Page 20 of The Holiday Hookup List
I glance at what I’ve just written and groan.
“Let me see that.” For the second time tonight, she snatches the notebook from me. This time, she lets out a chortle. “Butt plugs?”
“We can cross it out—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Consider this chiseled in stone. Butt plugs all around!”
I drag a hand down my face and sigh.
By the time Valencia and Gideon’s Naughty and Nice List is complete, it’s three in the morning. We’re leaning against each other on the sofa, cuddled under a chunky crocheted blanket, when she lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn.
“I’m going to head home before I fall asleep,” I say through my own yawn, even though I want nothing more than to curl up with her all night. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, for tree decorating and”—she consults the list—“tickling.”
“It’s a date.” I heave myself off the sofa.
At first, I indulged the idea of the list because I wanted to cheer her up. But I’m glad to have a valid excuse to see her again. Every day until Christmas Eve, according to her rules.
I don’t deserve a minute of her time, not after the way I treated her when we were younger. But she deserves to not be alone for Christmas. And I’m just enough of a bastard to use that to my advantage. If all I get are twelve days, I’m going to make the most of them.
The truth is? I don’t want to be alone, either.
And more than that, I want to benot alonewith Valencia Torres.
Once I’m back in my own clothes, she walks me to the door. Before she shuts it, she sends me a small, secret smile. “Good night ... Gideon.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up. “Good night, Valencia.”
I whistle “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as I jog down the stairs and emerge into the night.
Chapter 8
Valencia
Day 2: Tickling & Tree Decorating
Gideon and I exchanged numbers, and through text messages, we decide that I’ll get the tree and dinner, and he’ll bring decorations and “additional accessories.” I assume the latter refers to tickling, and I spend all day Saturday obsessing over what he could possibly be buying. I didn’t think about it while we were making the list, but some of the prompts involve items I certainly don’t have on hand.
Like, Lord help me,nipple clamps.
At one minute to six, our scheduled meeting time, the intercom buzzes. The sound sends Archie tearing out of theroom to hide in the hall closet. I press the button to let Gideon into the building and try to wipe the pleased smile off my face.
What can I say? I appreciate punctuality.
I open the front door as he reaches the landing. He’s wearing a gray wool coat unbuttoned over a steel blue sweater and dark slacks. His hair is styled like it was last night before I ran my hands through it, and my fingers itch to ruffle those wheat-colored waves again.
His eyes light up when he sees me. “Hi.”
I step aside to let him in. “Welcome back.”
As he passes me, I’m struck once again by how big he is, and my mouth goes dry. He’s tall, but lean, and it wasn’t until I saw him completely naked in my bedroom that I was able to fully appreciate his broad shoulders, trim hips, and the sculpted body hidden by his perfectly tailored clothes.
I don’t miss the way his gaze drifts toward the door as I shut it, and I’d bet money he’s also remembering what we did there last night.
Ignoring the way my pulse throbs at the memory, I gesture him onward. “Dinner’s on the kitchen counter. And the tree’s on the table, since Archie never jumps on there.”
I hang up Gideon’s coat, which probably cost twenty times more than mine. It carries the scent of his cologne, and I resist the urge to bury my face in it. He slides his shoes into an empty spot on the shoe rack, then hands me one of the canvasbags he’s carrying. I open it and find a collection of ornaments shaped like books. They feature banned novels written by female authors, and it takes me a moment to realize we read all of these in high school together.
