain it. Santa Claus and the spirit of giving and whatever fucking else awesome Christmas stuff. There's a lot, trust me.”

“I know,” I say, hiding something in my voice. I just don't want to talk to him about this I've tried talking to my mom about it and it's even hard to talk about with her. “It's different for you. It's easy.”

“Nah, it's not easy,” he says, a hint of a genuine smile in his tone. “Maybe it's different. I don't know. I'm not good with that stuff. I just know, uh… you know that movie? With Scrooge?”

“You mean the book?” I ask, contentious. “A Christmas Carol?”

“Fuck, is the movie based off a book? Maybe I should read it. Books are always better than the movies, right?”

“Do you even read books?” I ask, and I'm probably the one being an asshole right now.

“What the fuck? Of course I read books. Damn, Princess. You're angry, huh? Did you check your panties or what? Don't keep them in a bunch. Pretty sure that's bad for you.”

“My panties are none of your concern!” I tell him, which is true, but also funny to say and I almost start to laugh. “I have a boyfriend, remember? He's the only one who should be concerned with my panties. Or lack thereof. Who knows? Hmm!”

“Whoa, calm yourself,” Ethan says, laughing. “You're really into this guy? That's cool, Princess. Just make sure he treats you good, alright? Guys are assholes sometimes.”

“Like you,” I counter.

“Well yeah, obviously. That's why I can tell you guys are assholes. I know what it's like.”

“You're really dumb sometimes, you know that?”

“You're really fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that?” he counters.

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because you're being like Scrooge and no one else is going to tell you to cut the fucking shit and show you how awesome Christmas is, so I'm going to do it. I'm like the goddamn Ghost of Christmas Present, Princess. So get your ass out of your room. Let's go do cool Christmas shit.”

Cool Christmas shit. Right. Of course. Thanks, Ethan.

“No,” I say. Which should be the end of it.

Should be, but…

My bedroom door swings open. I'm still sitting on the floor, having tumbled there awhile back. Ethan looks around, confused, then he sees me on the floor and raises one eyebrow at me.

“You sure you don't need this ice?” he asks, holding up a plastic bag of ice hastily wrapped in a hand towel.

“Nice to see you didn't forget how to wear clothes,” I snipe. “How'd you open the door? I locked it.”

“I know how to pick the locks,” he says, casual. “It's not like they're that complicated.”

“What if I were naked in here?” I ask. “You can't just go picking the lock on my door, you know?”

“Hey, you saw me naked, so it's only fair, right? Karma or whatever.”

“Ethan Colton, you are never going to see me naked,” I tell him.

“Aw, don't be like that, Princess,” he says with a wink.

“Asshole.”

“There you go. Good job. That's the Christmas spirit.”

I'm starting to question if Ethan fully understands what “Christmas spirit” means. I don't have time to question it too much, though. He grabs my hand and pulls me up off the floor, then starts dragging me out of my room.

“Wait, I–” I start to say.

“Nah, no time,” he says, and then like he's done this a million times before, he leans down, scoops me up into his annoyingly muscular arms, and carries me out of my room like I'm his caveman bride or something.

“Ethan, what are you–!”

“Shh, Princess. I need to show you something.”

*** ETHAN

“Alright, let's go,” I say, hopping into the driver's seat of my dad's SUV in the garage.

“We're taking this?” she asks, giving me a funny look, hands on her hips, all sass and everything that goes with it.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“I don't know. Aren't SUVs kind of like… you know…” she says, trailing off.

And yeah, I have no fucking clue, so I just look at her the same way she's looking at me. No hands on my hips, though. My hands are on the steering wheel because I'm about to drive us out of here if Little Miss Perfect will stop being all bah humbug about Christmas and get in the car.

“You always take the cool cars,” she adds, as if this explains everything. “This is like a soccer mom car, isn't it? Doesn't seem like your kind of thing.”

“Oh, I get it,” I say, nodding once. “You're jealous.”

“What! I am not. Just because you always take the cool looking cars when you drag your girlfriend of the week to whatever makeout spot you like to go to, and just because you're taking this car when you're driving me around, nope, that doesn't mean I'm jealous.”

See? I knew it. Who knew good girl Ashley Banks could get jealous over something like a car? Huh. Good to know, I guess.

“You realize this is a Porsche?” I ask her.

“I don't know why you're lying to me. You can just admit that you're not even trying to impress me. I mean, I'm your stepsister so I get it and it makes sense if all you're after is sex and to be an asshole. You're obviously not getting it from me, so…”

“Princess, cool it,” I say, grinning.

Fuck, she's cute when she's being all hyper-indignant. Almost makes me want to stuff her in the passenger seat of my dad's Maserati instead, just to see what she does. But yeah, nah, not today. I didn't just pick this car for the hell of it.

She keeps looking at me, still awkwardly annoyed at my choice of car for our evening expedition. I shake my head at her and sigh.

“It's a Porsche Cayenne Turbo,” I tell her. “The Maserati is nice, but it's not a great winter car. My dad doesn't even get winter tires for it. Do you know how much it'd suck to try and drive that right now? So yeah, not only is this car better, but it's got a giant ass back seat area with some blankets and shit, which we might need because it's really fucking cold outside. Can you get your ass in the car now?”

“Oh,” she says, looking at me like I just said something far too intelligent.

I mean, maybe I suck at book smarts sometimes, but I understand how cars work and I know how to take girls on dates. Fuck, man. Not that this is a date. It's Ashley. She's my stepsister. So, uh… yeah…

This would be a pretty fucking epic date if it weren't for that, though. I don't just do this shit for everyone, you know?

She scurries over to the passenger side, opens the door, then hops in. I flash her a quick grin before starting up the car. The garage is warmer than it'll be once we get outside, but I decide to let her idle a little so we can get some heat going before we take off.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“You going to apologize?” I ask her.

“I am sorry,” she says. “It's not… I'm not jealous, alright? It's not that. I just really don't like Christmas and nothing you say or do is going to change my mind.”

“Sure,” I tell her. “That's cool. What else?”

“You really hurt those girls, Ethan,” she says. “I'm not trying to judge you about it, but they get their hopes up and you act all sweet and great when you start dating a new girl, but I don't understand. Why do you date them for a week or two when you don't plan on taking it further than that? Why are you so nice until you aren't?”

I shrug, noncommittal, exactly like every relationship I've ever been in. “I don't know. You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me?” she asks, her voice pleading with me more than questioning my methods.

Which is hard to take. It's harder than I want it to be.

“Look, Princess,” I say. “I'm just not the right guy for them.”

“So this is some ‘it's not you, it's me' junk, is that what you're trying to say?”

“Yeah, basically, except it's the truth. You know how many guys won't admit that? They'll string a girl on for months, or, fuck, even years, and the girl puts up with all of their bullshit because she thinks they're building something great together. It's not even that great. It's not like you need a hundred-thousand dollar car to be a good guy, Princess. It's a fucking car. I mean, I love my dad's Maserati as much as the next person, but if I had a shitty junker that I spent half my time fixing, it still wouldn't change whether I'm a good guy or not.”

“So yeah,” I continue as she stares at me like I'm delivering an inspirational speech. “I don't do that. I don't half-ass this shit. I show girls a good time. A real, actual good time. And it's fun for me at the time, too. But that's it. Then I leave, because that's all I can give them. They can go find some guy that can give them more after.”

“You're acting like this is all about them, but what about you, Ethan? What if you find a girl that you want to give more to? Or are you trying to say that's impossible.”

Fucking… don't do this shit to me, Princess. Fuck. I don't like it.

“Nothing's impossible,” I tell her. “Nothing. Not even me changing your mind and showing you how awesome Christmas is.”

“Don't be dumb, please. This isn't about Christmas right now. I'm trying to ask you serious questions. I'm trying to… I don't know what, but if you get to kidnap me and force me to do stupid Christmas stuff, then I get to ask you why you're afraid of commitment.”

“If I find a girl I want to give more to, and I can be with her, then I'll do everything possible to show her just how special she is and how much I care,” I tell her. “There. Happy now?”

“Not really,” she mumbles. “Do you think all guys are like that? I mean, so… hypothetical situation, alright? Kind of. Um…”

“Your boyfriend is a douchebag,” I say, which I kind of mean as a question, but also it's more a statement of fact.

“No! Um… maybe? I think he's just a little bad at opening up and sometimes the way he says things he makes them sound pretty bad, but… no, I think he likes me, but I don't know how long it takes to figure out if you love someone? Like, alright, do all guys know within a week? How's that work?”

“I don't think anyone knows within a week, Princess,” I say with a little laugh.

“If you don't know within a week, why do you only spend a week with the girls you're with?”

“I don't think anyone knows if they're fully in love with someone in a week, but I think you can tell pretty fast if you'd ever be able to love someone, you know? It's more like… there's potential there, I guess. I think people confuse that with love sometimes, though. Fuck if I know. Like the potential to love someone versus actually loving them, right? It's different.”

“I guess so…” she says, voice wavering. “But how?”

“It's easy to like someone when they're awesome,” I tell her. “Real fucking easy. You ever try to hate someone when they're awesome to you? It's hard. But I think there's the reverse, too. It's hard to like someone when they piss you the fuck off. I think love is like that. If you can love someone when they're awesome, but you can also admit to yourself that you still love someone even when they piss you the fuck off, well… there you go.”

“So if you find a girl who likes you even when you piss them off, that's the one you'll be with? Um, that makes no sense, no offense. You piss every girl off and they still want to be with you. I've seen it happen. Pretty sure it happens with all of them.”

“Nah, the other way around,” I say. “If a girl pisses me off and I still want to cuddle the fuck out of her and pin her up against the wall and make love to her, then I know she must be amazing.”

“So you've made love to some of the girls you've been with?” she asks, unsure, a little insecurity sneaking in.

“Nah, not really. I'm not that much of an asshole, Princess. Like I said, I keep it real. I mean, maybe there's some gentler sex now and then or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but there's no ‘I love you's and I don't make love. They know that.”

“Are you sure?”

I don't answer that question, because I don't think I'd like the answer if I did. Look, I know I'm an asshole sometimes. I try not to be, but it just fucking happens. Maybe I shouldn't do the shit I do. Maybe I should be better. Fuck if I know how, but maybe I should give it a shot sometime.

