Tomboys Don't Love Christmas Read online

  Again, I tried to catch Casey’s eye, sending her a telepathic S.O.S.

  Come on, Casey. I know you can read my mind. Pick up what I’m throwing down, just like at the homecoming dance when we did that killer unplanned rendition of Thriller.

  I was staring so hard that I swore my eyeballs were starting to sweat, but nothing happened. Casey just kept on scowling into her mug. Meanwhile I probably looked like a constipated hamster with my bulging eyes and twitching nose.

  Ugh! Why did I have to be so bad at being a girl?

  Despite the fact that my nickname was Princess and my fan club wore tutus and tiaras to my games, I fully embraced my tomboy identity. I loved the respect I got by dominating the softball field, but it sure would be nice if I’d been able to find a balance between baller and Barbie.

  Maybe if I did, I’d know girl code or be able to send up some sort of bat signal that would alert my estrogen-totting friends that I needed girl-talk, stat! But no . . . short of pitcher signals, I was all out of secret codes.

  So that left Grant.

  I turned to him, praying he’d catch my Hail Mary. “Babe, go show these guys how it’s done.”

  He looked toward the old Pac-Man arcade. There was a group of boys in braces arguing over who was up next. “Nah, look at those poor guys. They’re probably freshman. I don’t steal candy from babies.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Grant King, are you getting soft?”

  “That’s what it sounds like to me,” Archer teased.

  “No. I just don’t want to stand in line.”

  I fanned the fire. “You’re with Archer Freaking Montgomery,” I said. “Northwood’s winningest QB1 doesn’t wait in line.”

  Archer’s chest puffed up a little bit as his token smirk spread across his face. “She’s right.”

  Grant looked like he was going to argue, so I pinched his thigh under the table.

  “Ouch!” He hissed, massaging his leg but he caught my eye and finally took the hint. “Alright boys, prepare to get chomped!”

  “The only thing getting chomped is your fries,” Archer said, grabbing a handful from Grant’s plate as he jumped over the back of the booth.

  Grant followed him and Lucas slid out without a word to Casey.

  “Think fast,” Archer called, tossing a fry at Lucas, but Grant was quicker.

  “Intercepted,” Grant yelled, tossing the fry in his mouth and doing a ridiculous victory dance.

  I couldn’t help the envious grin that spread across my face as I watched the three guys roughhouse with each other on their way to the wall of vintage arcades.

  It seemed some things never changed. At least not for them. And that made me happy. I loved Grant. I wanted him to be happy. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to marry him.

  I sighed, inhaling the courage I’d need to say that to my best friends. Because from where I was sitting, they were my only hope of solving my massive case of cold feet.

  When I turned my attention back to Casey and Marissa, they were both looking at me expectantly.

  “So what’s the deal?” Marissa asked, scrutinizing me.

  I laughed, appreciating how she never beat around the bush. “I need to talk to you girls about something important.”

  “I could tell,” she replied. “You’re kinda obvious.”

  I glared at her. “Then why didn’t you help me get rid of the guys? I practically had to shove them out of the booth.”

  Marissa laughed. “You didn’t need our help.”

  “You never do,” Casey added.

  Man, I wish that was true. I cleared my throat. “Well, for once, I think I do.”

  “What’s up?” Casey asked, her big brown eyes filling with worry.

  “I think . . .” I don’t want to get married! The words got lodged in my throat and the only thing that squeaked out was the word, “wedding.”

  Marissa clapped her hands together like a seal begging for a treat. “How are the wedding plans coming? OMG! Is this the part where you ask us to be bridesmaids?”

  I frowned and looked down at my hands, the diamond on my ring finger filling me with growing anxiety.

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t tell my friends that I was having doubts. It was Grant for heaven’s sake! The Grant King!

  Everyone loved him.

  I loved him.

