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“But—”
“As your boss, I insist you keep entertaining me with your devoted assurances that the Bills could actually win a Super Bowl someday.” He grinned and waved at her to continue. “As you were saying?”
The next time the phone rang it was almost five, and it was pitch black outside. “Shit.” She bounced to her feet as if she hadn’t realized it was so late. “I should get home.”
He nodded. “Your mom will be waiting.”
“Oh, she’s got her own plans tonight.” She fluffed her hair over her scarf and laughed, but he heard the sadness behind the sound. “She’s heading to my aunt’s. They’re going to snuggle in with some movies and eggnog.”
“What about you?”
“I’m staying home.”
“Alone?”
“I want to. Really.” She grabbed her coat and was about to slip it on when he rounded the desk to do the honors. “See?” she asked breathlessly. “Told you that you were a gentleman.”
He lingered with his hands on her shoulders longer than he needed to. Damn, her hair smelled as fresh as the inside of an icicle and as sweet as a candy cane.
Oh fuck, he did not need to think about candy canes. Not when she was smiling at him in the twinkling glow from the tree, her eyes deep and dark and way too aware of the energy all but pulsating between them.
“I’m not going to argue, because that would just be redundant.” He lifted her ponytails over her coat and swallowed at the spill of her red hair. Once, just once, he wanted to see it across his pillow.
Laughing softly, she grabbed the lapels of his shirt and leaned up to press her mouth to his. She tasted of her peach iced tea and moved back way too soon. “Merry Christmas, Des.”
“Merry Christmas, Wen.”
Once she was gone, he sat at her desk and stared at the tree until the lights blurred. If he’d ever felt more alone, he didn’t remember it.
It didn’t have to be that way. They could both be alone or they could be together. Fuck the consequences.
He pulled out his phone. He’d have to get his ass in gear if he had any hope of pulling this off.
* * * *
Christmas Eve and what was she doing? Giving herself a pedicure while crying over It’s A Wonderful Life. Later she’d give her props to Santa by curling up in her winter’s nest with her vibrator.
Fa-la-la-flipping-la.
Wendy wiped her damp cheeks. Van had called to make sure she was okay and she’d lied through her teeth. Sure, she was dandy. So what if she was alone on the worst night of the year? She’d chew up her loneliness with the same zeal she’d disposed of Aunt Gert’s fruitcake.
No regrets here, baby.
At least her purple passion toenails looked all sparkly. She’d just paint the strip of silver polish on the tips and—
The doorbell rang and she nearly jolted off the couch. The bell didn’t exactly ring so much as give a depressed fart of air that passed for music. Had Mom decided to have Aunt Gert drive her back early? If so, where was her key?
Cursing her toe separators, Wendy hobbled to the door. On the way she cast a glance at herself. Her hair was still in pigtails and she wore ripped leggings and a hot pink sports bra. They kept the apartment at a zillion degrees to make sure her mom didn’t have a relapse with her pneumonia, so the minute her mom took off, Wendy stripped down.
She peeked out the curtain, though the porch light of their two-family house was out yet again. “Who is it?”
No answer, but her mom was hard of hearing. Just in case, she dumped the silk flowers out of the vase on the side table and swung it above her head, ready to strike, as she yanked open the door.
Oh, shit.
She blinked, almost wishing it was a lunatic intent on robbing her of all three of her worldly goods. Because then she wouldn’t have to mentally berate her floppy hair and raggedy clothes and the fact that Des was carrying the world’s tiniest Christmas tree and a wrapped gift as if he were bringing joy to the poor and decrepit.
Which he kind of was.