I'll do it when I figure out how the fuck to do it. It's too complicated. There's too much shit going on in my life to worry about the entire rest of my life. I'm just some college football player. It's pretty fucking awesome being me, but let's be real, everyone should feel awesome to be themselves, too.

That's what I think, at least. That's what I want.

“Nice and toasty,” I say, holding my hand up to the heater. “We're fogging up the windows, though. If we don't leave soon and my dad or your mom gets back, they're going to get the wrong idea.”

“Ew,” Ashley says, wrinkling her nose at me. “Gross.”

“Thanks, Princess. You sure know how to make a guy feel good.”

“Let's go do your Christmas things and get this over with,” she says, crossing her hands over her chest.

“Aw yeah! This is going to be great. You'll see.”

I push the button in between the seats to open the garage door, slide my window down a little to get rid of some of this fog, and then I drive us out to Christmas Town.

*** ASHLEY

Ethan keeps referring to a place called “Christmas Town” like he's secretly an elf in one of those made for TV holiday movies. So… either my mom's been keeping a secret from me and my stepdad is actually Santa Claus, with Ethan as his heir and workshop helper, or my stepbrother is crazy.

It has to be one of those two. I really just don't think there's any other options.

I mean, there's probably other options, but those two make me laugh so I'm sticking to it! Ethan's probably not crazy. Not anymore crazy than he already is, at least. And I don't think he's an elf. Or is he? Hmmm…

“What's with the smile?” Ethan asks, glancing over at me as we pull into an underground parking lot.

“What's wrong with smiling?” I counter, pouting at him. “Isn't this about you trying to convince me that Christmas is great? People smile during Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, no way,” Ethan says. He rolls down the driver's side window and shoves his hand out, grabbing the parking lot ticket. “We both know it's not going to be that easy, Princess. You can't just magically get into the Christmas spirit once we pull into a parking garage.”

“It's a really nice parking garage?” I offer.

“You always this bratty?” he asks.

“I'm not being bratty!”

“What's your deal, by the way?” he adds, ignoring my pouty, grumpy look, hands crossed under my chest. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

“Why do you like it so much?” I ask, probably being bratty. It's not my fault, though. Seriously, it's not. “Why do you even care?”

“It's… it's just Christmas, Princess. I don't know. Were you watching too much of the Grinch when you were a kid? Did you always want Santa to bring you a pony or something? What's up?”

Ethan pulls into a parking spot in the surprisingly unpacked garage. I didn't expect that one. This is the time of year when everyone's out and rushing to buy last minute gifts, isn't it? Buy buy buy, go go go. Christmas spirit? What's that? This is about how much we can rack up to give to people so we can pretend to show them what they mean to us.

Yes, I know I'm being incredibly pessimistic right now. And I'm sorry about that, but I'm not, too. I'm not trying to be, at least. I'm just… it's complicated.

“Santa's not real,” I say to Ethan, because I don't really want to talk about the rest right now.

“Nah, Santa's real,” he says. When I give him a sidelong dirty glance, he adds, “It's not about the guy, Princess. It's about the idea behind it. Sure, maybe there's no magic or whatever the fuck. No reindeer flying through the sky or whatever. Seriously, what the fuck would Santa even need reindeer for anymore? I'm sure he'd keep them in his reindeer stables or whatever. Easier to mail all the packages. Maybe that's even better, too.”

“You're doing a great job of sapping all of the magic of Christmas out of the Christmas spirit, you know that?”

“Nah, hear me out for a second. Santa is good, but he's just one dude. Big dude, awesome beard, eats cookies, great stuff. But… you can't just put the entire spirit of Christmas on one guy. How unfair is that? It's better when everyone can contribute. Everyone gets a little piece of the magic. So it's not just about Santa anymore, it's about the mailman who delivers packages, or the dude who dresses up and takes pictures with everyone at the mall, or the Chinese restaurants that stay open on Christmas because they're badass like that. It's everyone.”

“Um… not to ruin your inspirational speech, but I'm pretty sure the Chinese restaurants that stay open on Christmas are doing it because they don't celebrate Christmas, so it's sort of the opposite.”

“Yeah, be a scrooge about it if you want, but they're open and it's awesome. You've never had a real Christmas until you go out and get crag rangoon when you're hungry before Christmas dinner. It's pretty fucking badass, Princess. You also get to see all the Jewish people at the Chinese restaurants who are happy as fuck because holy shit they're eating great Chinese food for Christmas.”

“I'm honestly starting to think you don't understand anything about Christmas,” I tell him. “You do realize that those Jewish people aren't celebrating Christmas either, right…?”

“Nah, they're celebrating by not celebrating. I mean, yeah, if you want to get real fucking technical I guess they would have celebrated Hanukkah, but…”

That's it. That's his rationalization. I don't even know. What the heck!

“You're so strange,” I tell him.

“It makes sense in my head,” he says, somehow trying to reconcile all this. “Look, I get it. They aren't celebrating Christmas, but they're doing something and they're enjoying it and it's a celebration, alright? It doesn't matter if it's Christmas. It's just everything. All the fucking holidays, Princess. Hanukkah is great, and Kwanzaa, and just like… what the fuck else is there? Lots of stuff.”

“Winter Solstice?” I offer.

“Fuck yeah, Winter Solstice! That's a great one. It's not about what you do, Princess. It's about how you feel and who you are, and sometimes you need to take an entire year to figure that out.”

I'm not sure I agree. When have I ever needed to take an entire year to figure out who I was or how I felt?

Except when was the last time I was honest with myself about how I actually felt? I want to say I'm truthful with myself all the time, but, well… the whole Jake thing earlier?

Oh, sure, it's fine. It's not a big deal if we don't talk for our entire Christmas break… I thought that we were, um… getting more serious, and things were heading that way… I mean, we were more serious. Maybe not “about to get married” serious, but, you know. Seriouser?

That's not a word. I don't care right now, though.

Why am I even thinking about this? I still don't like Christmas. It's got nothing to do with Jake.

“You ready?” Ethan asks, opening his door and hopping out of the SUV.

“I guess so,” I say, reluctantly doing the same. “What are we doing? Going Christmas shopping?”

“Christmas isn't about shopping, Princess,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “Come on.”

*** ETHAN

Fuck yeah, it's Christmas! Holy fuck, do you know how amazing this is?

Alright, so it's not technically Christmas day yet, but it's Christmas. Like that song, right? Twelve days of Christmas? It's not actually twelve days of like… Christmas. Christmas is just one day.

You know what I fucking mean. It's motherfucking Christmas, though.

I bring Ashley to the most Christmassy place on Earth, which is this giant ass Christmas tree in the middle of the city park. It's even more glorious than I remember. I love the fuck out of this tree, man. I can't even begin to explain it.

Reluctant, like the tree's going to crash on top of her at any moment, she stands next to me and stares up at it. There's a few other people gathered around, all of us looking at this mighty tree.

To be completely serious and solemn for a second, I know everything about this tree. It's the same thing every year and I think it's beautiful.

The city gets a massive balsam fir shipped in from Canada every year. No joke, this thing is nearly fifty feet tall. A light brown fence circles around the outskirts of the tree like a barrier protecting all that is Christmas. They keep the decorations simple, yet festive, with classic green, white, and red lights shining brightly along the branches. At the top, like a lighthouse, a lustrous star shines, leading everyone from near and far to the Christmas magic sitting in the center of the city park.

I fucking love this tree. I used to come here when I was younger. With… with my mom, when she was around. And then after when she wasn't. Sometimes with my dad. Sometimes I came alone.

Now I'm with Ashley. It's not the same as any of the other times, but that's not a bad thing. It's different, but it's nice, you know?

“It's big, huh?” she says, looking up at it. I think I spot a hint of awe in her eyes.

Fuck yeah, Princess. Be impressed by this mighty fucking tree.

“Yeah, nearly fifty feet,” I tell her.

“How do you know?” she asks, glancing over with one eyebrow raised.

“That's just how it always is,” I say. “I don't know. It's been that way forever. This is some serious shit, Princess. They take Christmas seriously. This is a legit Christmas tree.”

“I just don't understand,” she says, slow.

“Understand what?”

“This? All of it? It's a nice tree, but what's the point?”

She looks around and right now it's basically just us, me and her, standing around the tree. The others who were here have left, and everyone else is walking past. A few glance over and admire the tree for a second or two, but that's about it.

“I mean, it's a symbol, right?” I say. “I get what you mean. It's not like everyone is rallying around the tree. I think that's the point, though. It's not about that. It's more about seeing it, and having it be a part of your life, even if it's just a part of your life for a little while. Sometimes it's… it's the things that you have for a little while that mean the most, right? If you had them forever, you wouldn't realize how important they were. Stuff needs to go away sometimes so you can miss it.”

Which is something I believe, but also I don't. My mom died when I was young. She had cancer. Ashley knows that. It was a long fucking time ago, alright? It's not like I think about it all the time or anything. I'm over it, but she was my mom, so it's not like I'll ever get over it all the way, either. I don't fucking know.

Christmas is like that, though. It's here, and you have to enjoy it while it lasts, but then it's gone and all you're left with is memories.

It comes back, though. Then you get to have new memories. Like how my dad married Ashley's mom, and she's not my real mom and probably will never be like my real mom, but I still like calling her Mom. I like the new memories.

New memories don't take the place of old memories. They're just different. Both of them can be really fucking awesome. Maybe even both of them should be really fucking awesome.

“I'm sorry,” Ashley says, awkwardly bumping into me. “Did you come here with your mom?”

“Hey, don't be sorry,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. It's like a hug, except we're cuddling or something, which is really fucking weird if I took two seconds to think about it, but fuck you I'm not going to think about this shit right now. “Yeah, I came here with my mom. And my dad. And just me.”

“Is that why you like Christmas?” she asks, pushing into me. Some real fucking cuddly shit's going on and we're both oblivious. Like I said, I'm not going to think about it. Don't ruin the Christmas mood, man. “I… I never really had that. With my dad. Because… I mean, it's not the same as with your mom. You had a mom, at least. My dad just kind of left.”

“Is that why you don't like Christmas?” I ask her, squeezing her close.

