Page 25 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
He sends me another pic of his thumb, with a bright red slash across it. We chat for a bit, him telling me that the snow has basically turned to slush in the city, and I send him a picture of our idyllic, fresh-snow-covered backyard.
My family had a great time at the mountain, and they make plans to go out again the next morning. Naomi helps me up the stairs, and back down the stairs in the morning, where I settle on the couch again.
“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay behind?” Mom perches on the arm and strokes my hair while she asks. “You know I’d stay behind if you wanted some company.”
I love my mom but spending a whole day alone with her probably means doing something energetic, and since I can’t put weight on my foot, that probably means we’ll watch a movie that Mom talks through while she crochets in the armchair or something. Or she’d spend the morning baking cookies and shouting at me from the kitchen while I try to read.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “I have an audiobook I have to finish before it goes back to the library.”
“Anything good?”
My mom is mostly a nonfiction reader, so we don’t have a lot of overlap in our reading choices. “It’s about a hockey player,” I hedge. Itisabout a hockey player, but it’s a smutty romance.
She hums, uninterested in sports. To be fair, I’m uninterested in sports too, but not when it comes to fictional hockey players.
“Besides, you promised Susan you would go snow tubing with her.”
Mom grins. “I did. That way Gary and Erik can go hit the black diamonds.” Her smile changes, an eyebrow raising. “You know, Charlie would stay behind if you asked him to.”
My cheeks heat, thinking of the way Charlie took care of me yesterday. “He’s enjoying skiing,” I say firmly. “And his day was cut short to take care of me. I promise, Mom, I’ll be fine.”
She fusses a bit more and then makes a sandwich for me for lunch before she goes, which I’ll probably ignore in favor of cookies and the Sour Punch Straws.
Finally I have the house to myself. I lie on the couch and eat cookies, listening to my audiobook until I realize I’ve completely lost the plot and must have fallen asleep. I go back a few chapters and take out my headphones. They’ve been in my ears long enough that they are getting uncomfortable, and if I’m going to fall into a sugar coma, I’d rather do so unencumbered by headphones.
My audiobook starts getting really spicy.
“He shoves his hands up my skirt and my back hits the cold metal of the locker. ‘There’s no one here, so I get to make you be as loud as I want.’ His fingers move from my silken entrance up to my clit, where he circles with his callused fingertip.”
I’m so wrapped up in listening that I must not hear the door open, and the first cue that I’m not alone is a flash of movement above me.
I jolt upright and twist around.
Charlie’s standing at the entrance to the room, his mouth open and clutching imaginary pearls, trying to pass for shocked and scandalized while holding back his laughter.
My audiobook drones on. “‘Ryan, what are you doing?’ The words come out breathy. ‘I’m getting you ready to take my cock like a good puck bunny,’ he responds.”
I scramble for my phone and in my fluster, I drop it, sending it skidding under the couch.
“Nooooo.” I flip myself upside down, peering into the dark, where the audiobook continues to play over the sound of Charlie’s mirth.
“‘Oh Ryan,’ I moan. ‘I can’t...I need you inside me. Make me come.’”
I flip up my head to glare at Charlie. “Shut up and help me,” I demand.
“Like she needs his help to get off?” Charlie chuckles, but he crouches down at the end of the couch and reaches underneath. He pulls out my phone and a fistful of dust bunnies.
“Bleh.” I make a face.
“Hey, you’re the one who’s listening to it.”
“Not that!” I roll my eyes. “Your hand is all gross.” I finally pause the book and the sex scene cuts off.
Charlie wiggles his fingers and stands, walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. He’s still in his under layers, his hair mussed and sweaty from his helmet.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I shout over the sound of the sink, praying we can just ignore the broadcasted smut.
“I wanted some of Jasper’s fried chicken for lunch.”
