Page 9 of Naughty-ish

“Meaning?” Nick tilts his head, lifting his own mug of coffee.

“Don’t need him seeing what I do in my bedroom.”

Sprays of coffee shoot from Nick’s mouth.

Why the hell would I say that? “Forget I said that,” I blurt, handing over my napkin as Nick swipes at his lips. Quickly, I attempt to change the subject. “Tell me how you ended up playing Santa this morning.”

He straightens in his seat a second, forehead furrowing until recognition comes. “Oh, you mean the volunteering . . . well, I’m a fireman. We take different locations around the city and dress up like the big man. I’ve gotten the church two years in a row.”

“Why don’t I remember you from last year?”

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention?” His brows salaciously wiggle as he looks at me over the rim of his mug before attempting another sip.

At the Santa breakfast last year, Mitch and I weren’t separated yet. The news of his infidelity came about during a New Year’s Eve party. His friends joked about that weekend. Someone asked him about Paige.

“You okay?” Nick interjects.

“Yeah, just . . .” I don’t really want to talk about my ex. I definitely don’t want to bash him to another man, but I’m angry with Mitch, especially with his newest failure being a promised Christmas gift. I shouldn’t be surprised. He reneged on our wedding vows. Somehow making a false promise to our son feels just as bad. “It’s different this year, for the kids. And Mitch is just being Mitch.”

“Mitch is your ex, right?”

I nod. “I suppose you know a little bit about awful exes.” I recall the woman tossing stuff out his front door.

“Me?” He scoffs. “I’ve never been married. Not even in a long-term relationship.”

“But the woman last summer— Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

He tilts his head. “The woman last summer? She wasn’t anyone special. She was a snowball in hell. No chance of getting what she wanted.”

Before I truly consider the question, I ask, “What did she want?”

A sly smile curls the corner of his mouth, and my gaze drifts between the smirk and that heavier beard on his face. My fingers itch to comb through the hairs. Is it coarse? Is it soft? How would it feel between my legs? That last question has me squirming in my seat.

“She wanted my interest. And she didn’t like that it was turned toward my new next-door neighbor.”

What? He can’t be serious. He isn’t interested in me. “I didn’t mean to ruin anything for you.” Although, I have no idea why I’m apologizing.

His smexy grin grows. His eyes mischievously spark like he has a secret. “Nothing ruined.”

“Too bad for her.” That woman has no idea how crazy her envy had been. I’m nothing to my neighbor. I’m just the woman living next door.

Nick hums.

“So, a fireman?” I question to redirect our conversation again. “How’d that come about?”

“I grew up someplace constantly cold, and I have a mad respect for fire. When I moved to Chicago in my twenties, I decided to become a fireman. Been loving my job ever since.” Nick is easily around forty, so he’s been dedicated to his line of work for a long time.

“What do you respect about fire?”

“The heat.” His eyes flicker, a flame glinting within them as he stares at me.

“My house doesn’t have a fireplace.”

“Mine does. You can come over anytime and let mine warm you up. Maybe share a stronger drink with me.” He lifts his mug to salute me.

Glancing down at my hot chocolate, I note most of the whip cream has melted, making it easier to drink without fear of white fluff ending up on my nose. Lifting the mug, I take another sip, savoring the rich chocolate flavor over my tongue. Drinking it reminds me of Nick’s voice—warm, soothing, seductive even.

When I lower the mug, he chuckles.