“Maybe a little bit, but I don't know if that's all of it. It's hard to know what you're missing out on when you've never had it, right? When I was growing up, me and my mom would try to do the Christmas thing, but then I'd go to school and see all the kids with their new winter coats and everyone would be talking about what they got when we got back from Christmas break. I didn't have that. I mean, I got some things, but we didn't really do presents and gifts. My mom couldn't afford it. I'm sure you got tons. Your dad's rich, so…”

“Look, I won't try to sugarcoat it and say I didn't get any presents, because, yeah, I did. We've had Christmas together for the last couple years and you got presents, too. My dad just likes to buy presents, but he doesn't do it to brag or anything, if that makes sense. It's not about the presents. I didn't get super expensive shit all the time. Alright, so maybe I got some super expensive shit sometimes, but–“

“You're rambling,” Ashley says, grinning over at me. “Ethan, I know how you grew up. You don't have to explain it to me.”

“Nah, I do,” I tell her. “It's not about the expensive shit. My dad didn't have to do any of that. He never used to, either. It happened more when I was older, and then maybe a little more when him and your mom got together. He took it hard when my mom died, and then I was kind of left to myself a lot, so when Christmas came around I think he tried to make up for the rest of the year. That's not really how Christmas works, though.”

“Do you ever get mad at him?” she asks.

“Fuck yeah, I get mad. He gets mad at me, too. Everyone gets mad at each other sometimes. That's just life.”

“I guess…” she says, looking away, trailing off.

“I got mad because I had a mom and a dad, and then I didn't have a mom, and suddenly it was like I didn't have a dad, either. But it's like… yeah, I was a kid. I didn't understand what the fuck was going on. You ever think about that kind of thing, Princess? I loved my mom so fucking much, but I never got to know everything about her. I didn't know her as long as my dad. He knew everything about her. He still does. How much do you think he loved her? A whole fucking lot, I bet.”

“It's not like you can't both love her,” Ashley says, like she's trying to figure this shit out. “It's… it's different, right? He loved her, and you loved her, and it's not like one took away from the other. Love's not like that.”

“Nah, you're right,” I say, smiling over at her. “Love's not like that, and neither is Christmas. Christmas loves you even if you don't like it back. Sucks for you, Princess. You're stuck with it.”

She blinks at me after our serious moment, then she groans and sticks out her tongue. “Christmas isn't a person, Ethan!”

“Christmas does some real crazy shit,” I say. “Like why are you being so cuddly over here? Getting into the Christmas spirit or what?”

Her eyes snap open, wide, like she's only just realized what we're doing. To be fair, I think I've only just realized what we're doing, too. She jumps away from me like I'm lava and takes a few extra steps to keep her distance.

“You caught me off guard,” she says. “Don't do that!”

“I was giving my stepsis a Christmas hug,” I say.

“Can you, like… not call me that?”

“You are real fucking hard to please, you know that? What am I supposed to call you?”

“Ashley? My name?”

“Nah, too easy.”

“Everything else you say is just you being a jerk,” she says, crossing her arms at me.

“Princess? What? That's me being awesome. Nowhere near me being a jerk, Princess.”

“Ashley,” she says, then repeats herself, slower. “Ash. Ley. Try it. It's easy.”

“Prin,” I say. “Cess. Princess. Fuck, that was easy. You're right.”

“Asshole,” she mutters under her breath.

“Whoa fuck, did you just use a bad word?”

“Did you just call me out for using a ‘bad word' by using a bad word?” she counters.

“Damn fucking right I did.”

And that does it. She cracks. Trying not to, holding it back for as long as she can, she breaks and starts laughing. It's nice. She's got a really nice laugh. It's beautiful, with a little extra lilt, a snip of raw excitement and energy.

Not trying to get too poetic there. Maybe I read something like that in a school book once or something. Fuck if I know.

What I do know is that Ashley's laugh is perfect, right here and now. If her laugh were a Christmas decoration, it'd belong at the top of the tree, shining bright in the night sky for everyone to see.

Did you see that? Ethan's Christmas poetry right there. Fuck yeah.

“The tree is really nice,” she admits. “I like that it's not crowded here but there's a lot of people looking at it when they go by. Maybe I like this kind of Christmas thing. Just a little. Not a lot. Not enough to like Christmas, but like… it's better than all the people rampaging through stores to buy last minute gifts so there's that.”

“Yeah, it is nicer than that, huh?”

She gives me a little shrug and grins. “A little.”

Fuck yeah, Princess. Christmas!

“You want to see something else really awesome and Christmassy?” I ask her.

“Christmassy?” she says, giving me a funny look, lip quirked into a half smile.

“Christmassy, Princess. This shit is Christmassy as fuck.”

“Christmassy as fu…” she starts to say, then stops herself, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Ooohhh, look at you, Little Miss Perfect. Almost fucked that one up.”

“Shut up!” she says, slapping my shoulder. “Let's go look at your Christmassy things.”

“Christmassy,” I say with a nod.

“That's not even a word,” she says. “It's a dumb word that's not even a word.”

“Fun to say though, right?”

She refuses to answer for a little while, but eventually she mumbles out, “Maybe.”

*** ASHLEY

Christmassy. It's not even a word!

I kind of like it, though?

I don't like Christmas because of what it means to me. It's hard to get over that. But Christmassy is different. Christmassy is like what Christmas should be, if I liked Christmas.

The tree we saw in the middle of the city park was very lovely and Christmassy. I liked the star at the top. I liked how you could probably see it from almost anywhere in the city. If you worked in one of the office buildings nearby, you could look out the window and see the star shining there, reminding you of the holiday spirit, memories of friends and family and hot cocoa and warm food and gingerbread cookies.

Which I've had. All of those things except for that whole “holiday spirit” thing.

Christmassy reminds me of the good parts, but not the bad. I like it.

I also have no idea where we're going right now. Ethan leads the way, charging along a cobblestone path in the park, zigzagging this way and there. Alright, so it's not exactly zigzagging, but considering I have on idea where we're going I feel like we're zigging and zagging a lot more than necessary.

And… with one last zig and a final zag… we're here?

“Um, what's this?” I ask, looking around, confused.

“Huh?” Ethan asks, maybe even more confused than I am. “What's what?”

“You know… this?” I raise my arms up and gesture all around us, but I'm not even sure what I mean anymore and after a few seconds I drop them in defeat.

“I think you're overcomplicating this,” my stepbrother says with a grin. “It's ice skating, Princess. There's a pond, see? It's frozen over. They've got these machines to keep it frozen and it's not that deep to begin with. Pretty fucking awesome, right?”

“Ice skating…?” I say, with some mix of awe and skepticism. I don't know which is more powerful at the moment.

“Yeah, do you ice skate?”

“I mean, I don't not ice skate…” What does that even mean? No idea. I'm usually pretty smart, but right now I feel kind of dumb.

“Look,” he says. “Don't think about it too much. This isn't some fucking… school assignment or anything. It's not a problem you need to solve. No math or whatever the fuck involved, Princess. It's just you, me, and the ice.”

“What about the skates?” I ask.

“Yeah, those too,” he says, nodding. “You, me, the ice, and the skates.”

“No, um… I mean, we don't have any?”

“Oh, yeah, you can rent some. Come on. Let's go.”

At which point I'm going. I didn't know I was going, I'm not sure when I started going, but Ethan and I are going. He drags me over to a little pop-up skate rental booth. A guy behind the counter smiles at us as we approach. I don't know what I'm doing. I've always kind of wanted to go ice skating, but I never had anyone to do it with.

That's like a date, right? That's the kind of thing you do on a date. I mean, I know not everyone does it, but it's the kind of thing I would've always wanted to do on a date. I kind of want to do it on a date now! Um, not now now… not this exact second, not with Ethan.

Ew. Gross. Stepbrother, remember? Uh huh.

So… with Jake? Except I honestly can't even imagine that one. That feels weird to admit to myself.

“What's your shoe size?” Ethan asks, looking down at my feet.

“I don't know what my shoe size is for ice skates.”

“Princess, relax, breathe, take a deep breath, get some air,” Ethan says, like he's a yoga instructor guiding me through meditation. “It's a shoe. Shoe size. Go. What is it?”

“That seems a little personal, don't you think!”

“Are you being serious? It's a fucking shoe.”

I know this probably sounds kind of mean, but the way Ethan says it makes me laugh. He cocks his head to the side, regarding me with serious confusing, mouth open even after he's done talking, one eye slightly scrunched shut like it's about to start twitching at any second.

“I don't know. You know what they say about guys with big feet, right? Maybe there's something similar with girls. Seems… um… you know… personal… I don't know!”

“Are you trying to tell me you have a big cock? Because, yeah, not really buying it.”

“Ethan!”

“What?”

“You just said that in front of the ice skate guy!”

“Hey, ice skate guy has a name, Princess.” Ethan turns around, nodding towards Ice Skate Guy's name badge.

“Tom,” Tom says. “I don't think the shoe size thing is accurate, either. I've heard it's a myth.”

“Hey, man, don't go trying to take away from my big feet,” Ethan says, smirking.

Which… so my mind just does this on its own, but we were just talking about it, and even if it's a myth that doesn't exactly make me stop thinking it, you know?

Big feet. Ethan has them, I guess. What else of his is big, if you know what I mean? I don't think I'm being subtle right here. Also, I mean, I've seen it! It… well…

It's not like I got a great look. Not that I wanted a great look. It just sort of happened. It's not my fault. None of this is. Why am I looking at Ethan's feet and trying to figure out what the possible correlation is between the foot size I can see now and the size of his cock, or what I saw of it, before?

I don't know. This is the kind of question I shouldn't even be asking myself, because, you know…

Stepbrother? Yup.

“My eyes are up here, Little Miss Perfect. Stop trying to imagine what my feet look like with my shoes off. Wow, Ashley. How perverted can you get?” he asks, smug sarcasm.

“So you know how to use my name now?” I counter, snapping my eyes back up to meet his.

“Yeah, it's a nice name.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Do you always get this pissy around Christmas or is your period coming up or something?”

“Ethan, you can't just ask a girl if her period is coming up!”

Tom interrupts us, laughing, more amused than anything. “Can I get you two our skates and then you can keep flirting and bickering outside?”

“I am not flirting with this… this bad boy hooligan!”

“Fuck, can you say that again? Sounded kind of hot.”

“…What? Ethan, are you flirting with me?”

“Nah. You want me to?”

“Um, no thanks.”

“Cool. Can we get the fuck on the ice then? Ice skating, Princess. This is some real Christmassy shit right here, you don't even know.”

