Page 26 of Playing Santa

“Please. My kitchen is your kitchen.” I wave a hand and step out of her way. But not far enough because I smell that special scent of hers and feel her warmth as she slides by me. She’s wearing a sweater today, but still no bra and I have to concentrate on not drooling.

I turn back to Jimmy who’s on the floor with Dasher again. “Didn’t you get tired?”

He nods. “I had to follow Dasher all the way here and it was a long way. I didn’t want to lose her. Then when I got here I knew it’s your house. We played while we waited for you but then I got cold.”

“You’re a good boy, Jimmy. Thank you for finding Dasher for me.” I turn to Ronnie as she puts three cups of hot coco on the island counter for us.

“Come and drink some hot coco and warm up, honey,” she says to Jimmy. I wish she were talking to me.

“Speaking of finding Dasher, I need to call my dog walker before she sinks into a depression.”

“Oh no—that’s right. I need to call Garino—I mean Annamarie—to let her know Jimmy’s alright.” She punches my arm. “I can’t believe I called her Garino. You’re a bad influence on me.”

I grin. “You can use the house phone,” I say, watching her jewel blue eyes glitter with lighthearted mischief now that the scare is over. Now that we’re back in my kitchen again, drinking hot cocoa.

She sashays to the phone and I hold myself still against the temptation to follow her, to press up against her and hug her in my arms. Instead, I slip my phone from my pocket and dial up my soon to be ex-dog walker. But I’ll let her down easy with a bonus because it’s not all her fault that Dasher missed Jimmy and Ronnie and the shelter.

“We found Dasher,” I say, watching Jimmy drink his hot cocoa, leaving a chocolate moustache across the top of his mouth. “You’re off the hook for replacing my dog.” I should have known better than to joke with Betsy because her voice immediately escalates to a high pitch, heading for dog-whistle levels. “I’m joking. Calm down. My regular pet sitter is back… from vacation. I’ll let you know if I need a dog walker again in the future.”

With our calls finished, we all sit in the great room with our hot chocolates and I turn on the gas fireplace and the TV. The cartoon version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is on.

“This is my favorite,” I say.

“Mine too,” Jimmy says, settling on the floor with Dasher.

I sit on the couch next to Ronnie, taking a chance that she won’t jump up and run. Instead she turns to me with one of those I adore you looks that makes my heart soft and my dick hard.

“Thank you for coming to the rescue today. I really appreciate that you dropped everything without hesitation to help me. I know how busy—”

“Never too busy when it comes to a family emergency,” I say.

“Even when it’s not your family?” she gives me a sassy look, calling me on the sentiment, but I hold firm.

“Dasher’s family is my family.” She laughs and I notice the rise of color before she turns away.

“Are all those wrapped gifts under your tree real?” she asks.

“Every one of them.” I let her get away with the change of subject and I don’t tell her there are gifts for her and Jimmy under the tree. Something tells me this isn’t the right time. I don’t want to scare her off now that she’s back, now that I’ve earned some trust.

She nods. “It must be wonderful having a big family, especially at this time of year.” I hear the longing in her voice and reach out to touch her.

“It is. It must be a boatload of fun to have a young boy this time of year.”

She laughs. “You’re right. Sorry if I sounded wistful. I’m really looking forward to this Christmas.” She looks into my eyes with the bright jewel of hers and adds, “Thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Your generosity with the dog-sitting fees means,” she lowers her voice as Jimmy and Dasher watch the Grinch, “Santa will have extra presents for Jimmy this year.”

“I’m glad. I hope Santa has some presents for you too.”

She waves a hand, dismissing the notion. Before I can protest, she says, “Seeing Jimmy’s face light up is truly the best gift ever—I know I sound like a cliché, but it’s absolutely true, cross my heart.”

I watch her fingers draw across her breasts and notice the outline of her nipples. I’m selfishly glad she hasn’t indulged in buying a bra for herself. Who needs to spend money on lingerie? She certainly doesn’t. She’s too sexy without it, mouthwatering braless even in a flannel shirt. She thinks the shirt hides her lack of undergarments, but she couldn’t be more wrong. The sway and occasional brush of the shirt against her full breasts tease more enticingly than if she were wearing a tight sweater. New revelation for me—subtle can be more exciting than bold.

“Christmas is only a week away. What are you going to do?”

She shrugs. “I know we should talk, but…” She juts her chin in Jimmy’s direction.