All I Want For Christmas Is Them: A MMF Medical Romance (The Truth or Dare Series Book 3)

The Banana Peel is a music venue located where a warehouse once was. Like most things in New York, the cover doesn’t tell the full story. It looks like a simple brick-and-tin building on the outside, but on the inside, it has three full bars, a wraparound balcony, and a dance floor in the center flanked by roped-off VIP tables.

Every year, they have a holiday rock show called the “12 Nights of Rockmas.” For twelve days, they have sold-out shows, each night featuring a different band. They do a mix of rebooted Christmas music, as well as their more popular songs.

The festival is a hit every season. The tickets aren’t cheap, especially not for a band as popular as Crystal Savage, but I believe if there’s anything worth spending money on, it’s travel, music, and food. In that order.

Which is why I bought the three of us a VIP table for the experience.

Well. Which is why I mostly bought the tickets.

Diego helped. As he always does when I splurge. But that’s the cost of having a writer for a roommate—my money situation isn’t always stable. I’m lucky to have a friend like Diego, who doesn’t mind putting in.

I call him my sugar roomie. He claims he doesn’t like the title, but it always makes him laugh.

Diego and I dust off the snow and sit on the iron steps, waiting for Naomi to show. I’m wearing a black button-up, slim pants, a leather wristband, and a couple of bulky rings on my fingers. Going for the rocker’s night out look. Diego is tucked into a cozy sweater with Christmas trees knitted into it and his blue button-up underneath. He keeps glancing at the time on his phone.

“The opening band is already on,” he complains.

“Relax,” I tell him, planting my hands on the icy steps behind me. “Openers always suck.”

The corner of his mouth dips into a frown. “Says the man who gets mad when we miss the trailers.”

“That’s because trailers are usually better than the actual movies. Openers are like…warm-up.”

“Cold.”

I take a handful of snow from the pile behind me and toss it at him. White powder trickles into the neck of his sweater, and he finally cracks a smile.

When we were kids, I used to be the worrywart. I’d worry when my mom left my sight. I’d worry when we were running late. I’d worry about what was in my food. I’d worry about gray clouds and pending rain. After spending years in and out of hospitals with no diagnosis in sight, my worries seemed legitimate.

Then, when I was twelve, life changed. Dramatically. Mom and I moved from London to Hannsett Island, a seaside town in Long Island where she’d spent a summer in her youth. I met Jason, who turned out to be my biological father. I also met Adam Donovan, and though we weren’t genetically related, we connected on a different level. My condition had gone unchecked for too long, and I needed a new kidney. Donovan gave me his. We’ve been attached ever since—I carry a piece of him around inside of me. He’s keeping me alive.

That’s something I don’t forget. Not ever.

When I got my new kidney, it was like the world opened up. I climbed out of the shadows and into the sunshine. I wanted to experience life, all of it—the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I was old enough to date, I dated everyone. Boys, girls, whatever. It didn’t matter. I said fuck fear and took my short stories out of the drawer and started submitting them to prestigious literary magazines—and even got into a few of them. I did the polar bear plunge in the winter. I tried lollipops with scorpions embedded in the candy. I got a driver’s license, and a motorcycle license, and a motorboat license. I did it all.

Naomi came at the right time. She was the only person I’d ever met who had the same wild, chaotic energy as I did. She leapt before she looked, and I found that unbearably attractive.

Diego, on the other hand, started out as my wild and reckless playmate and, as he grew up, became more reserved. Quieter. When his mother lost her battle with cancer earlier this year, he stopped talking completely. It was a stark, eerie contrast from the boy who could rattle off theories about Marvel movies for an hour without stopping to take a breath. There were some nights we’d go out to the beach, and we’d just sit there in silence, listening to the water break on the shore.

He’s crawled out of his shell bit by bit since, but it’s like there are ropes around his ankles now. There’s always something holding him back. I always get the feeling he’s biting his tongue.

Like now, when he stares at me, and I can feel there’s something heavy weighing on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I pry.

He looks reluctant to say anything. I can tell he’s weighing his words, contemplating. Finally, he comes out with “We have to talk about your blood results at some point. Soon.”

His words are heavy as lead inside of me. With my condition, I have to go to Lighthouse Medical once a month to get a round of blood tests and make sure everything is copesetic. Because I’m the CEO’s son, I get perks. Mainly, I get to pick my doctor, which is why Diego pulls my blood and takes my results every time.

The last couple of months, the levels of toxicity in my blood have been rising. Fast. It’s not uncommon. It’s been eighteen years, after all. Well past the life expectancy of my organ. Now, all signs point to oncoming kidney failure. I should know. I’ve been here before. The hot sweats. The dizzy spells. The dull ache in my back. Restless, uncomfortable nights.

I begged Diego to keep quiet about it, because I knew my dads would freak out. He promised he would. But I can tell from the look in his eyes, it’s weighing on him.

I’d love to comfort him. Tell him everything will be okay. But I can’t.

Because the truth is…the thing I haven’t told anyone, not even Diego…

I’m not getting another transplant.

Donovan gave this kidney to me. He trusted me with it. And I’ll be damned if I give it up. Even if it kills me.

“Later,” I say. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

Diego doesn’t look thrilled by that answer, but he nods and stares across the street, honoring my request.

“Here she comes,” he says—and thank god, I’ve been saved by the bell.

Or the belle. Naomi is a bombshell. Skintight red jeans and a crimson shirt underneath a faux-fur-lined parka. Her long, dark hair flows over her shoulders, and those devious brown eyes sparkle.

Best of all, I know what she’s wearing underneath all that. The little vibrator snuggled up inside of her.

And suddenly, I’m not thinking about my kidney. Or Diego’s increasing concern.

All I can think about is getting her someplace dark and private and slotting my face between her thighs.

I kick off from the steps and meet her at the end of the block, scooping her up in my arms. Her parka is so puffy, it’s like hugging a marshmallow, and half of her deflates in my arms.

“Hey, you.” She grins, and my heart does backflips.

“Hey.”

I kiss her. It’s freezing cold out here, but the inside of her mouth is hot, and I’m hungry for it. My worries and anxieties melt away under the heat of her kiss.

One more night, I think to myself.

One more perfect, beautiful night with the perfect woman and your best friend. Savor this now. Savor this while you can.

I kiss her like it’s the last time my lips will ever touch hers, and the both of us are breathless when we part. I can see her breath frosting in the air, white puffs.

“Should we…um. Inside?” she asks.

“My thoughts exactly.”