“Pft.” Cole derides. “Every girl says that.”
“For good reason.” I fire back.
“And what’s that? Because it’s the first feminist book?”
“Yes,” I confirm with a serious expression, taking personal offense on behalf of the female population. “And because it’s not simply just a book about a dream man. It’s a book about a girl telling the guy she doesn’t like his behavior and he has some serious growing up to do before he can be worthy of her.And he listens. All women want is a man who takes us seriously.”
Taking a brief pause from his frosting endeavors, Cole appraises me as if searching for something. Maybe asking my favorite book wasn’t such a simple question afterall. I feel like I’m splayed open for him to analyze.
Pushing on, I continue, “Women like when men are willing to put in the work. When men make us feel worth the effort.”
With a subtle nod of his head, Cole replies, “Noted.” And that’s it. We continue to frost the cookies in companionable silence to the various classic Christmas tunes playing off my phone.
Once my cookies are meticulously decorated and Cole’s are sloppily frosted, Cole leans his elbows on the counter and lifts a cookie into his muscular hand.
“Cheers.” He waits for me to follow his lead. So I raise a cookie of my own and touch it to his like a glass of champagne. “To many more happy holidays like this one.”
Somehow, I have a feeling this holiday is a lot more personal for him than he’s letting on.
I’ll be honest, the cookies are damned delicious. I savor every bite ofholiday goodness that I’ve denied myself for years.
“Not bad for a premade mix,” Cole comments. “But not as good as my homemade cookies.”
“You bake?”
“And cook,” he corrects me. “I learned everything I know from my mom. She’s a fantastic cook.”
For as much shit as men give each other about being “mama’s boys,” we women tend to find it endearing. At least I do. A mama’s boy is going to be more respectful than any other type of man. They’re more likely to offer to do the dishes. More likely to share their feelings openly. More likely to take our mood swings in stride. More likely to get laid for all those reasons.
Helping himself to a plate from the cabinet, Cole stacks several cookies onto it before waltzing butt-naked into my living room and plopping that taut ass down on my couch. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when he covers himself with the throw blanket. He’s gorgeous to look at but having that prominent dick on display is rather distracting.
“Well, since I gave you an orgasm, I think it’s only fair you watch a Christmas movie with me. I’ll even let you pick.”
I balk at him with my signature hand on the cocked hip stance. “Can’t I just return the favor instead? You could choke me to death with that thing and it would still be a better alternative to sitting through a cheesy holiday movie.”
Cole’s expression leaves no room for negotiation. He pats the seat beside him to usher me over. Reluctantly, I nestle into the space beside him, closer than we were earlier but not so close we’re cuddling.
Mumbling loud enough for him to hear, I ask no one in particular, “What kind of man would choose a Christmas movie over a blowjob?”
Said man replies, “The kind who knows he can get both if he plays his cards right.” He punctuates that declaration with a forceful bite intoone of the cookies, fitting more than half of it in his mouth in a single go.
Point taken.
Cole is already scrolling through my streaming services to peruse the selection.
“I’ll give you three options,” he levels me with a serious look. “Love, Actually, The Grinch,orIt’s A Wonderful Life.”
Contemplating my options, I decide, “Love, Actually.”
“Really?” Cole tilts his head with the force the shock must have knocked him with. “What went into that decision?”
“It’s A Wonderful Lifeis too long, andThe Grinchis too whimsical for my taste.Love, Actuallyis the least Chriatmasy of them all.”
That earns me an amused chuckle. “Love, Actuallyit is.”
I’m saved from having to watch the movie in silence when Cole informs me it’s my turn to ask a question. There’s a lot I want to ask him, especially as I get to know him more as a person and not the faceless demon Detroit fears every year.
But in the spirit of keeping things light-hearted, I ask, “What’s your favorite movie?”
