Page 45 of Santa Baby Maybe
10
Thanksgiving
Joy
Why was I doing this? I shouldn’t have invited him for Thanksgiving. This was crazy. We hadn’t even really talked about what happened. Against my door. One minute I’d been teasing him about stealing my car and the next I was telling him I needed him inside of me.
Insanity!
It was only that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him all day. How gentle he’d been with me on Sunday. How he’d held me while I slept, keeping my ankle elevated on his legs. How he’d needed to pee for a really long time, but hadn’t moved for fear of waking me.
Then he’d kissed me and said it was a mistake. I should have been angry. I should have been furious when I found out he’d taken my car keys. But I hadn’t been any of those things.
Instead, I’d been hopeful that he’d bring the car himself. That he wouldn’t be able to stay away.
And he hadn’t. He’d come back that night and we’d had door sex!
Then, after I’d invited him for Thanksgiving and he’d accepted, he kissed me on my forehead. ON MY FOREHEAD! And left.
No mutterings of how it had been a mistake, but certainly no idea if we were ever going to do that again.
Still, yesterday he’d texted me, asking for a shopping list, which I’d given him. He’d dropped off the groceries last night and it had been mostly awkward. I’d asked him inside and he’d told me he couldn’t stay.
I didn’t ask why and he didn’t offer. He just gave me a half-hearted wave and I told him to be here around two today. He’d nodded, then gotten in his car and left.
Now I was making apple pie and suddenly this all seemed so nerve-racking.
The doorbell rang and it was too late. He was here, and maybe this was going to be the most awkward holiday meal ever.
But he was here and there was a strange comfort in that. I stuck the pie in the oven and set the timer.
Making my way to the door with a slight limp, crutches no longer needed, I took a deep breath and tried not to have any expectations about what this day was going to be.
We were two…what the hell were we? Colleagues? Friends? Door-sex buddies? It didn’t matter. We were two adults having Thanksgiving together. That was all it needed to be.
I opened the door and he frowned. Probably not a good start.
“Where are your crutches?”
“I don’t need them anymore. It’s just a slight ache now.”
“The doctor said—”
I cut him off. “I’m fine, W.B. I promise. I wouldn’t walk on it if it really hurt.”
He pushed a bottle of wine in my direction. “For dinner.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Come on in.”
I backed away from the door to make room for him and tried not to wonder if he was going to turn me back against said door and have his way with me again. Yes, I’d worn a skirt, but that was only because I usually wore a skirt. It wasn’t a blatant invitation to pull it up over my hips and take me hard and fast.
At least, I didn’t think it was.
With decidedly more self-control, unfortunately, he made his way into my house and didn’t even so much as kiss me on the cheek. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to just call the whole thing off and spare us both the tension.
For the thousandth time, I asked myself why I’d set myself up for this, but the truth was that I knew the answer. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. I had athingfor W.B. I liked him. I liked seeing him and spending time with him. And I knew he liked me. When we weren’t fighting, or trying to avoid each other, the reality was we enjoyed each other’s company. As opposite as we were, we kept finding our way to each other and I thought that had to mean something.
Then, when he told me the story about his mom, I’d felt like he was reaching out. Letting me inside, beyond the walls he used to keep everyone else out. Because I knew that’s what his asshole persona was. The reason he wore ties on Friday and kept to himself in his office. It wasn’t that he was aloof or remote.
