Page 9 of In Stockings
“I want Twinkle to look after me next time.”
“We’re always looking for willing babysitters,” Samson raises a hopeful eyebrow at her.
“I’m a broke nursing student. I’d look after your hound from hell if you paid me. Not that Lyra is a hellhound, obviously.”
“Oh, she can be,” I mutter. Lyra glares at me. “I’m only telling the truth, sweetheart. Astrid needs to know what she’s letting herself in for.”
“Who’s Astrid?”
I roll my eyes as a waitress, with her arms full of pizza, slides plates onto the table.
“Slow,” Archie tells Lyra. “You don’t want to burn your mouth like last time.”
“Ooo nasty,” Astrid says with sympathy.
Lyra picks up a slice from her plate and, after blowing several puffs of air across the surface, takes a large bite. Chewing, she turns to watch Astrid.
Astrid pulls the slices apart with her fingers, licking the grease off her digits and almost short-circuiting my dirty mind. Then she lifts one to her pretty pink mouth and snaps her teeth through the dough.
“Well?’ Lyra asks her once she’s swallowed.
“Well, what?”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s delish!” Astrid says. “Best pizza ever.”
Lyra and Astrid continue to chat as they eat their pizza. They cover the best colours for unicorns before moving on to their favourite princess movies. Next they debate whether Santa shrinks before he climbs down chimneys, and finally discover they both have a love of football.
“I play every Saturday morning,” Lyra tells her proudly.
“I’m not surprised. Your dads were all very good at football at school. Do you still play?” she asks.
“Sunday morning league.”
“I help out.” Lyra twizzles a stringy piece of cheese around her fingers, popping it into her mouth. “I hand out the slices of orange at halftime. Do you play?” she asks Astrid.
“No, I only watch.”
“You should come watch me … and my dads,” she adds after reflection.
Astrid’s cheeks pinken again, and I wonder, just wonder, If she would come to watch us. A domestic parody of perfection plays out in my head – my girls standing by the sidelines, cheering us on. Then all of us going out for hot chocolate before snuggling together on the sofa afterwards. Shit, I’d like to snuggle with Astrid, would like to bury my nose in her neck, suck in her scent and …
“Daddy?”
“Huh?”
“What do elves do on Christmas day when Santa is sleeping?’
“Why is Santa sleeping on Christmas day?”
“Duh, because he’s been up working all night delivering presents.”
“Right. I don’t know. Ask TwinkleToes?”
Lyra looks up at Astrid, hopefully.
“This elf,” she says, sucking on her straw and making my cock stir in my pants, “will be soaking in a long, hot bath with a bottle of Chardonnay and a box of chocolates.”