  He was an easy guy to love. And that’s why no one would understand why I didn’t want to marry him. Not even my best friends. They all had perfect relationships and were probably dying to be in my shoes, on their way to the altar. Telling them that the big fat wedding I was supposed to be planning was a big fat disaster wasn’t going to go over well.

  I swallowed down my disappointment and looked at the two women across from me.

  They and their awesome boyfriends had become my family over the last few years while I tried to navigate the murky waters of young adulting.

  If I couldn’t trust them with this, then I couldn’t trust anyone.

  That humbling realization made my heart sink. I was out of luck. I’d just have to find a way to figure out my wedding woes myself. “I don’t want to talk about the wedding,” I said forcing confidence into my voice. “New subject.”

  Marissa’s brows wrinkled. “Does that mean you don’t want us to be bridesmaids?”

  I groaned as I caught that stubborn look in her eyes. I knew the tenacious Texan wasn’t going to let me off the hook so easily, but I had to try. “Can we talk about sports instead?”

  “There aren’t any sports over winter break,” Casey replied, glumly.

  “And that’s why tomboys don’t like Christmas!” I yelled.

  Casey gave me a high-five, but Marissa rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself, Grinches.”

  “Oh, wow, what a surprise,” I said sarcastically. “The actress who’s all decked out in a Santa costume is a Christmas fan?” I put my hand to my chest and mimicked her Texan accent that three years in New York City still hadn’t rid her of. “Well, bless your heart.”

  “It’s an elf costume, thank you very much,” Marissa said, proudly. “I fully embrace my love of Christmas. And you know I’m dressed like this because I just came from helping Asher’s sisters in their Christmas play.”

  “I get you dressing up,” I replied, “but how did you manage to get Mr. QB1 in an elf costume?”

  Casey snickered. “I didn’t even know they made them in NFL size.”

  Marissa grinned like she couldn’t be prouder to call the giant elf hers. “He sure is rocking it though, isn’t he?”

  We all looked over to the arcade games where a flock of Northwood High students had gathered to get Archer’s signature, not seeming to care at all that he was dressed like a ridiculous holiday character.

  I snorted at the obvious flirting he was trying to brush off. It was impossible not to overhear the two high school girls gushing over him.

  “Omigod, Layne! He’s like the sexiest elf ever!”

  The other girl giggled but nodded enthusiastically.

  “Well,” I said, “at least the dorky costume isn’t hurting his studliness.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Marissa said, fanning herself as she gave her boyfriend a sidelong look. “That boy is hotter than a goat in a pepper patch.”

  We all laughed, because only Marissa could get away with saying something like that and having it sound like a compliment.

  I couldn’t fight my envy as I witnessed Marissa put her chin in her hands and sigh as she stared at Archer. I missed that feeling. And honestly, it wasn’t gone. It was just buried under a mountain of stressful wedding plans, courtesy of my mom.

  I got it. I was her only daughter. She’d been dreaming of this day since I’d been born, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with her over-the-top wedding ideas. I really wished one of my brothers would get engaged already so she’d get off my back.

  She’d been calling me every day since Grant and I had gotten engaged—which was our sophomore year of college, s
o the crazy had been building for a while. I loved my mom with all my heart, but we were nothing alike. She was the picture of womanly perfection in her tailored dresses and doting baseball wife duties. And I was . . . well, me. A tomboy who’d rather be wearing a jersey, on or off the field. I didn’t do dresses or spa days, and for the most part my mom accepted that.

  But with this wedding, all bets were off. My normally reasonable mom had turned into a wedding-obsessed Pinterest addict. She literally called me multiple times a day with some crazy new wedding idea or another. Flowers, dresses, colors, venues, themes, linens, invitations, guest lists, bridal party, wedding favors . . . The list went on and on.

  You’d think she was planning a freaking royal wedding for heaven’s sake! I know everyone liked to joke that we were the royal couple of Northwood thanks to our unfortunate last names—King and Prince. But my mom was taking it a bit too far.

