Page 1 of Grumpy Santa

chapter one

Audrey

Just when I thought I couldn’t be more awkward around Jared—AKA my boss, AKA my secret crush, AKA my one and done—here I am reaching new lows of awkward. Talking about my inconsistent periods in front of him.

“So you’re saying you haven’t had a cycle in nearly three months?” the nurse asks. She squints at her tablet screen, then glances back to me. Her eyes briefly flick to the beast of a man standing at my side.

He hasn’t said any words since barking orders at the emergency room staff that I needed to be seen immediately. So, since they brought me back to a curtained off room for an examination I keep saying I don’t actually need, Jared has stood like a great sentinel, big beefy arms crossed over his impossibly broad chest, scowl daring anyone to go against his wishes.

I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda eating up the attention. He’s not pouring it directly on me. Not like the night that shall not be discussed. Half the time I’m convinced that night was a complete figment of my filthy, depraved imagination.

“We can’t do an X-Ray then until we can confirm that you aren’t pregnant.”

The giant beside me shifts, but says nothing.

“It’s super unlikely,” I say. I mean, I’ve gone as long as seven months before without having a period. My hormones are wonky.

“Are you sexually active, Ms. Briggs?” the nurse asks. Again, her eyes flick to Jared.

“Uh, sort of.”

The nurse nods like that confirms everything. “We’ll do a blood test. It’s faster and more conclusive.” She disappears from the room for a few minutes, presumably to get the supplies she needs.

Because of course I have to have my very first pregnancy test in front of the only man who’s actually seen me naked. I release a shaky breath. I want to say something to him. I want him to say something to me. Or reach out and grab my hand.

I mean the odds are really low that I’m pregnant. First off, who gets pregnant the very first time they have sex? Yeah, that statistic is probably really low. Also, I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome which means my lady hormones are usually out of whack, resulting in random periods, lackluster egg quality and obnoxious chin hairs I have to pluck in my car in the daytime because it has a mirror and good lighting. There are a handful of other bothersome traits that go along with my condition, but doctors have been telling me since I was a teenager that my ovaries don’t look good and so, yeah, it seems really unlikely I’m pregnant.

But I still have to go through this with Jared at my side. The only man who could have knocked me up. Yet, neither of us has said a single word about that night nearly two and a half months ago. We’ve talked about other things: the new restaurant being built just outside of town, our favorite football teams, the grossest flavor of ice cream at Sprinkles (apricot), not to mention the day-to-day minutia of our jobs.

We’ve covered a lot of ground, but not a word has been said about our one night together. It’s like it never happened.

He hasn’t touched me again or kissed me. There’ve been no dirty words growled in my ear while he slams into—

“Here we are,” the nurse says as she sweeps into the room.

Thankfully she interrupts my disastrous train of thought. Not before my pussy flooded with arousal though. Please God, don’t let them have to do a pelvic exam.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the nurse pokes the needle into my arm. “The doctor wants to go ahead and do a full blood panel to check on all the things while you’re here.”

“That doesn’t seem necessary,” I say. Paying for an expensive blood test is not in my budget right now. Could my parents or brother help? Sure, but I hate to ask. “I’m perfectly healthy, aside from the PCOS.”

“Yes, which can lead to hypertension and Type II Diabetes, not to mention elevated cholesterol levels.”

“I’ve got it,” Jared says, his voice low and deep.

I glance up at him, and those honey-colored eyes of his search my face. “That’s not your responsibility.”

“You got hurt on the job. I’m your boss. That’s my shop. I pay. End of discussion.”

The nurse hums but doesn’t say anything and then she’s slapping on a cotton ball and medical tape. “I’ll be back as soon as we have the more pressing test result. If you want to be alone or want us to call someone for you, let me know.” Again, the older woman looks up at Jared.

“I’m good. We’re friends. Work together,” my words peter out because I’m tired of explaining who Jared is to me. People ask me that question on the regular.

Y’all are so funny together.

You sound like an old married couple.

I just have to grin through my heartbreak and reiterate that we just work together, that we’re not a couple. I’ve often wondered if townspeople ask him when they see him alone like they do me. But I’ve never dared to ask.