Page 19 of Make You Mine This Christmas
His eyes break away then. I nudge my knee against his to get them back. “But thank you. For coming back and telling me. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it. To hear it wasn’t me.”
A look of understanding dawns on Brody’s face. “When I said I couldn’t let you come with me, you heard I didn’t want you to.”
“Yeah, someone else pointed out me cutting you off and not letting you get another word out may have meant I missed some important context. Annoying he was right.”
Brody laughs. “Well, at least you listen to Cole.”
“Most of the time.” I shrug and laugh along with him.
Brody yawns, and I realize it’s somehow close to nine. “We better get you off to bed, Santa. We’ve gotta be back at the workshop in fewer hours than I want to calculate.” I push off the couch and reach my hand out for his dish. “I’ll clean up; you hit the bathroom first. There should be a new toothbrush under the sink.”
I force myself to take my time cleaning up, not wanting Brody to feel rushed, but also not wanting to be standing there like a creep when he exits. Instead, I time it perfectly so he’s walking toward his room as I start down the hall.
“Night, Austin,” he says, stretching his arms above his head so a sliver of his back comes visible above his sweatpants.
“Wait,” I say, and he turns, alarm in his eyes. “Sorry,” I continue. “That sounded more urgent than I meant it to. But you got to ask your question for the night. Now it’s my turn.” The alarm turns to wary, but he gamely stands there and waits. I realize I don’t have a question in mind and scramble to come up with one. Brody absentmindedly scratches the bottom of his stomach, the shirt riding up in the front this time. A trail of hair disappears below the waistband ofmypants on his lower half, and I have it.
“Tell me,” I raise an eyebrow and lower my voice, “are you wearing my gingerbread man underwear?”
Brody’s face takes on a wicked look, and he takes two steps backward so he’s in the doorway of his room. “No,” he says simply before shutting the door in my face.
I’m distracted getting ready for bed, trying desperately not to allow myself to think about Brody’s dick in my pants and failing. There’s no one to blame for this but myself. I had to go there.
The floorboard creaks like it always does when I cross the threshold into my room. “Night, Austin,” sounds through the closed wood, the tone delivering the greeting chock full of pride and mirth this time around.
“Night, Brody,” I answer, closing the door behind me with a smile on my face. A smile that remains when I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, faster than I have in years.
Chapter 12
Brody
Any worries I have about sharing space with Austin—well they are probably warranted. In hindsight, getting through a full conversation about why I left the way I did was the easy part.
What I haven’t worried enough about are things like how it would feel to see him sleepy-eyed and bed-headed, walking to the bathroom in the morning. Or the joy it brings me to see him so excited to order a new holiday beverage for me at Jitters before our next stint as Santa and elf. The impact of getting to know this older and wiser Austin.
We fall into a pattern of asking one question each night. Sunday, it happens when we’re on our way to pick up my curbside order of essentials. Highest on the list is underwear, because I cannot spend another night of Austin shooting not-so-covert glances at my crotch or another morning worried he’ll call me out of bed for breakfast before the dark spot where my dick leaked in his pants overnight dries.
“When you go out on a first date,” he asks, “what appetizer do you order?” I think for a moment, unsure if I should admit it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.
“I’d have to go with an appetizer platter, if they have one. That way there’s a little bit of everything and gives me more of a chance I got their favorite.”
“You wouldn’t ask them what they wanted instead of taking a guess?” He bites into the granola bar he grabbed from the snack table in the gym when we changed.
“Nah, this way I look decisive. The truth is I really can’t pick one option I want for myself, but they benefit too.”
After we pick up my order, I ask my question. “If you could be any animal, what animal would you be?”
“An otter, definitely,” he answers, needing no time to consider at all.
“Why an otter?” He lets my bonus question slide.
“They eat several times a day, get to hang out and float in the water, and they’re just so cute.”
“Well, nothing to argue with there,” I say, and we lapse into a comfortable silence.
“C’mon Santa, let’s get you home,” Austin says, turning onto the bridge to cross into Winterberry Glen.
* * *
