“The last one,” I said, my own voice now rough too.
“And would it be what we did before?” He stepped closer, his shadow blocking the light from the inn’s front door. “Or more?”
Be a brave little toaster, Winnie.“More. Lots more.”
He sucked in a shuddering breath, like I’d just hit him. “Fuck,” he said, taking another step closer, and we could touch now if we wanted; we could slide our hands together, press our chests together.
But then he squeezed his eyes shut. “Steph wouldn’t like this. We could get caught by the press like Bee and Nolan did. We could fuck up our professional relationship to the point where it affects the movie. I could wreck things.”
“Why would you wreck things?”
He opened his eyes and glanced away. “It’s a specialty of mine. Look, Winnie, you have no idea how badly I want to say yes right now. Like, sign me up to be your sex scene professor right the eff now.” He met my gaze, torment stamped all over his face. “But is it a good idea? Will it make things weird? I don’t know.”
“It didn’t make things weird today,” I pointed out quickly. “It made things amazing. Seriously, Kallum, I had so much more confidence, and Iknewwhat to do, how to move, what noises to make, all of it. Just imagine if I had a whole repertoire of movements and noises! Imagine if I knew what all sorts of sex felt like!”
He looked away again, and then it hit me.
“I know there’s not really anything in it for you,” I said, trying to think fast. “Other than hopefully the movie being better, but maybe—”
“There’s plenty in it for me,” cut in Kallum, glancing back. “That’s not it.”
I studied his jaw, which was flexed under his beard, and his eyes, so vividly blue in the fading dusk light. If there was plenty in it for him, then why...
“Okay, I know you’re more of a casual sex kind of guy, and I promise this will be as casual as it gets,” I said, raising my hand in testimony. “I’m not repeating the mistakes of my past, and that includes feelings and relationships and all the things that inevitably lead to divorce.” I gave him my brightest smile. “So we’re the perfect pair, see? You only do casual, and I’m never dating anyone again! We could even shake hands on it. No feelings, and over and done when we leave Christmas Notch.”
Kallum took a step to the side, raked his hand through his hair. When he did, the T-shirt and Henley he wore under it lifted the tiniest bit, revealing a slice of curved, hair-dusted belly. I wanted to drag my fingertips across it.
“No feelings and over and done when we leave,” he said, more to himself than to me. “No harm done. No messes made.”
“Please?” I asked again, tucking my lip between my teeth, and then he let out a ragged groan.
“Okay, Winnie Baker,” he said, voice gone a little hoarse. “You have yourself a sex research deal.”
We shook hands, his hand covering mine, warm in the chilly night, and then he flashed me an abrupt grin so big that a dimple appeared under his beard.
“And luckily for you, we can start some low-key research right now,” he said and gestured to the trolley, which was now being boarded by Luca, Jack, Gretchen, and Pearl.
“In the trolley?” I asked, confused.
“Nay, madam, but where the trolley will take us. A magical place they call the North Pole.”
I’d seen the matchbooks in a bowl at the inn’s front desk. “A strip club?” And then I heard so much of my old self in that question, so much of my old fears and judgments, and I wanted to put myself in a time-out corner with no snacks. “Actually, forget what I just said. What I meant wasyes. Yes, let’s do it.”
The dimple grew deeper. “Then our conveyance awaits, milady.”
The North Pole was what would happen if a straight teenage boy were put in charge of Christmas. Yes, there were vintage blow molds of candles and Santa and his reindeer; yes there was a toy train choo-chooing across the top of the stage and plastic tinsel everywhere—brittle and faded enough to make me think it was purchased back in the original plastic tinsel heyday.
But also there were so many boobs.
Like.
So many.
There was a dancer on each of the two stages, nipples covered with pasties made of fake white fur, and the cocktail waitresses were either topless or wearing outfits that meant they were essentially topless.
It was more boobs than I’d ever seen in one place—other than that time on a mission trip when four of us had to shower atonce in the converted motel they used to house Habitat for Humanity volunteers. And that wasn’t even getting into what was going ondown below, which seemed to be the finest iridescent thongs that money could buy.
In addition to the boobs, there was a nacho cheese machine behind the bar, lots of domestic beer, and a box of Fireball on every table.
