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  Cuffing and Tree Trimming

  C.M. Kars

  Copyright

  Cuffing and Tree Trimming

  Book Three, Cuffing Season Series

  by C.M. Kars

  Copyright © 2021 C.M. Kars

  All rights reserved.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Cover design by Indigo Chick Designs

  Editing by Aquila Editing

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  OTHER WORKS BY C.M. KARS

  WANT TO STAY IN THE KNOW?

  PREWITT FAMILY TREE

  CONTENT WARNINGS

  1. ONE

  2. TWO

  3. THREE

  4. FOUR

  5. FIVE

  6. SIX

  7. SEVEN

  8. EIGHT

  9. NINE

  10. TEN

  11. ELEVEN

  12. TWELVE

  13. THIRTEEN

  14. FOURTEEN

  15. FIFTEEN

  16. SIXTEEN

  17. SEVENTEEN

  18. EIGHTEEN

  19. NINETEEN

  20. TWENTY

  21. TWENTY-ONE

  22. TWENTY-TWO

  23. TWENTY-THREE

  24. TWENTY-FOUR

  CUFFING NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER WORKS BY C.M. KARS

  The Never Been Series

  Never Been Kissed

  Never Been Nerdy

  Never Been Loved

  Never Been Under the Mistletoe

  Never Been Boxed Set

  Sera & Hunter: A Never Been Collection

  The Fangirl Chronicles

  Fangirling Over You

  To All the Footballers I Loved Before

  Bias Wrecked

  Pucked Romance

  Never Say Never

  The Fangirl Chronicles Boxed Set

  The Cuffing Season Series

  Get Cuffed

  Cuffing and Turkey Stuffing

  Cuffing and Tree Trimming

  Cuffing New Year’s Resolutions

  Cuffing and Loving

  WANT TO STAY IN THE KNOW?

  Sign up for my newsletter here for free stuff, info on my upcoming releases, cover and blurb reveal, and to talk about all the things there are to fangirl over.

  PREWITT FAMILY TREE

  CONTENT WARNINGS

  Here are a few content warnings for this book:

  Insidious family toxicity (at least that’s what I’m calling it), by which I mean parents who don’t validate your worth because you’re not following their prescribed script of how they think your future should be

  Sick parent (off the page)

  Death of a parent (off the page)

  Dealing with your family on a holiday when you’re the black sheep of the family

  If any of these are triggering to you, please proceed with caution. If you have any questions about the above, please DM me on Twitter @cmkars.

  I hope you enjoy Max’s story.

  ONE

  Early December, one year later…

  The pink staining the back of my eyelids means that I was a dumbass last night and forgot to close my bedroom curtains. It’s just my luck that the sun is strong and shining, waking me up before I want to deal with the world.

  I huff out an annoyed breath through my nose and attempt to move over onto my side.

  Awareness starts coming back in bits and pieces, streaming through my sleepy brain no matter how hard I try to fight it.

  My head’s pounding, and it’s not from spending all day in my editing cave, trying to finish up all my pre-filmed videos ready for Vlogmas, where YouTubers tend to upload a video every single day for December leading up to Christmas.

  My body hurts, a rolling wave of nausea hits my stomach, and last night comes back in fits and starts.

  My phone chimes, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to find it in the sea of blankets. I finally manage to squint at the screen to see who’s calling.

  Shit, it’s 12:30 in the afternoon already?

  God, I have so much work to do, and half the day is already gone.

  “Hello?” I croak into the phone, rolling over onto my other side. My stomach isn’t happy with the decision. There’s a queasiness that sits on top of my chest like a lead weight. I breathe deeply through my nose and try to convince my stomach that the food should stay on the inside of my body, and not the other way around.

  “Holy shit, Max, you sound like garbage,” Vick, my cousin, says. “Seriously. It’s like you swapped your vocal cords for a toad.”

  “Thanks for that,” I mumble, still refusing to open my eyes. I mean, I’m my boss, and I work from home. I can totally give myself five more minutes in bed, right?

  I scratch at my cheek, grunt when I finally open my eyes and find remnants of mascara on my fingers. Nice. Just what I needed this morning. My skin’s going to hate me.

  “I was calling to make sure we’re still good for tonight. I’ve left about a hundred texts on your phone from the morning and since I know you’re pretty good about texting back, I was getting worried.”

  I yawn, blink slowly at one of the walls of my bedroom. One of the strings of the fairy lights has come undone, ruining the whole cozy vibe with that jarring break in the symmetry. I even forgot to plug in the small tree I put up in my bedroom. It sits there, still not trimmed, the naked limbs looking sad and lonely. I still have to put up the big tree in the living room. It’s been on my to-do list since November.

  I take a deep breath in, the smell wafting off my Christmas-scented candle taking the nausea up to a hard eight on ten. And I love gingerbread cookies, but not this morning.

  “How did last night go?” Vick asks on a hum. She’s probably with her trainer boyfriend, and they’ve probably already had a protein-dense breakfast and been to the gym already while I’m barely out of bed.

