The Holiday List (The Script Club 4)

I’d sucked my neighbor’s dick. Yes, that was crude and base terminology, but it was accurate and sounded better than willfully suctioning his johnson. Of course, he’d been an active participant. Those were his fingers in my hair and his deep, sexy voice humming in approval.

Honestly, the whole episode was the stuff of my wildest fantasies.

But it was also very imprudent.

By the time I’d gotten home—post BJ—I’d been in a state of utter panic. Thank God I hadn’t run into one of my roommates. They would have known I’d been up to no good. And I wouldn’t have been able to deny it. I couldn’t understand how I’d succumbed to temptation so fast. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. I couldn’t rationalize my behavior. I’d arrived with a list of holiday to-dos and had ended up on my knees.

I’d vowed to keep my distance, but I couldn’t do that and fulfill my quest to bring cheer to his home. It would be rude to walk away. I had strong willpower; I could certainly keep my lustful inclinations in check and stick to the script. The holiday list, I mean.

One week later, I’d failed.

I’d spent almost every evening of the past week at the Rooney household. Ugh. I couldn’t help it. It would have been remiss to ignore Lincoln’s pleas for scientific guidance. The kid liked me, and the world needed curious minds.

But Lincoln wasn’t going to Mammoth. I was going to be alone in a car with Sam Rooney for five whole hours. I couldn’t believe I’d suggested driving together. I wasn’t sure I’d survive it without embarrassing myself.

Judging by Asher’s expression, it might be too late for that.

Asher straightened his blue bow tie and narrowed his eyes in concern. “You’re a good guy, Chet.”

Debatable.

“Ha. Well, I don’t know about that.”

“You’ve gone out of your way to dive in and help out at the house and in the neighborhood. And we appreciate it. I’m sure Sam does too. But…be careful.”

My lips froze in a crooked approximation of a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

I hoped.

Sam wasn’t a morning person. That was okay. I didn’t expect stimulating conversation before sunrise. I’d hoped for a less cantankerous copilot, however. I suspected our early departure hit a little harder without coffee. He was awake but still packing when I rang his doorbell at five forty-five. He also hadn’t preset his coffeemaker and couldn’t locate his to-go thermos.

Needless to say, an un-caffeinated, sleep-deprived Sam was a cranky man.

“How do you survive without Bluetooth? I thought it automatically came in every vehicle.”

I spared him a sideways glance. “Perhaps, but I acquired my Highlander ten years ago. It was used…or gently used, as the ad stated. Amenities have changed considerably over the past decade.”

Sam sat upright and smacked his hand on the console. “This thing is older than my kid?”

“Much older,” I confirmed, changing lanes to get out of the way of faster-moving traffic.

“I never would have known. It’s in pristine condition.”

“Thank you for noticing.”

“Hmm. Is it safe?”

I scoffed as I changed lanes again. “Of course, it is. I take very good care of my belongings and hard-earned purchases.”

“Good to know.” He sighed deeply, then twisted in his seat to face me. Or tried, anyway. He hissed when he jarred his shoulder. “Grr.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “I’m just…”

“Cranky,” I supplied.

“I’m not cranky.”

“Yes, you are. And while I understand your predicament and I sympathize with your plight, I really must insist that you take ibuprofen. For my sake, if not yours.” I added that parting shot under my breath.

Sam snorted. “I heard that.”

“Sorry.”

“Hmph. I can’t get to my stuff anyway. My bag is in the back. I’ll unearth it when we stop for gas. And more coffee.”

“That’s not necessary. I have Advil in the first aid kit in the pouch behind your seat.” I spared him another brief glance. “Can you reach it?”

He gave it a shot, but the angle was awkward. “No, but you can. I’ll hold the wheel while you lean over.”

“Hold the wheel?” I repeated incredulously. “We’ll die!”

Sam chuckled lightly. “We’ll be perfectly fine. Keep your foot on the pedal and—”

I shook my head adamantly. “No way. No chance. You’ll just have to suffer. But you’re not allowed to take your bad mood out on me. I’m the one doing you a friendly holiday service. Behave or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll be sorely tempted to let you walk the rest of the way to Mammoth.”

“Well, I might actually get there first,” he retorted. “Is there a reason you’re letting every other car pass us?”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m going the speed limit.”

“You’re allowed to go faster, Chet.”

“A speed limit isn’t a suggestion, it’s a rule. No, it’s a law. I have no desire whatsoever to get a ticket. I’d prefer to maintain an unblemished record with the DMV, thank you very much. And I would also prefer that you stop speaking. Your agitation and tension are giving me a stomachache.”