Page 27 of The Holiday Hookup List
I adjust my scarf and nod. “I guess we’ll be the judges of that.”
The market is outdoors, but the stalls block the wind, and it’s at least a couple of degrees warmer thanks to all the people packed into such tight quarters. I ask Valencia about her day and she’s describing some of the bureaucratic challenges her department is facing when she suddenly stops. A slow smile spreads across her face as she peers behind me.
She grabs my arm before I can fully turn. “Shh. Listen.”
I eavesdrop on the girls ahead of us, who are engaging in a serious debate about all the hot chocolate vendors present this year. As they launch into rating each on a scale of one to ten, I lock eyes with Valencia, who’s shaking with suppressed laughter, and give her a stern look.
“We are not taste-testing every hot chocolate stand in this market.”
She taps her chin with one gloved finger. “Now that you mention it ...”
“No. It’s not on the list.” I lean down to murmur in her ear. “Besides, I have other items for you to test-drive tonight.”
She gives me a sultry smile. “Items, plural?” When I nod, she adds, “You know I already have a couple of thoseitems, right?”
The thought of her using a vibrator on herself makes me glad my coat comes down to midthigh. “You can never have too many. Or so I’m told.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “And who told you that?”
“My work husband.”
“Oh, my God.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Did Rodrigo help you pick out these particular items?”
“What do you think?”
She tries to glare at me, but she’s grinning.
By the time we get our hot chocolate, the temperature has dropped even further. We make our way to the statue of Gandhi, where there’s a small space devoid of people. Just before we reach it, someone bumps into Valencia from behind. She drops her cup, letting out a dismayed cry as the nine-dollar hot chocolate we waited half an hour for splatters all over her boots.
I nearly crush my own cup as I spin toward the culprit, but they’ve already disappeared into the crowd. And besides, Iwon’t leave Valencia, who’s standing there with a disappointed pout, gazing down at the foamy brown liquid covering her feet and steaming on the ground.
“Come here.” I slide an arm around her and lead her to the railing surrounding the statue. We reach it without further incident, but I keep her tucked against me. For warmth, for protection, hell, just for the feel of her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just annoyed. These gloves are too thick, so I didn’t have a good grip on it.”
“Take them off,” I say, passing her my cup. “We’ll share mine.”
It’s a testament to how upset she is that she doesn’t argue. She pulls off her gloves and lifts my cup to her mouth with both hands. After a long sip, her eyes flutter shut and her lips stretch in a satisfied smile.
“Ten out of ten,” she whispers.
My heart lurches in my chest, and all I can do is whisper, “Yeah.”
But I’m not talking about the cocoa.
When she hands the cup back to me, I take a small sip, but I’m so intent on watching her I could be drinking from a slush puddle and I wouldn’t notice.
By the time Valencia drinks the last drop, I have her wrapped in a bear hug to keep her warm. She suggests we walk to her apartment, but the wind has picked up and she’sshivering, so I hail a cab. I also suspect her feet are still sore from yesterday.
Once we’re in her bedroom, I unpack half a dozen vibrating devices from an antimicrobial bag.
“They’re clean and charged,” I tell her. “Ready to go.”
Valencia gapes at the array of sex toys on her dresser. “Um, wow.”
One is a classic wand, with a bulbous head and a strong motor. Another has a fluttering tongue attachment. The next is shaped like a rosebud and was advertised as a “suction” vibe. I tried it on my palm and wasn’t sure I understood it, but the sales clerk assured me it was a bestseller. Then there’s a bullet with a soft silicone casing, and another you can wear on your finger that thumps against the clit.
And there’s the ring, but that one’s for me.