“How is ice skating related to Christmas?” I ask.

I should know by now that you don't ask Ethan Colton questions like that. Or just any questions. I should never talk to Ethan again. He is a bad influence and he's trying to flirt with me and he's acting like he can easily convince me that Christmas is amazing but it's not.

It could be. Maybe for some people. I'm not one of them. I don't care if I've always wanted to go ice skating and now I am. I don't care that I really like the fact that Ethan's here with me and not Jake. I don't actually like that, because this is supposed to be a date, and now it's not. It's just with Ethan, and he's a cocky, arrogant jerk, who just so happens to also be my brother, though thankfully of the stepsibling variety.

Does that even matter? I mean, I guess technically. Realistically, I think most people think it's pretty close to the same thing, though. It's not like I can date my stepbrother. That's… just, no.

No thank you!

“Hey, here are your skates,” Ethan says, handing me a pair.

I check the inside and they're my size, or technically slightly smaller. Close enough.

“How did you…?” I glance down at my feet and I don't know what happened but I'm missing a shoe. I hop around, half shoeless, all confused.

Ethan holds up my shoe, smirking at me. “Stop daydreaming or whatever the fuck you're doing. You like staring off into space, huh? Is that a smart girl thing? Helps you think and be smart or something?”

“Go away!”

*** ETHAN

“Ethan, come back!” Ashley shrieks at me.

“Holy fuck, you need to pick one. One or the other, Princess. You can't yell at me to go away and then scream for me to come back.”

“Was that a flirty sex comment?” she asks, one brow raised.

“What the fuck?” I ask her right back. “Oh, wait. Fuck, that could be a good one, huh? Scream for you to cum… man, I need to use that line sometime. You're good at this.”

“I'm not here to come up with lines for you to use to pick up girls,” she says. “Gross.”

“You're the one that brought it up,” I remind her. “Also, what's up? Why did you want me to come back?”

We're on the ice. Have been for awhile. I'd like to say we're skating, but mostly it's me skating and Little Miss Perfect Princess is hobbling around on ice skates. It's kind of cute, though. I'm trying to help her but she refuses to accept that I know more about something than she does.

Yeah, we get it, Princess. You're smart. Perfect grades, all A's, amazing. Abso-fucking-lutely great.

I mean, it seriously is pretty great, but not when she acts like she should know everything about ice skating just because she can perfectly analyze some classic literature and write a good book report.

Not sure if I really have to tell you this one, but ice skating isn't even close to the same as writing a book report. Not even if you're writing a book report about ice skating. Sorry to burst your bubble with that one. It is what it is.

“How do you–” she starts to say as I circle back around to help her out. “That! How do you do that?”

“What?” I ask.

“You know, move?”

“So there's this concept,” I tell her, and just saying those words gets her immediate attention. It's like I'm a college professor now. Fuck, I should have done this from the start. Just talk about concepts and theories and whatever the fuck else. Aw yeah.

Also, Ashley looks seriously cute right now, but in the weirdest way. She looks like she wants to whip out a pen and paper and take notes on how to properly ice skate. I don't even know, man.

“Concept,” she says, nodding fast. “Yes?”

“Everyone learns it from an early age,” I say, like I'm standing at the front of a class during lecture hall. “One might say it's instinctive, even. To move, the secret is…”

She leans forward, which nearly sets her on a collision course for the ice beneath us. I reach out and help her keep her balance. Annoyed and reluctant, but also with an odd, appreciative glimmer in her eyes, she grabs my arm to steady herself.

“You know how when you're a baby you learn how to walk?” I ask her. “One foot in front of the other? Same thing, but with ice skates.”

She blinks. Very slowly at first, and then incredibly fast. Something is definitely in her eye. No normal person blinks that fast for no reason, but here she is doing it.

“Why do you hate me?” she asks, a hint of a tear in the corner of her eye.

“What? Come on, I don't hate you,” I say. Now I feel bad, though. Fuck, it was supposed to be a joke.

“I get it, alright? Ice skating. Everyone knows how. I should have learned to do it. I know people went when they were in high school. I never went. That was what people did on dates, and as I'm sure you're aware I wasn't exactly a social butterfly back then. I focused on school and I didn't go on dates, and so I never went ice skating, but that doesn't mean you get to be a jerk to me about it.”

“Princess… yeah, now I feel like a huge asshole, but seriously it was a joke. Come on, we can do this. It's easy. I'll show you what's up.”

“It's not easy,” she protests. “It should be. I feel stupid. Everyone else is going around in circles and I'm barely standing here. Can we leave now? I want to go home.”

“No. We're ice skating. Yeah, so this isn't a date. Sorry. You probably deserve some awesome guy to sweep you off your feet and go on great dates with you and take you ice skating and whatever else you want, but you're stuck with me and we're going to do this. It's really not that hard, I promise.”

“I don't trust you,” she says.

I flinch, even though she's seriously just being a brat right now. “What, why not?”

“Fine. I do trust you, but I don't like it. You hurt people, Ethan.”

“What are you even talking about? I don't hurt people.”

“You think those girls you dated and then dumped aren't hurt? That's hurting someone. I know you wouldn't physically hurt anyone, but you still hurt people.”

“I… I know, alright? Now can you stop so I can show you how to ice skate? It's awesome. You'll love it.”

Reluctant, she bites her lip to keep from speaking. Which, fuck, bite that lip, Princess…

Dude. Stepsister? Yeah. No way. Don't even think it. Calm down there, Little Ethan.

That's what I'm randomly calling my cock right now, by the way. Just in case I had to spell that one out for you. No, I'm not happy with this situation, either.

It also is what it is. I'll figure it out later.

In the meantime, I circle back behind Ashley and put my hands on her hips, steadying her. She tightens up at first, confused, but then relaxes once she realizes what I'm trying to do.

“Go with me, alright?” I tell her. “I'll skate slow behind you and I'll go the same way you're going. When I push against your hip with one hand, just like… slide that foot forward. Like you're wearing socks and you're sliding across the kitchen floor after it's been mopped and dry so it's super fucking clean and slippery.”

“…Do you do that often?” Ashley asks, grinning. She gives me the barest hint of a peek over her shoulders, but doesn't look back because she's scared of falling if she looks anywhere but straight ahead.

“Fuck yeah I do,” I say, tall and proud. “Who doesn't? Don't even try to tell me you don't.”

“I do, but you can't tell anyone,” she says. “It's embarrassing.”

“Anyone who thinks sliding across a kitchen floor in your socks is embarrassing is honestly just a huge fucking asshole. Don't talk to people like that, Princess.”

Why do I have the feeling that her douchebag boyfriend told her something like that? She doesn't say anything, but that almost confirms it even more in my mind. Fucking…

I can't think about that little prick. Never even met the guy but I hate him already. I'm busy, though. I'll think about how much I hate him later.

Real slow, just gently easing into it, I show Ashley how to slide forward, pick up a little speed, glide this way and that. We do it at her pace, because she's the important one here. I already know what the fuck I'm doing. It's just a matter of catching her up and giving her a confidence boost.

We skate like we're pros, except really slow pros and Ashley's legs shake a little every so often like she's nervous. Other than that, holy fuck, we're real professionals over here. We even end up doing a full circle around the pond. So yeah, it might have taken us ten minutes when it should probably only take a minute or two, but, fuck yeah, progress!

“You ready to try on your own?” I ask her.

I lift one hand up off her hip and switch around so I'm skating next to her instead of behind her.

“No no no!” she shrieks, grabbing for my hand.

Which she finds, except then we're more holding hands than anything else. Yeah…

I skate next to Ashley, side by side, holding her hand in mine. Or she's holding my hand in hers. Fuck if I know how hand holding works. I mean, I think everyone know how it works, but who is really holding whose hand here? No fucking clue.

I guess we're both holding each other's hand. It's a mutual thing.

“I'm… I'm just doing this because it's easier to stay balanced,” she says, cheeks turning pink as she looks away.

It's cold out here, so pink cheeks are pretty fucking common. Don't read into that shit.

“Yeah, it's cool,” I tell her. “Who cares if people think we're on a date? Fuck them.”

“Wait, who thinks we're on a date?” Ashley asks. “Did someone say that to you?”

“No, uh… I meant that it doesn't matter, right? Who cares if they do? But they probably don't. But if they do, fuck them, you know?”

“Oh,” she says, lips staying open in that very same shape.

Cute as fucking hell, man. Fuck.

“Is this the kind of thing you pictured?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she says. “Kind of. I mean, in my mind it was more romantic, but I think I like this better because you're a really good teacher and you've always been patient with me.”

“Hey, what are brothers for, right?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Even before my mom married your dad,” she says. “That's what I meant. Also stop saying you're my brother. It's… it's weird.”

“Stepbrother?” I offer with a grin.

“Shush, Ethan.”

“Yeah, I can be Ethan, too.”

“I like ice skating. It's relaxing, huh?”

“Yeah, if you aren't falling it's great.”

“Don't let me fall, alright?”

“Of course I'm not going to let you fall.”

Look, I know I can't exactly stop her from falling. It's pretty fucking hard to catch someone on the ice, too.

I'd do it, though. I will do it. Ashley's special. That's the entire fucking point. That's the reason I'm trying to get her to realize how awesome Christmas is.

Yeah, she's my stepsister, but who the fuck cares about that? I mean, it's cool, I guess, but she's more than that. It's always been weird to me that she's never realized it.

You're awesome, Princess. Trust me.

Not that I'll ever say that to her. It's still true, though.

*** ASHLEY

Why is it that right when everything is perfect disaster always strikes?

And, alright, maybe everything isn't exactly perfect, but I'm really enjoying myself right now. I'm not a pro ice skater yet, and I don't think I ever will be, but I've gotten the hang of it and I can actually skate a full circle around the pond without feeling like I'm about to crash onto the ice at any moment.

Ethan's showing off, but it's kind of fun. He skates circles around me, literally, but it seems more like a protective guardian thing than his usual cocky, arrogant jerk thing.

A few of the kids on the ice are really impressed with his skills, so he starts showing off for them even more. It's kind of an impromptu skating lesson all of a sudden. They're all much better than me, so I just do my own thing, skating in a slow circle around the pond, enjoying the ice and the chill winter evening air.

