Bandit wasbeside himself when we walked through the door. I carried two massive bags of craft supplies while Axel carried the tree.
“You can set that near the dining room table. I’ll set up in there,” I told him as I headed upstairs.
“I’ll bring everything else in. You want to order us some pizza?”
I was halfway up the stairs to go change, but I paused and looked back at him. “You’re staying in?”
“Would I abandon a fellow crafter in her time of need?”
I didn’t know what was going on with him, but I was down for it. Somehow our night had gone from an Iron and Ember nightmare to fluffy balls and pizza.
“Meat lovers with pineapple coming up.” And then I sprinted up the stairs with excitement.
Four hours later,I lay sprawled on the couch. Somewhere between pizza and the movie, we had moved our craft assembly line to the couch and coffee table. Now we were in the middle of craft carnage, surrounded by felt balls, fur scraps and hot glue strings.
Axel, with his messy hair and glitter on his cheek, was concentrating on attaching decorative puffs to a snowman ball. “Do you think we’re going to run out of the felt craft balls?”
I couldn’t reconcile this man wielding a glue gun with the man who, only yesterday, had seemed to go out of his way to avoid me.
“We could do fewer snowman balls,” I suggested.
His gaze snapped to mine, reminding me again of the man that everyone called boss. “We can’t have fewer snowman balls than the others. We did the math.”
No,hehad done the math.
“I can get more after school tomorrow.”
“I’ll send one of the guards while you’re at school. We also need more glue sticks. I’m pretty sure we’re going to run out.”
When was the last time I had felt this safe or this happy? Maybe when my parents were alive? I didn’t know, but I didn’t want the night to end.
In fact, I had some pretty specific ideas about how I wanted it to end, but Axel was entirely focused on the application of his pompoms.
I thought about Selena, who had told me that if you show a man you want to have sex, he’ll either nay or game. No middle ground. “Just take off some clothes and sit on him or something.”
Was it really that easy?
I got up and, with a confidence I didn’t feel, walked over to him.
“Excuse me,” I said in a businesslike voice, standing right in front of him.
He had a glue gun in one hand and an incomplete snowman ball in the other. He looked up at me, a bit perplexed. I pushed his arms open and climbed onto the couch awkwardly to straddle him.
Without ceremony, he dumped his stuff on the coffee table behind me, rested his warm hands on the sides of my hips and lay back against the cushions of the couch.
Now what?
Wasn’t he supposed to be game? I thought he’d have taken over by now. But he hadn’t, and here we were.
“You have a lot of glitter on your shirt,” I said, pretending I hadn’t just completely violated his personal space.
His eyes tracked every inch of my face. “Maybe you should take it off.”
He leaned forward, and I pulled the faded cotton fabric over his head, which messed up his hair even more.
My eyes dropped to his perfect chest, and with my fingertips, I traced his hard, smooth pecs.
Everything about him seemed so strong and big and masculine. Yet instead of taking over, he simply let me touch.