  And I used to be the one Prewitt cousin who had all her shit together.

  So much can happen in a year, huh?

  “I’m in bed alone, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I groan, forcing myself to sit upright. My vanity is just off-center to my bed, and I can see the horror show that is my face in my reflection.

  Me? Not double cleanse after a full day of wearing makeup? Who am I?

  I must’ve been really out of it last night. Really out of it.

  “Now my skin’s going to be so angry at me, and I was finally in a good place. Shit,” I groan, dragging my fingers across my cheek.

  Vick laughs, and I can hear the slide of a balcony door opening on her end of the conversation. I turn to my window and find the bright December sunlight streaming through, trying to fool me into thinking it’s warm outside.

  I bet it’s at least ten below without factoring in the windchill.

  “So what happened last night? Tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  I yawn hard enough to crack something along my jaw. “I don’t know, Vick.” Jesus, why do I sound so dejected?

  “Nothing really. I didn’t find anyone special. But I do have a mother of a hangover. Is this what getting older is like? Having too many glasses of wine that didn’t used to be that many? My head’s pounding and my stomach isn’t happy.”

  Vick hums in sympathy, sniffs a little. “Yeah, but I thought you were going to put Operation Get Max a Christmas Date into play. Wasn’t that the whole point of going out last night? I mean, you wanted to take advantage of a
ll those corporate Christmas parties that are happening around your neighborhood.”

  I sigh, roll my aching eyeballs and then wince. I wish I didn’t do that.

  I slide my body down the bed so I’m almost back to being totally horizontal. Life just seems that much better when you’re lying down.

  “That was a dumb idea. As if I could convince some rando that we should get together for Christmas. Although crippling family obligations and the fact that I am not yet married bothers my parents more than they should, asking a stranger to help shoulder that is a lot to ask for. And besides, time’s running out. There’s like, just under two weeks until Christmas.”

  “Or, you could meet a really cool person since there’s still time, and I never knew you to be a quitter. Just saying.” I close my eyes, ignore the wave of hurt that rolls over me.

  Sometimes, all I want to do is quit.

  I shake my head, shut my eyes and try to convince my stomach, that no, we are not moving, and there’s no reason to be tossing and turning like that.

  “You know me. I’m too bright and loud and wear too much makeup for these random Montreal guys.” I clench my blankets into a tight fist, squeezing down hard enough that my knuckles twinge.

  Vick grunts. “It’s literally your job, and you do things with bright colors on your eyeballs that is pure art, okay?”

  I blink at my ceiling, strangely moved. “Vick, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Vick scoffs. “I mean, yeah, I get that. Well, I was hoping you’d be able to bring someone to Aunt Ella’s house, too. We both know how your parents get. Honestly, I don’t really understand it.”

  I wince. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

  “Like, it’s super weird how different they treat you and Izzy, still.”

  “Vick, please. I can’t do this in the morning.”

  “It’s literally the afternoon. Get your ass out of bed, go take a shower, and make yourself some greasy eggs and toast, or something. Amber and I are coming over later, hangover or not.”

  I rub at my forehead, at the ache sitting behind my eyes. “I have so much work to do, though…”

  “Nope, nope. It’s our weekly get-together and we’re hanging out. You promised.”

  “But I have, like, a trillion videos to edit, Vick! I’ve got work to do!” My voice goes high with panic, and my chest tightens at the prospect of losing out on more time today when I should be working.

  “There’s this thing, called work-life balance? Have you heard of it?”

  I snort, covering the smile up with a hand like my cousin can somehow see me over here. I frown when I clonk my head with the sharp edge of a ring I apparently wore last night – another thing I forgot to remove when I got home.

  Jesus, that’s so out of character for me. How much did I drink last night to forget to do that?

  I pull my left hand back, blink my eyes open towards the streaming sunlight and stare at a rock the size of Jupiter that’s nestled into a ring that’s currently on a very important finger.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What? What is it?” Vick squawks on my phone, while my belly drops towards the basement of my building.

  I blink down at the pretty twinkle, swallow the hot bile that burns its way up my throat. I sit up so quickly that I get dizzy. “That better not be what I think it is. Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit!”

  “Max? Maxima!”

  “You don’t have to pull out the full name, Victoria.”

  “Well, you don’t sound too good right now, so tell me what’s wrong.”

  “My ring,” I mumble, trying to find the right words to explain myself. “This isn’t my ring.”

  “What ring? Max, put me on a video call, right now.”

  “Always so bossy, now that you look like a superhero,” I grumble, but I do press the right buttons and see Vick staring back at me. She has the decency to not start screaming her head off at the sight of me.

  That is unconditional love.

  “You look like shit. What the hell happened last night?”

  “This,” I say, waving a hand around my face. “This isn’t the problem. I can fix this,” I say, glancing around my dirty bedroom. “I don’t know what the hell this is,” I say, flipping the camera around, so Vick can see my left hand.