Ethan shows a handful of kids how to do some quick stops or whatever you call them. Like hockey players do, you know? Skating fast across the ice, then doing a swift turn, a slight spin, the ice beneath his skates spraying up like shaved snow.

It's fun to watch but I won't be trying it anytime soon. The kids are having fun, though. They ramp up, go fast, and try to do what Ethan just taught them. Mostly it ends in spinning and wobbling, with no one actually stopping or shredding up ice. They look like they're having fun, though.

And then my phone starts to ring. I forgot I even had it in my pocket. I've been so caught up in the joy of my first ice skating lesson and my time slowly circling around the pond that I forgot anything else but this existed. I've been so caught up watching Ethan that…

Well, my phone is ringing, and it's loud, a stark contrast to the music playing off to the side of the ice skating rink and the gentle swoosh of skates as everyone glides across the ice.

I scramble, reaching into my pocket to grab my phone, trying to silence it before anyone starts glaring angrily at me for interrupting this otherwise perfect skating experience.

Which, um… so I'm not a pro ice skater, right? I have a decent handle on the basics, but that's about it. When you take a bare minimum handle of the basics and a scrambling, awkward grab for the phone in my pocket, well…

Disaster? Yup, it's striking.

I never get to my phone. I barely get a hand in my pocket. Instead, I get what seems like a slow motion view of exactly how I'm about to fall and crash onto the ice. The one thing I've been dreading this entire time, the thing I've somehow managed to avoid, and it's all coming to a head because of my stupid phone and whoever's calling me.

Just as I'm sure my butt's about to crash hard against the ice, I'm… I'm flying?

Or floating. Maybe just sitting? I don't know for sure, but I'm not falling anymore, though I'm not skating, either.

I blink, confused, and look around to see what's going on. A few kids are staring at me with something akin to awe in their eyes. A couple seconds later, a few others start to clap.

I look to my other side and see Ethan standing next to me, skating around like he owns the place. I'd usually think he was just being a cocky jerk about it, but after watching him for awhile I really do feel like he owns this place. Not in the usual way, but more like he's more confident and comfortable here. It reminds me of when he plays football, when I've watched his games, and he just looks like he belongs on the field like it's his true calling or something.

Also, I should add that Ethan isn't exactly standing next to me so much as he's the one who caught me. He holds me cradled in his arms, one forearm tucked beneath my knees and the other near the center of my back. He skates across the ice easily, even with me in his arms, and I suddenly feel like some kind of Ice Princess in a figure skating competition.

“Hey, no falling,” Ethan says, shaking his head as he grins at me.

My phone's still ringing even if I kind of got distracted by other things all of a sudden. Ethan takes more than a few liberties, sliding his hand up my leg towards the pocket where my phone is. He presses against my thigh, which, um…

What is…

Ethan, we're on the ice! In front of kids! And…

I mean, that's my problem with this? My stepbrother's feeling me up in public and all I can think about is how we shouldn't be doing this in front of kids. Except I'm not doing anything. I'm just sitting here being flustered and wondering if it's fine if we did this in private?

Nope, it is definitely not. Nope nope nope…

His fingers find my phone and he pushes a button on the side, which turns off the ringer. Then his hand slides back into a more acceptable spot, no longer squeezing my thigh tight.

“I didn't mean to fall,” I tell him, shy, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, it's cool,” he says, a cocky grin in his voice, and probably on his face even if I can't see it right now. “I got you, Princess. I told you I wouldn't let you fall.”

“How did you even–?”

I have no idea what I'm asking him right now, but he seems to know even without me saying it.

“I told you I wasn't going to let you fall. I keep my promises, Princess. I was keeping an eye on you.”

“Oh,” I say, stumbling for more words than that.

“Don't get any ideas, though,” he adds.

“Wait, what? What kind of ideas are you talking about?”

“Girls get ideas, Princess,” he says, smirking at me. “That's just how it works. Don't do it.”

“You know I'm your stepsister, right?” I ask him.

“Aw yeah, that's the spirit, sis! Keep that up. Might help with not getting ideas.”

“…Please don't ever call me that again…”

“You got it, Princess.”

Why can't I just have a name? The world will never know. The world, and especially Ethan, will also never know I kind of like when he calls me Princess. Just a little. Not a lot. Ashley would be a million times better, but maybe Princess is, like… second best? Maybe.

“You done skating for now?” he asks, skating the both of us towards the exit at one edge of the frozen pond.

“I had a lot of fun, but maybe it's a good idea to stop for now,” I answer. “It's getting kind of late, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding, maybe almost sounding reluctant? “I was going to say we should head back soon.”

There's a quiet pause between us as neither of us says anything for a few seconds. It's… different…

“Ethan?” I say, breaking the silence.

“What's up, Princess?” he asks.

“You know you can put me down now, right?”

Yup… he's been carrying me this entire time, right up to the exit of the ice skating pond and out onto the padded mats leading back to our shoes.

“Hey, don't ruin this for me,” he says, laughing. “I rescued you, Princess. It's my time to shine.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” I ask him. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Sure, let's go with that.”

“Who is it? Look, I know that it's probably easy for you to pick up girls or whatever, but can you wait until I'm not around? I don't want to be involved in that.”

“You are pretty easy to pick up,” Ethan admits.

“What? I am not–” I start to protest, but then I realize he means it literally. Considering he was just carrying me, um… yup, pretty easy to pick up, right? “You're dumb,” I tell him.

“Maybe,” he says, laughing even more. “I was trying to impress you, too. How'd it go?”

My cheeks burn with a quick blush. “Badly.”

“Fuck,” he says. “I thought saving you from smacking your ass against the ice would have done it.”

“You'll have to do more than that to impress me, Ethan Colton!” I say, haughty and overconfident.

“Yeah? Good. Let's go. I've got just the thing.”

“Wait, what? Why are you trying to impress me? I don't get it. Stop. Stop it!”

“Are you always like this?” he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer. “Man, just enjoy Christmas, Princess. Don't be snooty.”

“I'm not snooty,” I pout.

“Then stop telling me to stop trying to impress you. I do what I want, Princess. Get over it.”

“Don't be mean,” I say, pouting even more. My lip is the textbook definition of pouty right now. I could make plastic surgeons around the world feel inadequate because of just how naturally plumply pouty I've managed to get my bottom lip.

I don't think I should be proud of that fact…

“I'm not being mean,” Ethan says, ruffling up my messy windswept hair. I'm calling it windswept instead of admitting it's a scattered from nearly falling on my butt, because that sounds a million times better. “I'm trying to impress you with Christmas shit.”

“Fine,” I say, hands crossed under my chest. “Do your worst. It won't make any difference, though. Sorry.”

“Nah, don't be sorry. Just gives me more reason to keep trying.”

“Why do you want me to like Christmas so much?” I ask him, brow scrunched up.

He shrugs. No words. That's his answer.

*** ETHAN

Look, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I'm taking this personally, that's what I'm doing. Ashley doesn't like Christmas? Why the fuck not, Princess? Do you know how fucking amazing Christmas is.

There's like… Christmas food. Fruitcake? Fuck yeah! I don't know why people like to hate on fruitcake. Seriously, it's fruit, and cake. What's not to like? Homemade fruitcake is the best, but store bought fruitcake is alright. You ever gone into a grocery store and bought a cake from the bakery? Pretty fucking sure you enjoyed it, because it's cake, right? Maybe not as good as a cake you bake from scratch, but cake is cake.

I appreciate a good cake is what I'm saying.

And the rest of everything else associated with Christmas. Caroling? Yes. I can't sing and I've never actually gone caroling, but I'd totally do it. Ice skating? That's a yes, obviously. Decorating the Christmas tree? If you say no, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, you monster.

The lights, the magic of the season, the snow, it's just… everything, alright?

Even if you don't have snow, that's fine. Christmas in Australia or something? It's the middle of summer and I don't think they'll ever have snow that time of year, but pretty fucking sure Christmas is still magical because it's Christmas.

I'm really committed to this. Christmas can't suck. You can't hate Christmas. Ashley can't, either. It's just not possible.

I know there's a lot more to it, but that's the bad shit that people bring into everything that's good. There's always that one person who wants to ruin something or take more than they should, and I don't know what the fuck to say about that except that they're assholes. Don't let a few assholes ruin the magic for you. Don't let a handful of people fuck shit up that you like. No one cares about them. You enjoy yourself and have fun and be awesome.

That's all there is to it.

Yeah… I know it's not actually that easy, but wouldn't that be nice?

“Where are we going?” Ashley asks as I lead her away after we put our shoes back on and return our skates.

“Shhh,” I tell her, holding a finger to my lips.

“I just want to know where we're going,” she grumbles.

Fuck, you have no idea how much her pouting turns me on. Which, you know, is bad, because she's my stepsister. How bad is it? I don't know. Let's not go there.

“We're going somewhere awesome,” I tell her.

“Where?”

“I just told you.”

“Somewhere awesome isn't an answer,” she says, defiant.

“You want to go somewhere awful?” I counter.

“Well, no, but–“

“Alright, cool. Glad we got that out of the way.”

“Ice skating was really nice,” she says, changing tact.

“You trying to butter me up so I'll tell you where we're going?” I ask her.

“Yes. Did it work?”

“Nope.”

“Shoot.”

Also, we're here. While she was arguing with me over where we were going, we just sort of went there. Easy, right? It's the parking garage. We're at the car. I paid the ticket and everything while she wasn't paying attention.

“Um…” she says, standing next to me, staring at the driver's side door.

“You want to drive or what?” I ask.

“I don't even know where we're going!” she says, laughing, exasperated.

“Well, fuck. Yeah, you can't drive, then. Get your ass to the passenger side and get in, Princess.”

“Don't tell me what to do with my ass,” she protests, being a pouty fucking brat.

“Don't even fucking start with me, Princess,” I growl. “I'll tell you exactly what to–“

I think we both kind of didn't realize how this all sounded until we said it, and… yeah, uh…

“I'm, um… going to… over here…” she mumbles, blushing redder than Santa's lead reindeer's nose.

“Yeah, I'll just… same… over here…”

Driver's side door. Open. In. Buckled. Uh huh.

And Ashley on the other side. We sit in the car, staring forward, confused as to what just happened.

