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I adjust my smile and say, “Just me. Ethan’s with his dad.” It’s a gut punch.
“That must be hard.” He sees right through my fake enthusiasm. My shoulders sag.
“Excruciating.”
“Do you talk every day?” This can’t be what he wants to talk about.
“We text three pictures representing our day. It’s our secret. Well, now you know. It was his idea when he slept at his Dad’s the first night. And since then we do it every day.”
“That’s really cool.” I curl up on his chest, running my fingers through his incredibly sexy chest hair.
“What does a solo Christmas look like for you?”
I sigh. “It’s my first one. Last year we shared the day. Chris moved to LA full time this year. My mom is with my brother and his new baby in Portland. I work the next day, so I couldn’t go. I’m having Christmas dinner with my best friend/work wife’s family. She has a little one, so it will be a short night.”
“Sounds a bit hellacious. What about Christmas Eve? Hot date?”
He’s fishing, and I like it. “Bing Crosby, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart. And a bottle of wine, maybe some bourbon.”
“White Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Life, and what?”
“White Christmas and The Philadelphia Story. You can take the girl out of Philly...” I turn to him and trace his smile. “And after a bottle or two, I’ll probably masturbate to the memory of you.” He pulls me tighter. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this comfortable with my words, with my half-naked body, or in a man’s arms.
“And so, the coin flips.”
I laugh at his revelation. He’s masturbated to the thought of me for years. I sit up and straddle him again.
“Reality is so much better than my imagination.” I smile, then he looks at me with a soft and sincere look. “You’re much better than most things I can imagine.”
He presses to me, and I can’t resist kissing him again. I need moisturizer. His thumbs are hypnotically rubbing on my back. One perfect, dark delicious bang falls just above his left eye; I place my hand flat against his taut and manly chest and play with the smattering of auburn curls that live near his heart.
I refocus and ask, “Your Christmas?”
“Jersey. Ma, Lisa, her kids, and the real estate hustler husband providing the most mundane conversation ever. I super don’t give a shit about square footage.”
My loud and boisterous laugh explodes. I don’t need to censor the volume. He’s heard it before. “What are your thoughts on French doors?”
“Fucking useless. Use sliders. For even more fun, they’re setting me up with another realtor. My day will be spent trying to make a good impression and avoiding talk about subway tiles and barn door closets. It’s the weirdest first date ever. Do I get her a gift?”
I react from my gut. “Uh-uh. No. No. No. Not happening. I won’t allow it. No first dates less than seventy-two hours after you’ve been inside me.” That popped out. I clamp my hand to my face to stop more vulnerable shit from leaking out.
He grins and shifts his weight under me. He pulls my hand from my mouth and kisses it while he speaks.
“Not sure I can help it. I have no escape. Wait? Are you jealous?” His voice makes a shift to an urgent tone.
“Why did you ask me if I had a date for Christmas Eve?”
“Jealousy. I don’t want anyone else tasting my holiday ginger cookie. That’s my Christmas miracle.”
And flood gates open. “I don’t want you to go on that date. And that’s fucked-up because we’ve only been like this for eight hours.”
“Eleven and a half hours, and thirtyish years.” My brain is ringing like Christmas bells. I take a second to recover from the adrenaline jolt of honesty. I cannot handle what I just said.
“Two things. First off, we weren’t into each other when we met at age seven and five. And second, shit, is it really six thirty now?”
“It is, indeed, six thirty in the morning, Bella. I feel the same. Don’t go.” His kiss is full of melancholy. I’m not sure. Wow. I need an Other Cat consult. What would Jillybear do? Not Ms. Meier, not Ethan’s mom. But the girl I used to be. Well, she does not want to leave. But I do need to give him an out to my crazy thoughts.
I say, “Your sister’s counting on you.” That’s as supportive as I can be. I do not want him shacking up with some blind date holiday ho but it’s his call. What I do want is to stay on this kitchen chair for the next month or so.
