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Nut jobs, the lot of them.
But then suddenly, the little old lady who purchased the “darling” Santa puts her old, wrinkled hand on my shoulder and smiles at me. “Everyone needs a little Christmas cheer. Don’t you think so, dear?”
What in the goddamn hell? Still, I’m not so much of an asshole that I’m going to be outright rude to her. My mom might be a bit shit most days, but she didn’t raise me to be rude. So I just nod my head in a reluctant grunt, “Yes. I suppose.”
Crap. Now I’m one of them. Pretty soon I’ll be wearing overalls and talking to corn. I’ll hang Christmas ornaments onmy porch in June and have a hive of bees floating around me in my kitchen.
The middle-aged lady sitting at the booth, so obviously proud of her Christmas ornaments, beams at me, and damn it, I wind up purchasing a Rudolph ornament a minute later. I even pay for it—ten bucks for this thing—and then smile at her before walking away as quickly as I can. I need to escape before they perform any more of their cheery voodoo on me.
That’s probably why Jimbob is so happy. Some kind of Kansan magic.
I sigh, realizing what a grump I am, and yet I can’t help it. I’m just…I’m so fucking tired of everything. I hate Kansas, hate being here. Hate that I’ve been able to hide myself from the world, untilhim.And now I can’t keep my lips to myself.
As if my mind has conjured him up, I see Jimbob appear behind his stand, his big form taking up nearly the entire space.
That chest.
My dick twitches, and I pull my sweater down over my crotch so no one can see what’s happening to me.
Goddamn him.
Making me like this.
Visions of me on top of him in that rickety barn appear, his sweet lips on mine. A moan spills out of me, a whimper. A woman passing by stares at me, and I scowl at her, telling her to fuck off with my eyes.
Shoo, lady. Don’t look at me while I’m having a moment.
It’s not my fault I apparently have a thing for Jimbobs.
Hot Kansan farmers with big chests and sweet smiles.
Speaking of… I scowl at him when he looks over at me, his big, strong hand lifting up in a jovial wave. He should stop smiling. It makes him shine, makes him so damn bright that it almost hurts to look at him.
And I hate the sun. Puts me in a mood.
I prefer the clouds and gloom to the bright blue currently spanning the sky.
And yet, here I go, walking toward the sunshine, my eyes falling to his pink lips.
“Hey, Braxton,” Jimbob says softly, shifting on his feet. He’s wearing those overalls again, and that kitten is sticking its head out and eyeing me. Disgusting really, just so fucking ridiculous.
“Hi,” I say quickly, messing with my lip ring. Jimbob’s eyes shift to my lips, and his cheeks flush pink.
Hell. My dick is completely hard now.
Yeah, not into him, my ass. I’m so fucking dumb.
But I’ll keep lying to myself anyways.
“Jimbobadoodle!” Ryan shouts, and I find my mouth turning down into a frown at the term of endearment.
I don’t like anyone calling Jimbob a doodle. Or anything like that. That’s… I just don’t like it. Especially when it’s Ryan, who acts a little too friendly toward his stepbrother. The way he playfully hangs off of him and bites at his ears and presses his mouth to his cheeks…
I hate it.
“Yeah?” Jimbob asks, turning his head, his blond hair looking a little windblown and far too hot for my liking. I don’t think men are hot. They’re not. Unless they are this guy, with his wide shoulders and thick thighs and that smile.
Sunshine.