I mean, I'm not confused. I'd fuck the shit out of her, but in the nicest way possible. Look, I'm not exactly proud of that one, but it is what it is. Ashley's been, uh… look, she's beautiful, she's amazing, she's smart, she's everything a guy like me will never have, and to make matters even worse she's my stepsister, so… definitely never going to happen.

Especially not going to happen because I don't know if I could follow my own “one or two weeks” dating rule with her. She deserves better than that.

At any rate, Christmas! We've got shit to do here. Stop fucking with me.

“Let's go,” I say. If I had sunglasses, I'd put them on right now. Be a real fucking badass about it.

Except, you know, it's winter and we're in a dim parking garage. Wouldn't be the same.

“You're the one with the keys,” Ashley points out. “You're driving, too. If you want us to go, you have to do it.”

“I wasn't being literal, Princess,” I say, rolling my eyes at her.

“I was,” she says, rolling her eyes right back at me.

I toss her a lopsided grin and start up the car, then lead us onwards to bigger and better things. Maybe not actually better, because ice skating is pretty fucking awesome, but the things we're going to do are definitely bigger. More Christmassy, too. Ice skating is kind of related to Christmas, but not completely, right? This new thing is one-hundred percent Christmas.

It's close, too. We drive out of the city, then head down some quiet roads into a more rural area. Our parents don't live in a super huge city area, so it doesn't take too long. Ten or fifteen minutes tops, and then we're there.

“Ethan, I think the park is closed,” Ashley says, as I sidestep a blockade, driving on dirt instead of road, careful not to hit the wooden fence right next to me.

“So what?” I ask her.

“Um… we're not supposed to be here?”

“And…?”

“We'll get in trouble?”

“We're not going to get in trouble,” I tell her.

“Good, because–“

I don't even bother listening to her after that. No offense, but it's her whole Good Girl mentality at work, and I get it, because it's not like I ever try to get into trouble, but sometimes you just have to do cool shit and maybe you'll get into some trouble for it. Or maybe not. You never know until you try.

Probably not the best life philosophy to have, but I'm trying to convince her that Christmas is awesome over here. This calls for drastic measures.

I pull up near a lake alongside the family recreational park and back into a spot that's supposed to be for loading boats into the water. Except, you know, the water is frozen over and there's no boats. Or anything else. It's just us right now, the sky dark in a way that's only possible in the middle of winter.

I twist the keys and turn the car off, then I pop the back open and hop out of the car. Ashley stares at me like I'm crazy, but soon enough she's following me to the back of my dad's SUV.

I jump into the back where I've got everything set up and planned. Yeah, Princess, this is the good shit right here. If you don't love Christmas after this, I don't even know what the fuck is going on. This is going to be amazing as fuck, I swear.

She looks at me, intrigued and confused, lips quirked up slightly and her eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunching up in thought.

“What's this?” she asks.

“Come on,” I say, patting a spot next to me in the back of the SUV.

She climbs in, scurrying next to me, and I toss a thick, fluffy blanket over us. Once that's settled, I reach for a coffee mug and the Thermos next to me, then pour her a glass of still-steaming, dark hot chocolate.

She takes it, quiet, and holds it tight in her hands before bringing it up to her nose and taking a big sniff.

“Mmmmm,” she murmurs. “Smells good.”

“I made the real fancy shit,” I tell her. “Fancy as fuck hot chocolate right there, Princess.”

She snickers, but then she takes a sip, and I swear to fucking God the noise that comes out of her mouth belongs in a porn movie. Holy fuck. Why are you doing this to me, Princess?

My cock strains in my pants while I try to ignore it by pouring myself a cup of hot chocolate.

Ignoring it doesn't work, but at least it's hidden beneath the blanket. I mean, yeah, Ashley's also under the blanket, so there's that. I don't even fucking know, man. It's an issue but I'm doing my best.

“This is… nice,” Ashley says, glancing around, eyes resting for a second on the blanket covering the both of us, then the Thermos full of hot chocolate, and finally me.

“Didn't mean for it to be this romantic,” I add, smirking.

“It kind of is, isn't it?” she says, as if just noticing it for the first time. “Um… I know you wouldn't, though. Because… yeah. Nope.”

“I mean, don't get me wrong, I think you deserve romantic shit,” I say, aiming for practical. “Just, uh… yeah…”

“So what's this have to do with Christmas?” she asks, deflecting.

“I'm glad you asked, Princess,” I say, looking out towards the lake. “Should be any second now.”

I hope. I'm kind of playing this one by ear. Should work, though. It's always worked before. I used to come here with my mom and dad around this time of year, and then after she passed away I would come here by myself sometimes once I could drive. I used to think about it all the time in between her passing away and me finally getting my driver's license. My dad can't come here. It's too much, he says. It's too hard. We used to fight about it a lot. I used to think he was a huge fucking asshole who wanted to forget her completely.

I get it, but that's one of the reasons I like it so much. I'm not sure how this is going to go. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to bring Ashley here. I guess I just think that if anything can make her love Christmas, it's this.

And then it happens.

*** ASHLEY

First there's nothing but night and darkness, a shimmer of moonlight glowing across the lake, the reflection like a wintry nightlight shining across the tress all around us.

And then there's everything. It's like the stars in the sky suddenly came down to Earth, lit up in all the colors of Christmas, dancing into existence and decorating the lakehouses across from us. One by one, a prepared orchestra, each little lakehouse turns on its Christmas lights. I stare, watching in awe, every house with a different display.

It's… it's just everything…

My mom didn't have a lot of time to set up Christmas decorations when I was younger. She had to work a lot, and during the holiday season she would always work even more. She'd pick up odd jobs here and there, trying to scrape together some extra money just so we could have a threadbare Christmas. To her, it was better than no Christmas at all. I've always appreciated that, even if I hated the rest of the holiday season.

We would do our best to decorate a tree, but it was always a hand-me-down fake tree that we'd put together every year. You know those ones with the metal pole as a trunk and the fake branches and you have to slot the branches into the small holes in the main “trunk” of the tree. After being boxed up for the entire rest of the year, the branches were always squished up and scrunched, so we had to spread them out so that they looked more like an actual tree, too. And then we decorated it with our small box of decorations that seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing year, one inevitably falling to the floor and breaking every Christmas season, never to find a replacement for next Christmas.

That was our holiday tradition. Well, that and a basic Christmas dinner plus a few presents under the tree. That's what my mom spent her extra time doing, working overtime just to do it.

It wasn't like we could really do much else. We lived in a tiny apartment, so it wasn't like we could put up lights outside. I mean, I guess we could have, if we had lights, but we didn't, and who knew how long they'd stay there. Someone probably would have taken them down, or stolen them, or who knows what. I'd like to think that Christmas spirit always prevails, but, um… in my experience that's not really the case.

My mom always wanted to spend one night driving around to look at everyone else's Christmas lights, though. We couldn't set up our own, but we could still get in the Christmas spirit, right? That's what she always tried to tell me, but I don't know if it was ever the same. We'd go get some hot chocolate and apple spice donuts at the grocery store, get ourselves set up, and find these quiet little neighborhoods to drive around in, sometimes parking on the street to enjoy a particularly nicely decorated house.

“Isn't that nice?” she would ask me, sipping at her hot chocolate in between little nibbles from her donut. “One day we'll have a house and we'll decorate it just like that.”

At first I'd just agree with her. It seemed exciting to think about. But with each passing year it seemed like an impossibility. I'd nod, no longer verbalizing my agreement. I'd mumble something. I'd shrug. Finally I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

I started hating the houses, too. They were nice. Honestly, they were beautiful. They weren't mine, though. They were something I could never have. It was like these people didn't realize that showing off like that could make other people feel terrible.

I wasn't mad that they had beautifully decorated, perfect, Christmas houses. I was mad that my mom had to work overtime, spent extra hours at seasonal, holiday jobs, just to… to what? To buy me a couple of presents and pay for our version of a Christmas feast?

I didn't even need it. Or want it. No, um… I did want it, which made me feel even worse. I just… I wanted something different, something like everyone else at school seemed to have, something that came so easily to everyone. I got perfect grades, I studied, I did my best, and everyone said I was such a good student, they said I was going to do great, they talked about how I'd be able to get into any college I wanted, long before I was even thinking about what college I wanted to go to.

If I'm so great, why does Christmas make me feel so small? Why do I feel so terrible this time of year? Why has my mom been telling me year after year that one day we'd have a big house and we could decorate it however we wanted, and, oh, how amazing it would be, and…

The year after I gave up is when my mom married Ethan's dad. Then we did have the big house. We could decorate it however we wanted. Ethan always seemed so excited about it. After Thanksgiving it was practically all he could talk about. Him and my mom got really into it together. It was like she finally had everything she ever wanted, everything she'd been talking to me about for all those years.

Except it wasn't the same. It wasn't her house. It wasn't our Christmas, me and my mom's. We moved into my stepdad's house, and it was all of our Christmas; him and his dad, and my mom and I. It's not like Ethan or his dad ever acted like we didn't belong. They've always been the opposite, really. I just… I don't know… I…

I look out across the lake and I find myself smiling at all the lights. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ethan gazing at them, eyes glistening, quiet. Those aren't his lights, either. Those houses don't belong to him. But he loves them. He loves all that Christmas has to offer, even if it's not exactly his. It's still special and important to him.

“Me and my mom and dad used to come here when I was little,” he says, keeping his eyes tight on the lit up houses across the lake. “I don't know if they… fucking… the owners, you know? I don't know if the people who own these houses plan it or what, but they all turn the lights on at the exact same time. I don't even think some of them are there this time of year, but they always decorate them either way. They have timers or something. Sometimes people are there. You can see their shadows in the house. Pretty fucking great place to celebrate Christmas if you ask me. Nice to get away from it all sometimes, and you can really get into the Christmas spirit if you're in the middle of nowhere in the woods.”

“Ethan, it's not really the middle of nowhere, is it?” I ask, teasing him. “I bet it'd only take them thirty minutes to drive into the city.”

“Don't ruin my Christmas vibe, Princess,” he says, grinning over at me, his eyes still glistening with… something.

I don't know what it is, but it makes me want to hug him all of a sudden. Which, yeah… nope. Weird or what?

“Thirty minutes is still a lot,” he adds. “I mean, yeah, you can just drive it if you have to, but sometimes you need a little alone time, so there you go. Thirty minutes gets you that. Easy!”

