Page 42 of Elf-ish

I turn to face Walt, keeping Angelica tucked into my side. “Walter.”

He holds out a hand to shake mine and I reciprocate, but when he leans in for Angelica it takes all my willpower not to push him away from her.

Instead, she takes the lead, extending her hand before his mouth graces her cheek.

“Walter,” she repeats the way I said his name. “Merry Christmas.” Despite the tight salutation, her rejection is clear. Back off.

I want to kiss her right in front of him again for holding him off.

However, I’m not certain I’m much better than Walt. Angelica and I didn’t discuss boundaries or limits. Kissing her earlier wasn’t in our unspoken contract. However, I do need her to come across as my girlfriend, which means touching me.

As if reading my mind, she wraps herself around my side and pats my chest. “I could really use a drink, baby.” Her tone is edgy. “You worked up quite a thirst in me earlier.”

Sweet Father Time. What the fuck?

My head swivels in her direction. Our faces are so close I need to pull back to see her better. Her eyes twinkle, playful and mischievous.

I’d like to make her pay for that little dig, but the comment also builds the necessary illusion with Walt.

Hell, for the rest of the evening, Angelica applies just the right layer of appropriate innuendo, making the board fall in love with her. More importantly, they believe that I’m devoted to her.

Eventually, dinner is served, dessert offered, and music begins. Unfortunately, the tunes are ragtag oldies, and only the older people in attendance are dancing. Mainly, the wives. As I’m sucked into another conversation with several members of the board, I watch Angelica talking to Maxine near our table. Her head tips back and she laughs at something Maxine said. Something that is certain to be a jab at me.

Walt approaches the two women.

“Excuse me,” I mutter mid-sentence on Martin’s chatter about another major department store that has shut its doors.

Setting down my drink on a random table, I near the triangle of Walt, Maxine, and Angelica, just as Walt asks Angelica, “May I have the next dance?”

The old man hasn’t even danced with his wife, and he wants to dance with my date? I don’t think so.

Extending my hand toward Angelica, I cut off any response. “Actually, Walt, I have the next one.” And every other one after that.

As the music shifts from something fast-paced to the deep wail of a diva, Angelica sets her hand in mine, and I silently lead her to the dance floor.

I twirl her around, watching the long hem of her dress flare before I draw her close to me.

“You know, if you peed in a circle around me, it might have made it more obvious. Yellow snow and all.” She grimaces.

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust Walt.” I’d glance over Angelica’s head to glare at the old guy, but I don’t want to focus on him when I have this beautiful creature in my arms.

Glancing at her, I catch her peering up at me. “This was one of my parents’ favorite songs,” she says quietly.

I tilt my head, unable to recognize the tune.

“Etta James. “At Last”,” Angelica clarifies.

Ah. “My father loved blues and jazz.” And because of that, I hated the music. The throaty songs. The raspy tenors. Saxophone. Harmonica. Piano. “He was part of a band when he was young.”

Angelica arches a brow. “Anything I’ve heard of.”

I shake my head. “Probably not. Colt45 was their original name. They regrouped after Tucker quit and became The Chrome Teardrops.”

Angelica continues to watch me. “Why did he quit?”

I swallow thickly. “My mother was pregnant.” Not the entire story, but enough of the truth for right now.

Sensing that’s all I’ll say, Angelica settles in, and we spin in slow circles to the lyrics about lovers finally found and loneliness being over.