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Henry
Later that afternoon, Henry drove Victoria back to the house so that she could prepare for their evening out with Jennifer and Andre. He sat on the couch, reading a chapter in the biography about Renoir that Victoria had given him for Christmas. He glanced up when he heard her call to him from the top of the stairs.
“Ho...ho...ho,” Victoria teased as she descended the staircase dressed in an emerald green sweater, embroidered with a chubby Santa and Mrs. Claus posing in front of a Christmas tree, which featured individually sewn-on gold garland, small multicolored lights, and red bows.
Henry cocked an eyebrow. “Wow! Look at you.”
“Can’t take your eyes off me, can you?” One hand on her hip, Victoria rolled her shoulders back and strutted into the living room. “I’m bringing sexy back,” she laughed.
As she strode past him, Henry reached out, capturing her firmly by the hips and positioned her legs to straddle around his lap. “You’d look sexy in a burlap sack,” he said, a hand rubbing circles on her thigh.
Victoria twitched and began to giggle.
Blue eyes peered quizzically up into her face. “Seriously, not good for my ego,” Henry said, his fingers ambling along the base of her spine, tickling her tailbone.
“Sorry,” Victoria lowered her head, recapturing his mouth. Then she twitched again, bursting out into laughter. “I’m ticklish,” she admitted, trying desperately to stifle her giggles.
“Is that so?” Henry questioned slyly.
“Mm...hmm.” Victoria worried her bottom lip, lifting her hips up to move off his lap.
Henry’s fingers clamped around her waist, preventing her hasty retreat.
With each of her legs pinned around each side of his waist, Victoria arched her back, her palm flat against his chest, noting his roguish grin. “What are you thinking?” she questioned timidly.
“Nothing really.” Henry shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
Lips set into a thin line, Victoria narrowed her eyes to study his face. “Your face...no, your expression...it looks devious,” she answered softly.
“Why?” Henry smirked. “Because I might do something like this?” His fingers poked into her waist, teasing and swirling around her skin.
Squealing, Victoria hunched over, her hands covering her mid-section as raucous sounds emitted from her lips.
“Are we interrupting something?” Jennifer poked her head around the small opening of the front door. “I knocked, but the two of you were making such a ruckus, you must not have heard me.”
Laughing wildly, Victoria and Henry frolicked on the couch. Victoria wheezed, “Save me, please.”
Jennifer egged Henry on. “Get her foot. She’ll never get away.”
“Thanks,” Henry huffed, struggling to capture Victoria’s foot.
“Traitor!” Victoria squawked, gasping for air.
Jennifer sauntered into the center of the room. “Remember when you told Andre about my neighbor, Vicki? How I thought Mr. Nagle was burying bodies?” Jennifer peered up at her boyfriend and winked.
“Bodies?” Henry croaked quizzically.
“Not real bodies.” Jennifer waved her hand in dismissal. Smug, she continued on, “Payback, my dear friend, is a bitch.”
“Not nice,” Victoria panted and swatted playfully at Henry’s shoulder as he relinquished his attack.
“This one—” Jennifer pointed at the handsome black man beside her—“has teased me about that embarrassing event relentlessly.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” Andre interrupted. He reached for his coat, shrugging it off his shoulders. Then he held his arms out to the sides to show off his ugly sweater. “She had her revenge on me, too.”
“Oh my gosh.” Victoria slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t believe there was a sweater more horrendous than the one I have this year. However, I think you’re going to be the winner of this year’s massage certificate.”
With a sheepish grin, Andre stood with his shoulders back and hands planted on his hips. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?” His eyes averted down to stare at his navy-blue sweater. Rudolph was proudly woven onto the front of it.
“It’s manly.” Jennifer ran her hand down Andre’s broad chest. “Be thankful I didn’t get you a girly pink one.”
“True,” Henry said. “At least it’s a dark color.”
“You might change your mind when you see this.” Andre moved his hand underneath the sweater and pushed against the back of it. Immediately, Rudolph’s red nose started to blink.”
They all burst into laughter as the bulbous, red nose flashed brightly from the sweater.
“You’ve got it bad, dude,” Henry said, shaking his head.
“That’s a fact.” Andre put his coat back on. “Be careful of these two. They’ll get you, too.”
“That reminds me—” Victoria grinned and excused herself. She ran up the stairs and quickly returned with a bag. “For you,” she said, proudly handing Henry the bag.
“Is it what I think it is?” Henry questioned.
“I think you should open it and see the treasure that awaits inside,” Jennifer said saucily. “I happened to be with Vicki when she purchased it for you. We both agree that the color will work perfectly with your complexion.”
Henry looked amused as he pulled a red sweater inlaid with white flakes from the shopping bag. Smack in the center of it stood a gingerbread house embellished with green and white faux candies and several merry boy and girl gingerbread children dancing around it in a circle. “Nice,” he said, removing the stylish men’s rib-knit cotton cardigan he wore in exchange for the outlandish holiday pullover.
Victoria took in a breath as she took in the sculpted muscles beneath Henry’s T-shirt. A smile crept over her lips as he modeled the hideous sweater. “Yahoo! Now, you’re officially part of our unique clan. And maybe even the winner of this year’s ugly Christmas sweater competition,” Victoria exclaimed, throwing her arms around Henry’s waist.
Andre grunted, “Great, dude. You’ve just overtaken the competition.”
“Oh, honey. Don’t fret. I’ll give you a massage you’ll never forget,” Jennifer said, sashaying toward Andre.
Looping an arm around Jennifer’s shoulders, Andre put his mouth close to her ear. “You always know how to please me, baby.”
Overhearing the overtly sexual comment, Victoria blushed. “Perhaps we should go. Our reservations are for 6:00 at Ruby’s Seaside Grille.”
Kelly
Kelly crouched behind the hedges. Teeth chattering and seething with hatred, she spied through the tiny crevice of the blinds, sickened by the merriment of the group inside. Her fingernails dug into her palms, weaving squiggly, red gashes into the tender skin. Oblivious to the self-inflicted pain, droplets of blood trickled onto the ground as she leered at them. She was going to enjoy killing that bitch.
Suddenly, the front door opened. The obnoxious group exited Victoria’s colonial home to pile into an oversized truck. The driver looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before.
Counting to ten, Kelly made sure the truck was out of range and then sprang into action. Her leather jacket snagged on a leaf-bare limb as she emerged from the cluster of shrubs. Stealth-like, Kelly snuck onto the front steps and reached up to trail her fingers above the door frame. She felt for a spare key—unsuccessfully. Undeterred, she picked up the doormat and then threw it back down. Nothing.
Her eyes darted around, frantically searching for a secret place where Victoria may have hidden a spare key. Eyeballing the large pot that housed a five-inch evergreen tree adorned with white lights, Kelly threw her hand into its base and rummaged through the soil. The bitch is smarter than I gave her credit for, she thought, miffed. She wracked her brain, unable to figure out where the spare key was located. Her options limited, she threw her back flush along the side of the weathered wood and slunk around it to test each window. No matter how much she rattled the window frames, they wouldn’t budge. She snarled, her irritation growing stronger. The damn house was locked up like a fortress. She hated Victoria Hathaway. She’d caused a significant wrench in Kelly’s plans, but it didn’t matter, she’d find a way to get rid of her.