Page 8

Mike

Jesus fucking Christ.

My cock should not be this hard.

What the fuck is wrong with me, and why the hell am I suddenly hyper fixated on the thought of taking Mabel’s virginity, at the thought of being the first to sink into her tight little pussy, at the thought of making her mine?

Clearly, the idea had been floating around for some time, but this virginity thing is doing something to my body I can’t explain. It’s feral, carnal, and animalistic in a way that makes me want to tear her clothes off and fuck her raw while she screams out my name.

Dear Lord, I need to have some self fucking control. She’s my employee, my friend, and the most reliable person in my life. Without her, this business crumbles. She handles everything for me. All the paperwork with the town, all the internal record-keeping, and hell, even my personal appointments. Plus, my clients expect her friendly voice on the phone when they call.

I need to get my shit together.

Forcing thoughts of multiplication tables to quell the urges, I pull the cord for the generator and wait as the engine rumbles to life, then plug the extension cord in and snake it back into the office.

“They weren’t kidding about this snow,” I say, knocking my boots against the mat in front of the door, compound fractions now rattling in my head as a diversion from her lips, her hair, her voice. “There’s a fresh foot out there, and it’s been what… sixty minutes?”

“Forty,” she says, already grabbing a lamp to plug into the cord next to the space heater. “Good thing we grabbed this last year when it was on sale.”

“It was your idea. You’ve always been great at thinking ahead.” I brush some extra snow that’s gathered on my shoulder as I look for anything else we need. “I liked your thoughts on the toy drive too. Having me dress up as Santa will be a big departure from last year.” I grin as I pull the switch on the lamp. “Maybe it will make everyone forget my rendition of Krampus last year for Rugged Mountain Ink’s Christmas display. People were stopping me in the streets for all the wrong reasons.”

This gets me a laugh. “The costume was very authentic, but my friends were terrified.”

“He’s a complex character who guards the innocent as fiercely as he punishes the wicked. That seems balanced to me.” I grin, and figure we’re on the other side of whatever weird conversation we’d tripped into. At least we would be if she’d tuck her legs under her desk and stop looking at me with those breathtaking eyes.

“Krampus is a protector now?”

“I’m pretty sure he refers to himself as a festive security system with horns.”

She smiles sweetly and shakes her head, her long auburn hair spilling down over her shoulder. “My mom used to love the whole Krampus story. She believed Christmas was overly sanitized.”

“Sanitized?”

“Yeah, like how Santa used to put coal in your stocking if you were bad, but now he brings gifts to everyone. She thought there ought to be consequences for your actions, and Krampus is a reminder of that.”

“How much coal did you get in your stocking?”

She laughs. “None, thankfully. I’m a saint!”

“I can see your halo from here.” I shake my head and grab a couple of beers from the fridge in my office before settling down next to her. “Your mom was so lucky to have you all that time she was sick, but I worry you gave up too much of yourself in the process. Now don’t get me wrong, the hospital’s loss is my gain, but I know you had plans to go to medical school.”

“I could’ve gone back when she passed, but it didn’t seem like there was enough time left. Besides, I really like the folks down at the Silver Pines Senior Center. I’ve built so many friendships there.”

“Because you’re sweet, smart, kind, and everyone in this town is lucky you didn’t leave to become the famous doctor you could’ve been.”

“Wow,” she grins. “I’m a famous doctor now.”

“You heard me.” I crack open a beer and hand one toward her. “I know you’d have been the best. Still could be.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be starting medical school in my forties, but thanks for the vote of confidence. Besides,” she hums and takes a sip of the local ale I grabbed to take home with me last week but kept forgetting, “I’ve been dreaming of something much simpler lately.”

“What’s that?”

There’s a pause where she looks toward me for a long moment as though she’s trying to figure how much to share. “A family. I mean, I know it’s probably stupid to think I could make that happen either, given my age, but even if I adopt, I really want kids.”

“Yeah? How many you thinking?”

“As many as I can have… maybe with a four-limit cap,” she says with a smile. “I always wanted a huge family. Loads of kids, lots of noise, everyone fighting, laughing, and living… ya know?” She lifts her gaze toward mine. “Why didn’t you and Shannon have kids?”