“It is really nice,” I say, smiling wide at him before looking back at the lights. “My mom and I used to drive around and look at Christmas lights sometimes, but I never really liked it.”

“Yeah, you're always snippy about that shit, huh?” he asks. “I remember the first year that your mom and my dad were married and your mom thought you'd love helping to set up the lights, but then you just hid in your room and studied or whatever the fuck. I have no idea.”

“They weren't my lights!” I protest, but now that I say it I realize how entitled and selfish I sound. “They… they were your lights. I'm sorry, that sounds really bad.”

“Nah, it's cool,” he says, nudging my elbow with his. “I get it. You deserve your own lights, too. I mean, I don't really get it. I never had to share lights with someone before. Only child, right? Don't exactly have to share much growing up, so yeah.”

“You were always really nice about it and I appreciate you offering to share,” I say, polite, but also truthful.

“Nah, you can tell me to fuck off, Princess,” he says, smirking. “Tell me you want your own fucking lights. Be like, look, you asshole, I'm decorating some shit. You keep your lights over to that side of the house and I'll keep my lights on this half, and stay the fuck away from me.”

“I don't want you to stay away from me!” I say, laighing. “I… I would like my own lights, though.”

“We could have a competition?” he offers. “Maybe next year?”

“What are we competing for?”

“Fuck, I didn't think about that.” He furrows his eyebrows, thoughtful. “Uh… I don't know, what do you want to compete for? What's the prize here?”

“Um… how about the loser has to wait on the winner hand and foot on Christmas day. So if the winner wants the loser to go get their presents under the tree and bring them to them while they relax on the couch, the loser would have to do that. Or the loser has to serve the winner at dinner, or bring them slippers, or whatever they want.”

Look, it was the first thing I could think of! Also Ethan's such a jerk sometimes so it would be fun to have him do everything I want. You can't be a jerk to me now, can you? Not today, Ethan!

“Damn,” he says, nodding. “Didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Princess.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, blinking.

“You know, the whole serving me thing? If you want me to ask you to do stuff, you don't have to pretend it's for a competition.”

“Who says I want you to ask me to do stuff?” I say, scrunching my nose at him. “You think you're going to win?”

“Look, I get it. You think I'll go easy on you just because you've never put up Christmas lights before. But do you even know me? I'm not going to go easy on you. Which means I'm going to win. And then you're going to be my French maid for the day or whatever.”

“Ewwww,” I say, making a face at him. “I'm not wearing a French maid outfit for you! Don't be a pervert.”

“Actually, I was thinking an ugly sweater. Like something seriously bad. Then I can get some pictures and send out thank you cards to people for Christmas presents with you and your ugly sweater on them. Fuck, I could make you handwrite all of the cards, too. Huh. What else?”

“Nothing, because you're not going to win!” I tell him, pushing his shoulder. “Thanks for all the great ideas, though. Actually, maybe I'll make you dress up in a French maid outfit.”

“Hey, don't include me in your kinky sex fantasies, Princess.”

“I don't have kinky sex fantasies, but if I did, they wouldn't include you!”

“Yeah, yeah… sure…”

“They wouldn't!”

“Uh huh…”

“Asshole,” I say, smirking at him.

“Oh fuck, you did it! Awesome. Congrats.”

“Don't be mean to me after being nice. I don't like it.”

“Just teasing you,” he says, smiling at me. “You do this cute thing with your nose. I like it.”

“You just called me cute, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I did. You want to fucking make something of it? Just be cute, Princess. Take the compliment.”

“I will be cute,” I say, sticking my nose up. “Not because of you, though.”

“Good. Be cute for yourself. That's how it should be. Don't let anyone tell you differently.”

I scrunch up my nose at him, extra exaggerating it. He laughs and bops me on the nose like I'm some sort of rabbit. I think I should get offended, but I kind of like it. I mean, I did it just now, extra exaggerated, because he said he liked it, so…

Not that I'm going to tell him that. Not that it even means anything. I just wanted to harrass him. Yup. That's it.

“Hey, drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold,” Ethan says, nudging me with his elbow.

“Sure thing, bro,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

He laughs, but doesn't counter with anything. Yay, I win. I'm going to win at decorating the house with Christmas lights, too. Oh, I'll pick out the best ones. All new lights! Ethan won't stand a chance. Yes, his Christmas lights are very nice and he does a great job, but do you really think he can stand up to brand new lights? I'll get the fanciest ones I can find. It'll be the best.

We sip our hot chocolate together, silent, looking out across the water at all of the lights on the lakehouses. Some of them are set up so that they light up different parts at different times, like they're telling a little story. Others are more subtle and subdued, while others are flashy beyond reason, like a bright, burning star as all the lights come together.

Each is nice in its own way, though. I feel like I'm finally enjoying them again after all these years. Next year I really will be able to decorate our big house with lights and make it look exactly how I want.

Well, my half, at least. Which will obviously be much better than Ethan's half. Don't worry, Ethan. Once you give in to my unquestionable greatness, I'll help you with your half after, too. I get perfect grades in school, so of course I'll have the perfect setup of Christmas lights. It only makes sense.

I yawn a little while thinking about it. My eyes flicker closed for a few extra seconds before I open them wide to try and stay awake. Ethan tilts his head over, resting his against mine. We lay in the back of his dad's SUV, looking at the lights, and he tucks us more tightly under the warm blanket he brought.

I wonder if Ethan likes to cuddle? I don't know why I'm thinking that except that I'm very tired all of a sudden. I mean, it's late, it's dark, these blankets are cozy, and I've been drinking hot chocolate.

I'm just wondering, though. Jake never wants to cuddle, but I bet Ethan cuddles. I don't know why, I just think he does.

My eyes shut, but I see lights dancing in my mind beneath my eyelids. I smile and sigh a little, contented. Hmmm.

*** ASHLEY

My mind's a blur and I think maybe I fell asleep for a second, I closed my eyes to rest them but forgot to open them again, because the next thing I know all of the lights across the lake are gone and the night sky takes over once more. Everything is dark except for a dim shadow of light from the moon.

It's just me and Ethan, laying in the back of his dad's SUV. He must have closed the back door while I slept to keep me warm. The blankets do a good job of it, but the heat of our bodies and the fog from our breath steams up the windows in the car, keeping us further blanketed in a warm, misty haze.

“Ethan…” I think I mumble. “I fell asleep. Sorry.”

“I'm glad you woke up,” he says, a hint of his cocky, bad boy grin shimmering in the moonlight. “I've been wanting to do this for a long time.”

“What?” I ask, but the word is barely out of my mouth before his lips press against mine.

Beneath the blankets, Ethan slowly moves to straddle me all while our lips touch, both of us kissing the other with more than just tender affection. This is definitely not how I should be kissing my stepbrother. I mean, really now, I shouldn't be kissing him at all. First, stepbrother? Um… ew? Except is it really? Nope! Totally is, Ashley! Don't even fall into that trap.

Second, I have a boyfriend. Sort of. I mean, he's not really. We aren't official. I think “we” is really just “me” and by that I mean I'm sort of hopeful but I don't exactly know? I haven't had a serious boyfriend before, though I think Jake is the closest to that so far.

Let's just go with third. Do you want to know what third is?

Third, I don't care about any of that and I just want to keep kissing Ethan. His fingers wrap in my hair as he kisses me, hand clenching in a fist. It's rough and commanding, but gentle and sweet all at once. He guides me into him, his lips leading mine, his hand helping me figure out and give in to what I really want.

“You've wanted to do this?” I ask in the fraction of a second when he stops to give us both a quick break. “I thought–“

“What?” he asks. “You thought I didn't like you?”

“Do you?” I counter. “Remember during the party in high school, you… um…”

“I know, Princess,” he says, sweeter than sweet. “I regret that. I wish I'd never stopped. I had to, though. You know that, right? If I hadn't, well… we probably would have gone too far. I don't know if we were ready.”

“What do you mean?” I ask him. “You were more than ready with… with…”

With all those other girls. Who he dated for a week or two. And then dumped. Not that I ever wanted to be one of them, but I think every girl in our high school always hoped and dreamed they would be the one who could change the Ethan Colton.

Yes, I may have harbored dreams like that at one point, but I wasn't as silly and stupid about it as the other girls. Also, you know, when my mom married Ethan's dad, um…

Nope nope nope. Not today. Not going to happen.

Except, you know, the party. Which I don't even want to go into right now.

“I almost snuck into your room that night and told you that I loved you,” he says, kissing my lips gingerly.

“You… what?” I ask, confused. “Ethan, what are you saying?”

“I'm telling you how I really fucking feel, Princess,” he says, his words a growl. He tilts my head with his hand, still gripping my hair tight, and then he kisses along my cheek to my neck, and a little lower to my barely revealed collar bone.

“I don't… I don't think we…” The words flurry through my mind like a winter snowstorm. “Can we?”

“I need you,” he says. “So fucking bad.”

“You're just saying that,” I say, refusing to believe it. “You're just horny.”

“Damn fucking right I am. You've made me horny for the past six years.”

“You've only been my stepbrother for two!” I say, split between giggling at his sudden insistence and shouting at him for… for whatever he's doing right now.

“Do I have to spell it out?” he says, looking into my eyes. They're the only thing I can see right now. “You're the reason I could never be in a relationship, Princess. You're why I have never been serious with any other girl. I've always wanted you. I only want you. And I know that this is really fucking confusing and complicated and hard and whatever the fuck else you want to call it, because you're my stepsister now, but…”

“I don't care,” I say, the words coming out before I can stop them. “Ethan, I've… I've always…”

“Do you love me?” he asks, his nose touching mine, his head shaking side to side, tickling me.

“Is that possible?” I ask him. “I think that's something that takes longer to figure out, isn't it?”

“How long do you need?” he asks. “Except for when we both went away to college, we've already lived together for awhile, Princess. And before that? We've known each other since elementary school.”

“We haven't even gone on a date,” I say, matter-of-fact.

“What do you think tonight was?”

“I mean… it was really romantic…”

“I love you,” he says. “I want you so much. I need you in my life, Princess. If you tell me to stop, I'll stop, but if you don't…”

His fingers slide down my sides, grabbing the hem of my shirt near my waist, and he slowly slides it up. Where's my coat? I guess we're under the blankets so neither of us needs a coat, but I don't remember taking it off, either.

