“What on earth are you doing, Ariel?”
“Making sure those women know you’re taken. I don’t like the look in their eyes.”
He just shakes his bald head. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, baby.”
His eyes are laughing at me, but not unkindly. “When are you going to kiss me again?” I ask plaintively.
“When we’re married. You’re too tempting, Candy Cane. One taste and I won’t want to stop until you’re melting on my cock.”
He says this all quietly in my ear, but I still look around to make sure my mother didn’t hear any of that while I can feel my cheeks heat. Thankfully, Mom’s busy giving my dad instructions about something. Imightget my take-charge attitude from her. But it’s tempered by my dad’s think-everything-through-first attitude. Or at least that’s how I like to think of it.
Christmas Eve always seems to run late at the auto shop. People don’t take proper care of their vehicles and are then surprised when they load up the car for the holiday trip and it breaks down fifty miles from home. When the last customer gratefully drives away, Marty hands out the Christmas hampers we allknow Kennedy prepared. We used to get a fifty-dollar bill as a Christmas bonus. One or two of the guys still grumble about the change, but I’m happy enough to take the fancy food home to my apartment over the bar. The shop is closed until after New Year’s. Partly for the holidays and also so Marty can do inventory uninterrupted.
So I’ll have almost a week with Ariel if she really decides to go through with this. Part of me thinks she’ll come to her senses at the last minute. But that thought dissipates when I open the creaky door to the space over the bar and flick on the light. There’s a stack of gaily wrapped presents on the scarred kitchen table. The wrapping paper is silver with glittery red and white candy canes all over it and curly red ribbon cascading in every direction. I flick one finger through the fluff before turning and shutting the door behind me.
It takes only one raised eyebrow and Yvonne spills. “I took them up there, hotshot. She came in right after opening and asked me to slip them into your apartment. What did she get you?”
I shrug. “Don’t know yet.”
My second mom’s eyes soften. “Let her in, kid. She’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it. You haven’t stopped smiling since she ran in here asking for you.”
I sigh and swing my hip onto the nearest bar stool. “She’s way out of my league, Yvonne. That’s got to be obvious to anyone with eyes.”
She shakes her head. “Nope, you’re two of a kind. Both do gooders with too much heart. You go about it in different ways, but you’re more alike than you realize.”
My scowl could melt the varnish on the old bar. “I am not a do gooder.”
Yvonne’s painted eyebrows point north. “Uh huh. Have a good Christmas, Howler.”
I nod and retreat back upstairs before she reiterates the invitation to join her at her daughter’s house in the morning. Yvonne has a heart of gold, but her family not so much. Reminds me too much of my own upbringing. I’d rather hole up alone.
The glitter catches my attention when I re-enter the apartment. For a brief moment, I hesitate and then decide to wait until morning.
I go to sleep thinking of Ariel standing on that chair, daring the world to challenge her. They were too shocked in the moment, I think. But that doesn’t mean they won’t start in when they’ve caught their breath. I sigh and roll over on my side. Guess I’ll have to extend my surveillance beyond cats to include Ariel.
You were going to do that anyway, asshole,I remind myself. It’s true. I’d have kept an eye on her even if I’d never officially seen her again.
7
Christmas Day is a rather dull affair if I’m honest, but my heart is too excited to care. It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, to sing carols at the top of my lungs while scrambling eggs for everyone, but my mom got me a bunch of impractical gifts that I’ll never use. Like a leather organizer and a matching handbag. My older brother got me a video game. Enough said, right? I did my best to smile and say thank you, but I hope Howler’s reaction to my gifts is better. I can’t be sure. He has my number, but he hasn’t called or texted.
When everyone has retreated to beds or couches in the midafternoon to digest the main meal of the day, I go back to my very beige room and call him. He answers immediately.
“So did you like your gifts or not, big guy?”
His growl says it all. I laugh with relief. I didn’t get him anything emotionally heavy. Just a really big, bright flashlight for future cat rescues, a mug that says Best Cat Dad Ever anda set of flannel sheets with candy canes on them. I figured they might warm him up for the last week of his challenge, and he could think of me when he went to bed.
“I guess your present will have to wait until the 27th, baby,” he drawls. I shiver with delight and try to guess. “Is it your cock? Are you going to put a ribbon on it?”
His shock is palpable even over the phone. “I’m twenty-two, Howler. I can talk dirty. Sometimes,” I amend. I’ve never felt comfortable enough with anyone to try.
“Who have you been talking to like that?” he finally growls.
“No one,” I admit. “Just you.”
“Better keep it that way, Candy Cane. And don’t touch yourself either. That pussy belongs to me now. Understood?”
My breath catches. “What are you going to do with it?” I ask half teasing, half in genuine curiosity.