  If I’d known there were so many idiotic decisions that needed my attention I might not have said yes—to the proposal, the wedding, any of it.

  Was that true? Did I secretly wish I’d said no?

  Just thinking that made my heart shrivel up to the size of the Grinch’s.

  I couldn’t imagine my life without Grant. He was my everything!

  But I also couldn’t imagine going through with the gigantic wedding my mom wanted us to have. My hands started to sweat just thinking about it.

  I realized that was ironic, considering I could stand up in front of a crowd of thousands of screaming college students and be as cool as a cucumber. But a wedding was different. The idea of standing at the altar with my friends and family watching such a private declaration of love gave me hives.

  I could hit a homerun and jog the bases while waving to my Princess fan club clad in tutus and tiaras; but walking down the aisle in something frilly or blingy? That was out of the question. I felt physically ill whenever I pictured it.

  What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just be girly for once? For Grant?

  He deserved a bride who wanted to look like a princess on her wedding day. One who would glow with joy as she walked down the aisle to meet him to start the rest of their lives as husband and wife. But I was beginning to wonder if I was that girl.

  Every time I tried to imagine it; the doubts I’d been battling for so long began to creep in. My doubts weren’t about Grant. There was no other guy for me. I knew that. But I was unsure about myself.

  What if I wasn’t wife material?

  “Oh! She’s here!” Marissa jumped out of her seat and waved ferociously to a stunning blonde who just walked in. She saw Marissa and grinned, rushing over as she dusted the snow off her bright candy cane stripped coat.

  My heart sank. There was no way I’d have the courage to tell my friends what was really going on if Christmas Barbie was joining us.

  Who the heck was she anyway?

  “I’m so glad you made it!” Marissa exclaimed, hugging the girl again.

  The pretty blonde grinned. “I’m so happy you invited me, since . . . ya know . . . it’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

  A beautiful stranger with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve? Great, now I’d have to be nice to her.

  Marissa turned to face us. “Girls, this is my roommate, Chelsea.”

  “Hi! I’ve heard so much about you,” Chelsea greeted, cheerfully. “Thanks so much for letting me crash your party. Marissa was so sweet to invite me when my plans got canceled.”

  “What plans were those? Stunt double in Candy Land?” I asked, giving a sarcastic nod to the red and white striped coat Chelsea had just shrugged out of.

  She laughed. “You must be Alex.”

  “Yes!” Marissa praised. “And this is Casey.”

  “Where are the boys?” Chelsea asked.

  Marissa pointed them out and Chelsea’s perfectly applied red lipstick twisted into an even wider grin. I was just wondering if the girl’s perfect smile was a permanent problem when her lips began to quiver. A tiny sob escaped before she snagged her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly grabbing a paper napkin to dab her eyes. “I thought I was ready for this but . . .”

  “Chelsea just broke up with her boyfriend,” Marissa said to us in a stage whisper.

  “No, I was dumped!” Chelsea corrected. “On my birthday, three days before Christmas. Who does that? Guys, that’s who.”

  She blew her nose while Casey, Marissa and I exchanged a look.

  I glanced back at the crestfallen girl. Her nose was red, and her mascara was running. The makeup I’d thought had been so expertly applied had just been a mask—something to disguise her pain.

  My heart felt hollow as I realized that if I didn’t go through with this wedding, I might be more like Chelsea than I thought. It terrified me that I might be looking at my future reflection if I didn’t figure out my wedding fears.

  Chapter Three

  Marissa

  After fifteen minutes of consoling Chelsea in the bathroom, I was finally helping her put the finishing touches on her lipstick. She’d already cleaned off her mascara streaks and expertly reapplied the rest of her makeup. It was almost impossible to tell she’d fallen to pieces moments ago.

  “There!” I said, putting the cap back on the candy apple red lipstick. “Good as new.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

  “Don’t apologize, Chelsea. Breakups aren’t easy.”

