Page 90 of The Christmas Fix
There was a thud from the kitchen followed by some colorful swearing.
“Sure sounds like her,” Mellody observed, wandering into the living room and picking up a size seven work boot.
“I don’t know what the etiquette is for this,” Noah admitted. “I don’t want Sara to think…”
Mellody waved away his concerns. “Noah. You’re an adult. A good one. Relax. It’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want her to think casual sex is the right answer to—”
Sara thundered down the stairs, textbook triumphantly aloft. “Found it!”
“Great. Now let’s go write an essay about Patrick Henry,” Mellody said with feigned enthusiasm.
“You okay, Dad? You look kinda sweaty,” Sara observed.
“All good. Everything’s fine. I’m fine,” Noah choked out.
“Are you sure?” Sara gave him the suspicious eye.
He felt like a teenager caught trying to sneak in after curfew.
“Hey, whose jeans are those?” Sara asked, pointing at the couch.
Mellody clamped a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Come on babe, your dad looks like he could use some rest,” Mellody announced, pushing Sara toward the door.
“Bye, Dad!” Sara called over her shoulder as she was hustled out of the house.
“Bye, Noah.” Mellody gave him an exaggerated wink as she closed the door behind her.
“Bye,” Noah said to no one.
He laid a hand over his pounding heart and took a moment to breathe. Nearly busted by a 12-year-old. That was something new and horrific for him.
He didn’t want Sara to get the impression that casual sex was a good, safe option. He’d prefer if she stuck with abstinence until around thirty. People tended to make better choices after thirty. Himself for instance. He’d just hooked up with Catalina King, the sexiest woman on the planet… who, judging from the noise, was hiding in his pantry.
He pulled the door open, and Cat hid behind an outstretched t-shirt.
“It’s me,” he said, wondering if the situation was actually funny or if he was just hysterical.
Cat glared at him. “Are they gone?” she asked. Her underwear was on backwards. Her thermal shirt gave enough away for Noah to notice she hadn’t found her bra in the living room, and he counted his lucky stars that Sara hadn’t spotted it. Her hair was a wild mess of finger combed snarls.
“They’re gone.”
She pushed past him muttering about pants and boots.
“Cat, where are you going?”
She whirled on him in the hallway. “I don’t hide, Noah. I’m not something to be ashamed of.”
She yanked her jeans off the sofa and pulled them on with violence.
“Hang on!”
She grabbed a boot and Noah wrestled it out of her grip. She couldn’t very well leave the house with no shoes.
“Gimmie the boot, Noah,” she ordered.
“Sit your ass down first and talk,” he countered.
