Meanwhile, I head to the bathroom where she’s placed a brand new toothbrush, a washcloth, and a small bar of soap. Quickly going through a bedtime routine, I return to Jo’s art room where she now waits, holding an armload of clothes. She plops them onto the mattress with a big grin and steps into the hallway for me to try them on.
I pull each piece of clothing out, inspecting my options.
The shirts are doable, even if every single one has some ridiculous saying on it. No doubt, she deliberately chose the goofiest ones she owns. I settle on a pink tee that readsEven Baddies Get Saddieswith a cartoon cat wearing sunglasses. The sweatpants will be a problem, though, since Jo is several inches shorter than me. Still, I stuff myself into them. They stop at my calves and cling tighter than I’d like, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Opening the door, Jo steps into the room and immediately bursts out laughing when she sees what I’m wearing. Placing both hands on my waist, I attempt a scowl and she whips out her phone, snapping a picture of me.
My scowl increases.
“The sweats do accentuate your thigh muscles…and other things.” Her eyes drop quickly to my cock and back up. “You can’t deny that. I think you should wear that size more often.”
I laugh at her audacity. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
She presses a hand to her heart, eyes wide with mock sincerity. “Those are literally the only shirts I own.”
“No school shirts?” I ask, taking the smallest step closer to her.
“Nope.”
“No concert tees?” Another step until I’m less than a foot from Jo.
“Nope,” she says again, her voice softer, the air between us shifting.
“I think”—I tug her to me by the front of her shirt, my voice ragged—“that you’re a terrible liar.”
Jo’s hands go to grasp my biceps, sexual tension sliding between us, so thick I can hardly breathe.
I want Josie Thomas.
And I don’t mean in the purely sexual way; though right now, my dick is so swollen I know it’s visible through these tight sweatpants. I want her in thelet’s do this again next year and every year after kind of way. Thebuild a life togetherkind of way. Aware I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, I work to bring my thoughts back to the here and now, with Jo so close I can see every shade of blue and silver in her eyes. Standing still as a statue, I watch as she rises to her toes, bringing her soft lips to mine in the lightest brush of a kiss.
Resting my forehead against hers, I close my eyes, my breaths mingling with hers in the quiet of the house.
“Good night, Tyler,” Jo whispers, trailing her fingertips lightly down my arms until she’s walking backward from the room.
“Night, Jo.”
Focusing on anything but Jo right on the other side of the very thin wall, I do everything within my power to gain control of my raging erection. Thankfully, my phone lights up with an incoming email. Swiping open the app, I see it’s from Kate. The subject line readsMerry Christmas to You.I click to open it, my eyes scanning my screen. Everything I’ll need to put Principal Stanback in his place is right here. I knew the man had skeletons. Kate is truly a genius, one I’m glad to have on my team.
Setting my phone on the floor, I think to myself,Merry Christmas to me, indeed.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee is the first thing that alerts me it’s morning. The next thing I smell is peaches and vanilla, and I remember where I am. Cracking one eye open, I see Jo’s canvas by the window and her new paints lined up on a shelf.
Slowly, I push myself upright, quickly realizing why there’s a dull ache in my back. It seems the air mattress has a hole because it’s now fully deflated, leaving me flat on the floor. Clambering to stand, I stretch my arms above my head, tilting my neck back and forth to work out the newly formed knots.
From somewhere in the house, I hear soft humming and the sound of the front door opening, then closing.
Changing back into my own clothes—because no way will I wear Jo’s all day—I make a stop in the hall bathroom, then head to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. Cup in hand, I then wander toward the living room but stop short when I glance out the window. What I see steals the breath from my lungs.
There on the porch swing, wrapped in a sweatshirt and a colorful throw blanket, sits Jo, hair sleep ruffled. In her hand is her new iPad and pencil, and she’s staring out at the freshly fallen snow. She’s wearing a serene expression, and I think that I could never grow tired of looking at her.
Jo must sense me watching her, because she turns, her face splitting to a grin and waves me out. I grab my coat, slip on my shoes, and step into the cold.
“Sleep well?” I ask as I approach.
Jo’s head tilts side to side before responding.
“I have trouble sleeping. My mind doesn’t turn off.” Then after a second she turns the question on me.