  “I know, but I thought I was doing better. I mean, I was but then . . . I don’t know. Seeing all the happy couples in this place, it just hit me. But I’ll pull it together, I promise. I don’t want to be the wet blanket that ruins your Christmas Eve party. What do you call it again?”

  “The Northwood Mistletoe Mixer,” I replied, proudly.

  Chelsea grinned. “Your hometown is weird.”

  Chelsea knew very well that I was from Texas, not Pennsylvania, but I decided to let it slide considering how much I loved it here. Northwood had been tough to get used to at first, but it was home now. Besides, without moving here I never would’ve met Archer, which pretty much made up for the miserable winters and small-town shortcomings. “It grows on ya,” I said.

  “If you say so.”

  “I promise. The Mistletoe Mixer is legendary.”

  “What’s so special about it?” Chelsea asked.

  “Well, for one, it’s only for Northwood High students or graduates so it’s the perfect place to catch up with all our old friends. No parents are allowed after eight and they have Christmas Carol-oke!”

  Chelsea snorted. “I think you just described the plot to a cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie. Minus the secret millionaire bachelor, of course.”

  I gave my roommate a wink. “You never know who you might meet.”

  “Oh, please. I’m not going to meet someone at your Pleasantville holiday party.”

  “Why not? I had my first date with Archer here.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Yep, this is where we had our first fake date, but it turned real in the end and that’s what counts.”

  Chelsea seemed to consider that for a moment. I faced the mirror to straighten my red elf hat, then spoke to Chelsea’s reflection. “Shall we see if there’s a little magic left in this old silk hat?”

  “You know you’re dressed as an elf, right? Not Frosty the Snowman.”

  I gave my roommate a playful hip bump. “Yes, I’m just saying the holidays can be a magical time to meet someone.”

  “The last thing I need right now is another guy in my life.”

  “Well, you’re at least going to have to pretend you’re dating one of the single guys out there. Tonight’s Northwood alumni only.”

  Chelsea sighed, throwing her purse over her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  I followed her into the hall lined with sports memorabilia. “I’m not saying you’re going to meet Prince Charming or anything, but just keep an open mind.
There are some really great guys in this town.”

  “I know, I know,” Chelsea replied as we linked arms and walked back to the table together. “You’ve told me a million times about the perfect couples you went to high school with.”

  But as we approached the table where Casey and Alex were engrossed in their phones rather than conversation, I began to wonder how perfect my friends’ relationships truly were. From the sinking feeling in my stomach, I was going to need more than Frosty’s Magic Hat to fix it.

  But that was fine with me. It was pretty much my life’s mission to right the wrongs of the world. That was one of my favorite side effects of being ridiculously happy with where my own life was. It gave me time to delve into my passion for matchmaking.

  My friends may have called it meddling in the past. But meddling, matchmaking. Was there really a difference?

  And it’s not like I was interfering. Alex and Casey were already dating the guys they were meant to be with. I didn’t see anything wrong with doing a little investigating to make sure they stayed that way.

  What kind of friend wouldn’t want their besties to be happy?

  I slid into the booth and crossed my arms, glaring at my two best friends. “Alright ladies, spill it.”

  They both looked up at me, then each other. “Spill what?” Alex asked.

  I scowled at them both. “Don’t give me that. The two of you have been off since you got here. Normally, I can’t shut you two up when we get a chance to be together.” I turned to Casey. “You’ve barely said two words.” Then I faced Alex again. “And you clam up tighter than a pair of wet chaps every time someone mentions the word ‘wedding’. So stop pretending I’m imagining things and just tell me what the heck is going on already.”

  Alex crossed her arms and met my glare, while Casey bit her lip, but neither of them looked like they were going to talk. I was just about to remind them that I could out-stubborn an ox any day of the week when Alex’s mouth dropped open. “No way,” she whisper-hissed.

  Surprised by her sudden outburst I turned to see what had her attention. I gasped. “Lexy Bale and Tyler Bishop?”