I sit up a little, helping Ethan to take my shirt off. As soon as it's gone, he reaches behind me and expertly unsnaps my bra, sliding it off in one go.

“You're too good at that,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Ugh.”

“Practice makes perfect, I guess, but I wish I could have practiced with you,” he says, winking at me.

“Let me take your shirt off, too.”

He shrugs and obliges me. I reach for the bottom and peel it up and off of him easily. With each inch of cloth that comes up and away, I reveal an inch of hard muscle. It's like a scratch-off ticket but I'm a winner just for playing. I kind of want to feel every inch of my prize with my tongue, though. Oh my God, those abs. I mean, I've seen Ethan shirtless before, but never this up close and personal. Mmmm…

“Princess, you're drooling,” Ethan teases.

“I want to lick you,” I confess.

“Oh yeah?” he counters. “Like this?”

Before I know it, Ethan leans down and takes my bare nipple between his lips. My back arches immediately, struck by a sudden, electric passion. Oh… oh my… wow…

His tongue swirls around my stiff nipple, my body bucking in response, greedy for everything he has to offer. He cups my other breast in his hand, massaging and teasing me as I melt beneath him.

“Fuck, you're sensitive, huh?” he asks, my nipple still in his mouth, his lips pressed against my chest. “This is going to be fun, Princess.”

“Why are your pants still on?” I ask, ignoring his cocky attitude. “Better yet, why are mine?”

“If we do this, we can't go back,” he says. “You know that, right?”

“Please,” I beg. “Just shut up and…”

My pants are gone. Ethan's are, too. It's like some sort of magic. I've wished this into being and suddenly it is. There's nothing more to it than that. I can't see what's going on because we're covered in blankets and it's night out, but I remember what he looked like before. He wasn't even fully erect then, but I can easily picture exactly what his cock looks and feels like in my mind ever since that happened.

I won't have to imagine what it feels like for long, now will I?

Ethan reaches between his legs and guides the head of his cock to my slick lower lips. He slides it up and down, teasing me. I moan and buck against him, trying to slide onto his cock, but he holds back and keeps steady. Instead of giving in to my lascivious need, he slowly slides his tongue in a circle around my nipple, teasing me, watching me react.

“Ethan, I…”

“What, Princess?” he asks. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I want you inside me,” I say, rocking my hips up and down as he teases my clit with the head of his cock. “Please?”

“Why?” he asks.

“I… I do,” I tell him. “I think I do, at least. I've liked you for a long time, and I've always been too shy to admit it, but…”

“Can you love me?” he asks.

“Of course I can, but that doesn't mean everything will just magically work out, now does it?”

“It does,” he says, kissing up my breast, to my neck, then my lips. He kisses me harder, with more passion, before adding, “We're going to make this work. We're going to be together forever.”

I don't need more than what I already have to be ready for Ethan. His cock slides deep inside me, slick and easy. And, mmhmm, it feels amazing. It's everything I ever could have dreamed and more. Once he's fully inside me, my hips rock up and down, my pussy clenching hard against him. He rocks with me, his delicious lower abs rubbing up and down against my clit.

“Holy fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he says. “I've never felt anything like this before.”

“Are you being serious?” I ask, unsure. “You aren't just… I mean… you've been with other girls, so…”

“Nah, you're the only one I've ever wanted to be with, and now that we're doing this, uh… nothing else has ever fucking felt this good, Princess. Nothing has felt this right.”

“I'm on birth control,” I mumble, as a point of fact. Because it's true? Um…

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning, his body grinding against me.

“Ethan, this feels too good,” I say, like I'm complaining or something. What the heck am I complaining about! “I'm… I think…”

“I can't last for long, either,” he says, kissing me. “Let's just shut up and enjoy this.”

I nod, mumbling nothingness into his lips, finally just giving in and kissing him.

And, oh boy, that's a kiss alright.

Ethan slides out of me, then thrusts back in. Our bodies lock together, perfect and right. I grind against him, rocking my hips, feeling his hard erection deep in my core. My clit throbs and tightens, greedy for his passionate affection. We find our groove, a perfect match, in the middle of nowhere, in a car in the winter near the lake.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight, and then my legs do the same. He can't leave me now. He can't slide even halfway out of me. I don't want him to. I want him inside me. All night. All the time. Every single day for the rest of our lives. I want to cum. I want him to cum. I want his cum inside me, and a part of me wonders if maybe I can still get pregnant even if I'm on birth control…

I mean, of course I can, but what are the odds? I feel like right now they might be really good, even if the rational side of me is… well, let's just ignore that side for now, alright? She's a real buzzkill sometimes.

This isn't me. I never do things like this. I'm the good girl with perfect grades and currently I'm involved in passionate lust and love making with my stepbrother in the back of an SUV.

How did this happen?

Why didn't it happen sooner?

My body betrays everything I know, refusing to be “good” anymore. I'm very very bad right now. One might even say… naughty? Um, yes, please?

Everything inside me tightens, my body begging for release. Ethan's cock throbs and stretches inside me. I'm not an expert on sex or anything, but I think I know what this is leading to…

“Fuck, Princess. I can't hold back for much longer,” he grunts, thrusting hard and deep inside me, holding himself there, his cock filling me to the very brim.

“Don't,” I say, kissing the words onto his lips. “Don't hold back. I'm close, Ethan. Make love to me. Love me. I love you. I need this so bad. Cum for me and I'll cum for you and–“

Ethan grunts and rocks and grinds. His cock flexes inside me and a second later I can feel him, his cum, his very essence. My own mind and body goes into overdrive with his, my orgasm crashing through me at the very thought of him cumming inside me. I can feel it. I can feel everything. I can feel us. I can…

“Ethan!” I squeal, all rational sense completely gone from every part of my body. “I… I'm…”

I mean, I already am. I'm past the point of no return, not that I wanted to stop or anything. Tightened ecstasy floods through me, spreading from my core to every part of my entire being. I'm gone, lost, and no part of me is thinking straight right now.

The last thing I remember before I open my eyes is that I just had the orgasm of a lifetime with my stepbrother and…

I think I'm in love?

*** ETHAN

“Uh… you alright over there?” I ask her.

Look, I wanted to be nice to Little Miss Perfect over here, so when she fell asleep on me at the lake, I did the nice thing and carried her to the passenger seat of the car, buckled her in, set her up with a blanket to keep her warm, and started driving us back home.

Takes awhile to get home, though. I didn't want to put any music on so that I wouldn't wake her up, so I've basically been driving in the middle of the night with nothing to listen to except Ashley's sleep-heavy breathing and whatever random as fuck words she mumbled every so often.

Mostly just my name. Aw, there you go, Princess. Dreaming of me? How fucking sweet is that? We're making some real progress here. Maybe some good Christmas dreams or something. Like A Christmas Carol, right? She's seeing how fucking great Christmas can be, and I'm there, and who the fuck knows what we're doing but I'm sure it's awesome.

Or maybe it's a sex dream? Fuck, man… don't tell me that. Now I'm going to think about Ashley having a sex dream about me. How the fuck am I going to sleep now? Going to be hard all night or something. Talk about resisting temptation…

Except, nah. This is Ashley we're talking about. There's nothing to resist because there's not a chance in hell anything would ever happen. No sex dreams, either.

She's been fidgeting the past few minutes, though. Like a dog or something, you know? Dog dreams, when they kick their little paws around and you're like, fuck, he's dreaming about running around on a farm and being awesome, isn't he?

Pretty sure Ashley isn't dreaming about running around on a farm, but I'm sure she's dreaming about something awesome.

Except, you know, once we're home, her eyes snap open all of a sudden and she says, “Ethan! I… I'm…”

Which is where my whole, “Uh… you alright over there” came from.

She blinks away her sleep and then turns to stare at me.

“Um…” she mutters, no longer blinking, just staring straight at me.

“What's up, Princess?” I ask her. “You have a nice dream?”

“Dream?” she asks. “Wait, did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, and we're home now,” I tell her. “See?”

We actually just got here. I pulled the car into the garage, the headlights shining bright against the back wall, the car still on. I change that last one with a flick of my wrist, twisting the keys and shutting the engine off.

“So… the lake?” she asks.

“Yeah, what about the lake? You liked the lights, right? Pretty fucking amazing, wasn't it?”

“Yes, but what about… after…?”

“Uh, you fell asleep?”

“And…?”

“And I was super fucking awesome and carried you to the front seat, tucked you in with that blanket, buckled you up, and drove us home.”

“Nothing else?”

“Look, I don't know where you're going with this,” I say. “Can you give me some hints?”

“I think I had a really weird dream,” she says, cheeks burning red, looking away from me and refusing to make eye contact now.

“Yeah? What about?” I ask. “You kept mumbling my name in your sleep. Was I being awesome or what? I figured you were having some kind of Christmas dream like Scrooge, but a really nice one where you realized how great Christmas is.”

“Um… nope! You weren't in my dream,” she says, faster than fast.

“What were you saying my name for then?” I ask, blinking, confused.

“Huh? Oh, you know. Just dream talk.”

“Dream talk?”

“Honestly I don't remember, so maybe you were in it, but it wasn't anything good.”

“Yeah, not like a sex dream or anything.”

“Wait? What! I… I didn't… Ethan!”

“What? I said it wasn't a sex dream! It was probably just like… I gave you a Christmas present or something.”

She says something that sounds like, ‘Oh, you gave me something alright,' but I think that's my imagination talking because then louder, she says, “I definitely don't even remember any of the dream but I'm really tired so I think I'm going to go to bed.”

“Sure,” I say. “Yeah, I need to get up early, too. I've got plans.”

“Probably a date with some girl or something,” she says, grumbling.

“Why, you jealous?” I ask, smirking at her.

“I would never be jealous of you!” she screeches, glaring at me for half a second before her cheeks become way too red and she turns away from me, fast.

“Yeah, I don't have a date, so it's cool. No need to get all upset over nothing. Go to bed. You seem tired.”

She grunts at me. I unbuckle my seat belt and open my door to get out, but she stops me before my foot hits the ground.

“Ethan?” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For tonight. For everything. It was really nice.”

“Do you love Christmas now?” I ask her.

“It's a little too soon to say I love it,” she says, quiet. “But I think it's starting to grow on me more than I thought.”

“Good,” I say, smiling at her. “Maybe you'll love it tomorrow. We'll figure it out.”