  “What is that?”

  I bite my lip. “Jesus, Vick, what does it look like? I stole somebody’s ring last night! And right before Christmas, too! I’m going to hell for sure!”

  Vick frowns at me and pushes her mermaid-teal hair out of her face. She’s wearing her winter coat and clearly standing outside. Her pale cheeks and nose are already turning red, which further cements my decision not to go outside today.

  “Well, take it off. See if there’s an engraving inside of it or something, some kind of identifying mark.”

  I grunt, because yeah, that’s a good idea.

  “And you have no memory of this ring?” Vick’s voice comes from somewhere in my sheets as I struggle to pull off the ring. It’s a perfect fit, and now with my fingers a little swollen in the morning from last night’s alcohol, well, it doesn’t want to come off.

  My stomach twists, and it feels like I’ve gone and swallowed a lead ball of dread.

  “I’m going to have to lather myself in butter to get this thing off,” I grunt, ineffectually pulling at it, but the ring still refuses to budge.

  “Or maybe we’ll cut off your finger,” Vick snorts, and I don’t appreciate the visual.

  My stomach heaves, and I place a hand over my mouth, breathe deeply through my nose. I pull up my phone to stare at my cousin. “Gross. Disgusting. Vick, I’m a criminal,” I groan, flopping back down onto the pillows. “I have to find a way to give this back. What if some guy I was talking to at the lounge last night had it in his pocket, showed it to me, and I put it on my finger like an idiot?”

  Vick frowns. “That doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

  I shrug, worried. “I don’t remember any of that. I don’t remember a diamond ring being placed on my finger at all, Vick. Or taking it. Ah, what am I going to do? Go back to the bar?”

  “How much did you drink, Max?”

  “Honestly, not that much.”

  Vick glares at me. “Did you sleep more than four hours and eat a lot of healthy meals during the day before pounding back the alcohol?”

  I grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. “I guess I should go and report it to the police, huh?”

  Vick nods. “Amber and I can take you when we get there. I’ll text her and let her know what’s up.”

  I groan. “Fine, fine. I’m going to get up and make myself presentable.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

  I give Vick a wave, and end the call, turning onto my side in bed, determined to sleep a little more and forget that all this has happened.

  I’ll fix it, I know I will, I just need to recharge.

  I close my eyes, then jar awake when I hear the toilet flush. The toilet…in the bathroom…that I am not in.

  I hold my breath, wondering if I should scramble underneath the covers to safety as if an intruder is like a monster and won’t be able to find me.

  I struggle to get upright, freeing myself from the twisted sheets around my body, and push my hair out of my face. I look over to my en suite bathroom to find it empty and gulp hard.

  That means I’m going to have to go out into the living room where the main bathroom is and see who the fuck is in my apartment.

  My heart slams hard against my ribs, and settles against my throat, making it a struggle to breathe. I’m barefoot, in a giant shirt that isn’t going to provide any kind of defense against someone who wants to hurt me.

  Sweat slicks the back of my neck and my palms, and I hastily grab my Christmas Morning scented candle as a weapon to chuck at the guy’s head.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god.

  I lick my dry lips, breath rattling in my lungs. I head ou
tside of my bedroom, peering around for the stranger in my home, and quickly figure out that he’s behind the bathroom door.

  I frown. I can hear the shower running.

  Who tries to rob a place, takes a piss, and then a shower before leaving?

  “This isn’t some Goldilocks bullshit,” I murmur to myself.

  I reach out, hand shaking, towards the bathroom doorknob, and finally gather my courage to press down the lever.

  I step inside, my bladder embarrassingly full, and my head’s still pounding. Holy shit, it’s so steamy in here, and I’m already getting lightheaded.

  I stop in the middle of the floor, holding my candle over my head, ready for launch.

  There’s a guy all right, a very naked guy in my shower.

  And while it’s been a while, and yeah, a part of me notices that said naked guy is pretty gorgeous standing in there, he is, in fact, in my shower.

  I pull in a deep breath, ready to start screeching like a banshee –

  “Don’t just stand there. Are you coming in or what, Max?”

  TWO

  I screech, nearly dropping the heavy candle on my foot. I squint through the frosted glass, only able to see the silhouette of the said stranger. But honestly, I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  It’s haunted me for a few nights, more than I ever wanted it to.

  “Logan?! What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, clutching the candle to my chest.

  The bastard pulls back the glass door, giving me a full-frontal view of what I’ve been missing from that one night we spent together and I bolted.

  I look, for like a second. It’s, unfortunately, a nice view, better than a memory.

  “Why are you in my shower? Using my expensive body wash?!” I yell, my own voice bouncing off the tiles and hitting me from different angles. It’s so freaking hot in here that I’m starting to melt.

  Logan grins at me and slicks back his dark hair, longer than I remember it being. His dark eyes rove over me, spending way too much time on my exposed thighs. For that alone, I want to launch the candle at his head.