Jingle Ball

She unwound her scarf and tossed it on the back of her chair. “It is Christmas, so I suppose I could. Why didn’t you go to Maine?”

He jerked a shoulder. “I wanted to stay here.”

“Alone?”

“Maybe I’ll come over to your place,” he said, surprised when her lips pursed. He wasn’t serious, but he also hadn’t expected her to look so dismayed at the idea. “Unless you have big plans.”

“Nothing special.” As she pulled out the plastic utensils and napkins, she frowned at the nutcracker on the counter. “You really like those things? Music boxes?”

“I like them well enough. Why?”

“Those tinny songs always made me sad.” She shrugged and sat at her desk.

“Want me to turn it off?” Though she didn’t answer, he did it anyway then turned on her radio. “Better?”

She pushed one of the soup cartons his way and offered him a small smile that never reached her eyes. “Much.”

He sat down across from her at her desk and reached for his steaming cup of soup. She’d given him the squash. “Smells delicious. Here,” he said, scooping up some and holding it out to her with his other hand cupped beneath. “You should get the first sample.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“I think we both know I’m not.” His cock went painfully hard at the flare of heat that blossomed across her face as her lips slid over the spoon. “Good?”

Nodding, she made a show of ripping open a packet of crackers. “Want?”

He couldn’t stop staring at the subtle undulation of her throat while she swallowed. Good God, he was losing it. “Yes.” Her head bobbed up at his low, hungry tone. “I want.”

She quickly changed the subject to something safe, and he didn’t try to guide them back to more dangerous territory. It was just as well they keep things semi-professional. Or as professional as things could be when he couldn’t stand up for fear of revealing his hard-on.

Their lunch lasted all afternoon. The conversational topics ranged from work to friends to holiday traditions to random shit like their favorite TV shows. They were debating the pros and cons of the Giants versus the Bills when the phone rang. Wendy immediately reached for it, but he covered it with his hand. “It’s past three on Christmas Eve. Let it go to voicemail.”

“But—”

“As your boss, I insist you keep entertaining me with your devoted assurances that the Bills could actually win a Super Bowl someday.” He grinned and waved at her to continue. “As you were saying?”

The next time the phone rang it was almost five, and it was pitch black outside. “Shit.” She bounced to her feet as if she hadn’t realized it was so late. “I should get home.”

He nodded. “Your mom will be waiting.”

“Oh, she’s got her own plans tonight.” She fluffed her hair over her scarf and laughed, but he heard the sadness behind the sound. “She’s heading to my aunt’s. They’re going to snuggle in with some movies and eggnog.”

“What about you?”

“I’m staying home.”

“Alone?”

“I want to. Really.” She grabbed her coat and was about to slip it on when he rounded the desk to do the honors. “See?” she asked breathlessly. “Told you that you were a gentleman.”

He lingered with his hands on her shoulders longer than he needed to. Damn, her hair smelled as fresh as the inside of an icicle and as sweet as a candy cane.

Oh, fuck, he did not need to think about candy canes. Not when she was smiling at him in the twinkling glow from the tree, her eyes deep and dark and way too aware of the energy all but pulsating between them.

“I’m not going to argue, because that would just be redundant.” He lifted her ponytails over her coat and swallowed at the spill of her red hair. Once, just once, he wanted to see it across his pillow.

Laughing softly, she grabbed the lapels of his shirt and leaned up to press her mouth to his. She tasted of her peach iced tea and moved back way too soon. “Merry Christmas, Des.”

“Merry Christmas, Wen.”