He had to laugh, though the sound crackled in his chest. “Thank your mom and dad for inviting me. And don’t forget the presents I gave you for them.”
Cole rolled his eyes and straightened his reindeer Christmas vest. His mother had knitted it for him and he hated it with a fiery passion. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t wear it to make her happy, sap that he was. “Yeah, yeah. Already in my trunk.”
Des rose and stuck out his hand. “Have a great time.”
Cole grunted and walke
d around the desk then wrapped him in a bear hug. “Call if you need some company. Stubborn motherfucker.”
With that, he was gone.
Des sat back in his chair and glanced at the ticking clock above his bookshelves. Only one-sixteen. They’d given Van and Wendy the afternoon off, but only Van had taken them up on it. Wen had insisted she’d be happy to close the office on her own and had just left to get her lunch from the deli down the street. She’d probably be unpleasantly surprised to find Des waiting when she got back, since she’d assumed he’d be leaving with Cole.
To give himself something to do, he walked into the reception area and turned on the Christmas tree. The blue and silver twinkle lights helped beat back the dismal winter’s day, as did the little musical globe on the front counter. The nutcracker inside drummed his way through a traditional Christmas classic, stomping up clouds of flaky fake snow.
The door opened and he glanced over his shoulder at Wendy. She stood in the doorway with her hair in twin auburn ponytails, her cheeks flushed bright pink from the cold. Snow dusted the shoulders of her cheery red coat and melted on her rosy lips. “Des. You’re still here.”
He dipped his hands in his pockets. Even the defiant gleam of her eyes didn’t reduce her utter aloneness. “I decided not to go.” He helped her offload the paper sacks she juggled. “What is all this?”
“I kinda went overboard. It’s my own Christmas feast.” She shut the door, her cheeks reddening even more as he unpacked her lunch. “Both kinds of soup sounded good so I got a small of each and half of a turkey and cranberry sandwich. Have you eaten?”
“No.” He unwrapped her pickle and bit in. “What kinds of soup?”
“Butternut Squash and Wild Rice with Eggplant.”
“Both vegetarian. I think you should share.”
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.”