“Sounds like it. You don’t want to let Holly and her daughter Noelle down.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that.”
“Yep.” Mike grinned before putting me in a headlock and rubbing my hair. “But you love me.”
I shoved him off. “That’s debatable. But since you’re being a pain in the ass and no doubt going to run home and blab, you can help me.”
“Chris, I would, but Nicole …”
“Can wait five minutes. You have to help me,” I demanded, not bothering to hide the desperation in my voice.
I saw the moment he conceded defeat. “What do you need?”
“You have kids. What the fuck do they eat?”
Mike burst out laughing. Like a loud, bellowing belly laughter.
“You’re an asshole,” I repeated as Mike continued to laugh like a goddamn hyena.
When he pulled himself together, holding his sides and whining about having a stitch, I told him he deserved it.
“Come on, let’s get you some kid-friendly food,” he offered, clapping me on the back just as my phone chimed in my pocket.
I pulled it out of my pocket as I tried to navigate around the corner with one hand. “Holly just texted me. Need to get these things too,” I told him, handing him my phone.
“Dude! You’re fucking whipped.” Mike started laughing again.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re pussy-whipped, and you know it. This chick will have a Christmas tree in your window and your balls in her purse by the end of the day.”
I bit my tongue.
No fucking way was I telling him we’d already picked up a tree and they were decorating as we spoke. All I could do was wish I had moved it out of the window so no one could see if they drove by. Last thing I needed was Mike thinking he was right. I’d never hear the end of that.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
When Joe hurried us up, telling us he wanted to close early and get home, I was grateful that Mike had to shut his big mouth and get moving. Quick enough, we filled my cart with everything I could possibly need, including shit I had no idea how to cook. I’d never cooked a roast chicken in my life, so why Mike thought it would be a good idea, I didn’t understand.
“You’ll be fine,” he promised supportively. “And if Holly and her daughter Noelle can’t help you, give Nicole a call. I’m sure she’ll be happy to walk you through it.”
“Won’t she be busy with her own lunch and her mother?”
“Trust me, for this, she’ll make time,” Mike assured me as we stood inside the heavy glass doors watching the snow coming down.
“You’re an asshole,” I reminded him.
“So you keep saying.”
“Well, don’t want you to forget.” I shrugged.
“Merry Christmas, Chris,” Mike offered, giving me a one-armed, awkward man hug.
“Merry Christmas, Mike,” I returned before shoving open the door and stepping out into the cold. “Holy shit!” I swore as the wind whipped around me, the icy cold biting into my skin.
I loaded my bags into the truck before throwing open the driver’s door.
“Hey, Chris?” Mike called out, leaning over the roof of his mom-mobile.
