Page 11 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
At least it's not my vibrator.
“Dorothy.That is not a dog toy.”
She licks it.
And then she humps it.
Because of course she does.
I still have Blanche’s squeaky chicken toy in one hand, so I grab for Dickle with the other like I’m performing deranged festive juggling.
“Stop.Humping.Bad.Sex,” I blurt out before realizing the words, strung together, are deeply misleading.
Adam raises an eyebrow.“Bad sex?”
“Not you.I mean—no, not us.I meant the dogs.Sex.Bad.You.Good.”I should really stop speaking.Chuck once told me I was never flustered.Clearly, he was wrong.
Chuck never knew me.And maybe that one’s on me.My brain continues misfiring.“You.Me.Good.I mean I don’t know.For sure.”I drop the chicken.
Adam’s lips twitch.“I wouldn’t be opposed to a demonstration.”
My hand tightens on Dickle the crocheted pickle.
Adam’s gaze flicks down.
To the emergency tote.
Where the velvet pouch has fully given up and the vibrator is no leaning out like it has opinions.
“But let’s start with frostbite and your car first, yeah?”
“Yep.Good.Great.”
“Okay.”
“I have the manual somewhere.”But I’m not looking for the manual.I’m looking at him.And he’s looking at me.
“So, I’m not dreaming.EveNoName123.”My old username rolls off his tongue like a memory.“Here in my town.”
“Hmm-hmm.”At this stage, I should buy a thesaurus.Instead, I wave Dickle in the air, and finally lean forward, pretending to search for the manual, when my car’s stereo awakens: “For Christmas, I’m going to devour you until you scream my name,tesoro,”the deep-voiced narrator purrs.
Shit.
I pressVolume Down,but the narrator surges louder: “His calloused hands trail up my thighs and when his tongue…”
I jab at one button.Another one.Come on.The volume blasts as Adam watches, his jaw clenching.“…slides against my very core and the moan I let out has him smiling as he looks up.‘You’re going to come for me right here, with your pretty tits pressed against these Christmas windows while the snow falls outside—”
Crap.
I punchthe radio.The plastic cracks, and my car wheezes its last breath.
Fuck.
Adam and I look at each other, and I whisper, “EveniZombiewouldn’t do that to Liv.”And for a split second, I catch a hint of his old smile.Not a ghost.Not a memory.
His expression softens.“You’re really okay.”The relief in his voice has me pressing my lips together, giving him what Chuck labeled myIce-Queenface instead ofthe I-want-a-hugwhimper trapped in my throat.Because hugs can splinter me open like a bone marrow biopsy without anesthesia, and no, thank you, I’ll take anything else on the menu.
“Yeah.”My voice doesn’t crack and my insides are definitely not on the verge of having a meltdown.I got everything under control.“I’m really okay.”
