My Rules (Kingston Lane Book 2)

The children stand on the stage, the audience gathers in the auditorium, and Christmas lingers in the air.

The children run their Christmas concert. They sing and they dance, and the world is a better place for it.

I glance out into the audience, and there he is, my greatest cheerleader. Sitting in the front row. Smiling as if his own children are on the stage.

Blake Grayson is another level of perfect.

He’s been painting backdrops and hanging art and doing coffee runs for me and my colleagues when we worked all through our weekends to prepare for tonight.

He put up the tree in my classroom and helped me decorate it with the children’s art.

It’s our first Christmas together, and this year . . . everything is magical.

The concert was a raging success, and I walk out to find Blake standing in my classroom with a big bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, I love you.” I laugh as I run to him.

“You were great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Incredible, amazing even.”

He’s got a weird expression on his face.

“You didn’t like it?” I smile.

“I loved it.”

“What is that look for, then?” I tease.

“What look?” He pulls me in close and kisses my temple. “There is no look.”

I kiss him as I take the flowers from him. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

“Not as wonderful as you would like to think.” He widens his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

I collect my things, and we walk out into the parking lot hand in hand. While I’m jabbering on about everything, he’s staying unusually silent.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Just tired.”

“Been ruling the world all day, have you?”

“Not so much,” he mutters under his breath as we get to my car. “I’ll see you at home.”

I get into my car and smile all the way home as I reminisce about the Christmas concert.

Everything went perfectly. We put so much work into it, and to have it turn out like that is a dream come true.

We make our way home, and Blake drives into his garage to park his car.

I make my way inside and begin filling up my vase with water for my flowers, and Blake comes bursting through the front door like he’s being chased.

“What’s wrong?” I frown.

“Why . . . why . . . why would anything be wrong?” His eyes are crazy, and his hands are on his hips.

“No reason.” I frown as I keep filling my vase.

He’s walking around with his hands on his hips as I fuss about in the kitchen. “You want a grilled cheese sandwich?” I call.

“Please.”

I glance out and he’s pacing back and forth. His eyes are crazy, and he’s muttering to himself.

What is he doing?

He must have had a really bad day. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be a doctor.

We eat our grilled cheese and have a cup of tea in silence. He has hardly said two words all night.

He must have had a really stressful day.

“I’m going to have a shower, babe.” I make my way up the stairs.

“Uh-huh.”

As I walk up the stairs, I see him spring from the couch and begin pacing again while dragging his hands through his hair.

He is acting very weird tonight.

I get into the shower and under the hot water, and I smile as relaxation mode is activated. There’s nothing on earth better than a hot shower.

The door bursts open.

I jump, startled, and turn to see Blake standing before me. “I think I accidentally slept with Chloe,” he blurts out.

“What?” I frown.

“After Carol’s, I found pajamas under my spare room bed, and we all got blacked out, remember, and I don’t remember a thing, remember?”

“There’s a lot of remembers in that sentence.”

“And I didn’t know whose pajamas they were, and today I saw that Chloe has those pajamas, and I think . . .” He drags his hands through his hair as if this is the end of the world. “I think I might have slept with her.”

He screws up his face as he waits for my reaction.

I roll my eyes. “You idiot.”

“I know,” he gasps.

“Those were my pajama pants.”

“What?”

“We hooked up that night, you fool.”

“What?” he gasps, wide eyed. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was embarrassed that you didn’t remember!”

“Did we fuck?” he squeaks.

“No.” I roll my eyes again. “We fooled around, and you were so blackout drunk that we both fell asleep.”

His eyes search mine. “So you’re Nooky Nights?”

“Who?”

“The flash drive I found in my pocket. It’s yours?”

“What are you talking about?” I screw up my face.

“Did you write it?”

“Write what?”

“The two-cocked green alien stories?”

“Blake. What the hell?” I hold up my hands. “Speak English!”

“I found a flash drive in the pocket of my jeans the next morning after Carol’s, and it’s a backup for someone who writes raunchy shit.”

“What kind of raunchy shit?”

“Like two-cocked, tit-sucking hucows.”

“What?” I scoff. “Have you gone insane? I never wrote any two-cocked stories. Is that why you wanted to borrow my books?”

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “So it was you who gave me the giant-ass hickey that I had to hide from you for weeks?”

“Guilty for that one.” I smile. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”

“You old dog.” Fully dressed, he steps in under the water and takes me in his arms. “Thank god for that. I thought I fucked it. Sleeping with your girl’s best friend cannot be good.”

I giggle. “Well, in truth . . . I didn’t actually remember for a few weeks.”

“What?”

“But then I checked the security camera and saw us kissing on my front porch, and it all came back to me.”

“What?” His eyes widen. “Was I good in bed?” he whispers.

“You fell asleep, so I’d say not.”

“Ugh . . . we shall never speak of that night again.”

I giggle. “You idiot.”

His lips drop to my neck. “Now . . . let’s get to business. I’m sober tonight.”

“Put my favorite song on again,” I call as I fuss in the kitchen.

Blake hits play on Spotify, and “Carol of the Bells” rings out. His house is a Christmas wonderland.

We’ve gone all out decorating.

The tree is twinkling, and the fairy lights are strung up above.

I wanted to host his family this year on Christmas Day, and I’ve been cooking all week in preparation.

For some reason, this year family has a stronger meaning.

Blake’s family has welcomed me with open arms, and I want them to know how much I appreciate them and their son.

He passes me a glass of eggnog, with a kiss on the cheek from behind. He’s wearing navy pajama pants and a Santa hat.

His stomach muscles are rippled, and I never saw a Santa look so hot.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” I smile as I turn toward him. “Please tell me that I get to do Santa tonight?”

“That’s a given.” He shrugs. “Come with me.” He takes my hand and leads me through the house and opens the front door.

A large basket with a red bow sits there. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.” He smiles like a Cheshire cat as he picks up the basket and walks inside.

“What did you buy me?” I smile. “I thought we weren’t doing gifts until tomorrow.”

“This is for both of us.” He puts the basket down next to the tree and sits down beside it. “Open it.”

I smile and pull the ribbon and lift off the lid, and my eyes widen as I gasp. “Oh . . . a puppy.”

A beautiful little golden retriever looks up at me.

“Oh my god.” I gasp as I pull it out. “You bought me a puppy?” I whisper. I hold it up. “A little girl puppy?” I squeak. “Blake . . . ,” I whisper.

“What are you going to call her?”

“Oh.” I look at her beautiful little face. “What shall we call her?” I whisper in awe.

His eyes twinkle with love. “Whatever you want, baby.”

“Daisy?” I hold her up. “Do you like the name Daisy?” I ask her.

She replies with a big lick to my face, and I laugh out loud. “Oh, I love you.” I reach over and kiss him as she wiggles in my arms to break free. “Thank you.”

“Do you like her?” he asks.

“I love her, and I love you.”