Christmas Carol

Seriously, what is it with all of these damn Christmas puns?

After a quick shower, I flip on the television and sift through the channels. I must have dozed off, but when I wake up, I’m worried I’m being raided by the damn police. I jerk up, my gaze going to the window where multi-colored lights are flashing and circling. It’s so bright that it makes my damn head hurt. I go to the door to see what in the hell is going on. When I jerk it open there’s my sexy new neighbor holding out a large red container with pictures of snowmen all over it. She’s reaching out as if she’s going to ring the doorbell, but that’s not what catches my attention. What does that is the outfit she’s wearing. It’s a sexy red dress, that’s short on her thighs and trimmed in white fur. She has a Santa hat on and candy cane striped leggings that are glued to her body like a second skin—so close that I wish her tiny dress was even tinier so I could see her ass.

“Oh!” she gasps, her glossy red lips full and inviting form a sexy “o” as the sound escapes. “You scared me,” she laughs. Hell, she’d really be scared if she knew I was wondering if her lipstick would stain my cock and make it shine like her lips do. “Merry Christmas, I wanted to give you a welcome to the neighborhood surprise,” she said handing the container over to me.

“I know how you could really give me a welcome to the neighborhood,” I respond, leaning against the doorframe and hoping like hell she takes me up on my offer.Carol“I… I made you this,” I tell him, flustered because the sexual innuendo he just sent out is hard to ignore. I don’t know how to respond to it. I have this powerful pull toward him. I don’t know how to handle it. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life.

I need to get it under control. He’s apparently renting out Chelle’s home and I can’t have a fling with my neighbor, that would be too complicated… wouldn’t it?

Besides, I’m not the fling type. I never want to be like my mother and that’s all she did. She didn’t devote time to anything—especially her own flesh and blood. That’s probably the main reason I don’t bother with casual relationships. At twenty-seven and despite the way this guy makes my hormones react, I don’t see that changing.

“What is it?” he asks, taking my pretty box.

I’m proud of that box. Actually, I’m proud of my entire catering business. It keeps growing. We’ve been running it out of my sister’s bed and breakfast, but I’ve found a place in town and I’d like to open up a shop. I haven’t approached the subject with Krissy yet, but her bed and breakfast is getting busier and busier. I think this will make it easier. She handles the dessert side of the business for the most part and she can continue doing that from her home. I do the booking and planning, as well as the main courses. I’m a little helpless on the more complicated desserts, but there is one thing I make that seems to be a huge hit. Right now, however, with that look on his face, I’m kind of regretting my decision.

“It’s a uh… homemade pie.”

“Come on in,” he invites, stepping back.

“Well, I don’t want to bother you,” I murmur, wringing my hands together, feeling foolish.

“Don’t be silly. Come in and you can share a piece with me. I don’t have anything but water or whiskey though. I just picked up the essentials at the store on the way here,” he explains.

“Whiskey and water are your essentials?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Well, that and my protein shakes and some fruit, yeah.”

“Oh…”

I remind myself he’s a bachelor and that’s probably normal shopping for a man and then I walk slowly into Chelle’s, carefully closing the door behind me.

“What kind of pie is it?” he asks, and I moisten my lips, swallowing down my nerves.

“Uh…it’s a homemade cherry pie. I don’t do desserts really, just a few things. Sweets are normally my sister’s job, but I have a few things that people seem to like.”

“Is that a fact?” he says and there’s that grin of his again, and I know he’s thinking X-rated thoughts. I don’t know how I know, but I do. It makes my body flush with heat.

“Are you flirting with me?” I ask, too caught off guard to even try to be coy.

“Is that so hard to believe, Bebé?” He doesn’t bother to hide his humor as he serves up two pieces of pie on paper plates. He hands me a fork and he’s got that smirky-grin on his face again.