Page 71 of Missiletoe
“As long as they stay outside. I don’t allow weapons inside the shelter.”
The memory of the time Vale called me a walking weapon of mass destruction nudged itself against my imaginary knee, and I kicked it underneath the coffee table of my soul.
I am NOT a weapon.
I only make them.
And since I’m a responsible weapon maker, I said, “Of course! I’m not blowing up any of our children. Scout’s honor.” I put my hand up in what I thought a Boy Scout salute should look like.
Paris snatched me right off my feet and started kissing the daylights out of me, so that probably meant I’d nailed the salute.
Love interrupted our quality face-sucking moment, saying, “Before you fix up the shelter, you should probably fix the house, boss. Between Adam and Paris, our defense grid is shot.”
“What did this Adam guy do?” Paris asked.
Love answered before I got a chance to, probably because I was still mid-swoon. “He used his shitty luck to pay Gareth and Vale back for using Apple to kick you out last night. He took half of our defense grid down. If he hadn’t, you never would have snuck past me.”
“Ugh, that’ll be a bitch to repair,” I said. “But I’m not going to complain. I might even make Adam a less ugly car like he’s been begging me to do. His luck is so bad he requires a very safe vehicle to ride around in, but I was in a hurry when I made it, so it looks a bit eccentric.” I said this last bit to Paris to help bring him up to speed on the Adam situation.
I tried to pace back and forth and blushed when I realized I couldn’t because I was still hanging in Paris’s arms. Instead of walking back and forth, I was only waving my legs fruitlessly in the air. I wiggled and squirmed from embarrassment, but Paris didn’t put me down. Instead, I got a head kiss and a squeeze.
“When do you need to work on your house? I can have a volunteer to cover for me when you do it so I can help you fix it.” Paris finally set me down and fished his phone out of his pocket.
“Aw, you don’t have to do that. I can fix it by myself.” I was feeling virtuous until a flash of Paris in a tank top and a tool belt popped into my mind, and I shouted, “I mean, no, I can’t! I will require your manly arms and mouse army because I am very small and require a lot of assistance doing the things.” I threw in the part about the mouse army so Paris wouldn’t feel objectified and would know that I valued him for more than his juicy butt.
“Boss, there’s something weird—”
“Oh thanks, Love. I forgot about the stalker too.” And it would have been my go-to argument to make Paris stay with me to help fix my house if I hadn’t had my brain scrambled by Paris’s dick so many times in the past twelve hours.
“No, I really think—”
“Paris, you can’t go anywhere until we find your stalker, so you should call your volunteers and have them cover for you over the next few days. Plus, we need to work out security for the shelter just in case…” I mumbled to myself and started pacing for real now that my feet were on the ground once more.
I continued to pace and make notes in my phone while Paris finished his call. Love kept trying to interrupt, and I told her to bother Gareth because my brain was doing Big Things.
“My volunteer says she’s got it covered for the next few days,” Paris announced, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He moved to pick me up again, and I skipped out of his reach with a laugh.
“I’ve got legs, you know. Useful ones, even.”
“I know, but I like how you feel in my arms, bunny.”
“Boss, this is starting to look bad…”
“I’ll get muscle atrophy and be unable to get my own waffles.” I inched closer to Paris until I could nudge my hip against him.
“I could bring you all the waffles you want—”
“Stop flirting, assholes. The house is on fucking fire!”
“Fire? Did Adam try to cook again?” I asked. If he had, it was a given that the house would be on fire. Even with Apple in the kitchen, Adam cooking anything had an eighty percent chance of starting a fire. It used to be one hundred, so it was a lot better now, but even Apple’s luck was only so strong in the face of Adam cooking.
“It’s outside, not inside,” Love announced.
“Oh shit.”
“Oh crap.”
“Your stalker.”
