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I stuffed the dildo back into the box, on the verge of tears. I was always so painfully awkward, so self-conscious of every misstep as if the universe was hellbent on making every interaction a certain boobytrap.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed.
“Sorry about what?”
“This… I’m so—”
“You’re so kind… that’s what you are,” he interrupted. “You have been patient with me… Hell, you’ve been patient with that god-awful sink in your kitchen. I know it’s a hassle, especially in the midst of holiday chaos, and the last thing you need is me coming to your door and getting in your business…” His quick words suddenly slowed down, his voice mellow and deep, whispering as he craned his neck down to meet my eyes. “I have time now, if you’d like me to come in?”
Nick.
My Christmas wish.
He was the saving grace to this old building; the man every single, and married, woman here pined for, and he was much sweeter than he ever needed to be. Yes, I felt like a fool around him, but I’d feel even more like a fool if I didn’t let him stay longer, hopelessly fantasizing about what we could never be.
“Of course, come in,” I smiled, my dimples piercing my cheek. “Can I get you a drink?”
2
Elena
#2 He Knows How to Work a Pipe
“Cream, no sugar. Right?” I asked, remembering his coffee preference from the previous times he’d visited.
“If it’s not a bother.” He cleared his throat, taking his time to once again appreciate the color on my walls. He always seemed to nod around, admiring my bright teal living room, my fake banana palms, and bohemian throws. “Love that you always keep those up.” He pointed to the white string lights draped above my yellow couch.
“They’re not just for Christmas. They really brighten up the place, right?”
“I’m not sure it could get any brighter. It’s very cozy.”
“Well, it’s home… sorta.” I shrugged, quickly wiping my face clean of the facial cream. I walked into the kitchen, hiding my ruined package in the pink cabinet next to a box of fruity pebbles. I hoped Nick wouldn’t ask about it, considering our interaction was already so inappropriate.
How could I explain that I was assigned my first paying gig with one of the biggest magazines in the world—New York Prestige—running a countdown list of the hottest sex toys of the season? Twelve days of Sex-Mas had been as exhausting as it was thrilling, spending the last week getting off with various vibrators, Ben Wa balls, and butt plugs. I was surprised I was even walking straight at this point, let alone calmly pouring Nick’s cup of coffee.
“Honestly, I like the whole tropical vibe in here.” Nick removed his denim jacket before lying down under the sink, chomping on a flashlight. His dark brown waves fell carelessly to his brows, his nose dimpled at the tip, mirroring the groove of his strong, peppered chin. “Marty won’t even go outside to piss anymore… not without mittens. I’m ready to pack up and leave.”
“Just don’t go too far, who knows what else will break in this place? I need you.”
“Well, who’s to say I wouldn’t take you with me, considering I’m sure you know where the best places for warm weather are?”
“The best beaches, too…” I inadvertently sipped his coffee, watching as his shirt lifted from his waist. I tried not to stare, fighting, resisting, struggling with the temptation to gawk as he revealed a trail of trimmed hair on his firm torso. He cranked something underneath the sink, his arms tensing as he grunted again.
“Name one for me.”
“Name what?”
“A beach. Which one is your favorite?”
“Ah, Playa Flamenco. It’s off the main island where I lived, but totally worth the trip if you can get a boat out there.”
Nick hummed to himself.
“Playa Flamenco,” he repeated my words. I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear him smile. “Blue waters?”
“Turquoise-clear… white sand, and warm sunlight.”
Nick grew quiet, clanking a metal pipe.
