Page 6 of Mistletoe Mischief

He locked his vehicle and waited as she retrieved her purse and phone from her own car. Then, hand in hand, they walked along the snow-covered pavement to the entrance to her building. They climbed the steps to the second floor, and he held her purse as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

Roger couldn’t get enough of touching her. He helped her remove her coat and hung it on the wall next to the door, then slowly drew the scarf from around her neck. There was a satisfied smile on her face that he loved, and he wanted it to stay there all night just so that he could look at it. The tears were gone and he wanted them to stay gone.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked him eventually, when the silence stretched out. “I’m a little chilled and in the mood for hot chocolate.”

Roger grinned. “I haven’t had hot chocolate for years. That sounds perfect for tonight.”

Cassandra turned to walk away, and he allowed himself to watch her go. She was not a skinny woman, not by any means, and her body made him salivate. She had a body built to satisfy a man, with substantial hips and breasts that would spill over his hands. Roger wanted to explore her and find what made her happy, what made her giggle. He especially wanted to know what would make her cry out his name in pleasure. Just the thought made his body harden. He’d been fighting it all night, but every time she’d touched him his blood had heated.

It was too soon to be this attracted to her. He shook his head and tried to regain control of himself again.

“Make yourself at home,” she called to him from the kitchen.

Roger took her at her word and after kicking his boots off at the door, walked into her living room. The entire space wasn’t very big, looked to only be a single bedroom. Pretty spare but the furniture was well-made and clean. There was a small, two-foot Christmas tree on a table by the window. Not very big, but it glittered with lights and tinsel.

The tree made him sad, because it didn’t sound like she had any family around since her brother had died. She’d put the tree up in spite of the fact that no one would see it except her. Another important insight into her heart. She was hopeful. And she believed in Christmas spirit.

There was a wall of framed photos, dedicated to a young man, obviously her brother. Some of the pics were of earlier years, hanging out with friends, but as Roger moved across the wall the young man changed, and the focus of his life sharpened. There was a graduation picture in maroon cap and gown where he stood proudly holding up his diploma, Cass stood beside him beaming. Roger thought she looked just as proud as the young man.

There was another picture of him standing beside a sporty red car, keys in hand, pride shining in his young face. Then there were pictures of basic training. Looked like he had been sent to Ft. Leonard Wood in Missouri. And it looked like Andre had fit in well, from the story he read the pictures on the wall.

When young men left an urban environment, it was a real shock to the system to be thrust into the dirt and sweat and pain of basic training. Roger was glad that Andre had apparently done well.

At the end of the cluster of pictures were two that made his stomach clench in recognition of shared experiences he and Andre had each had, separate places, separate times but the same even so. They were of Andre in Afghanistan. In the first he was dismantling an M4 carbine, and laughing at someone out of camera view. He’d been a good-looking young man. Basic had slimmed him down and given his strong face definition.

In the second picture it took him a minute to find Andre, because he was standing with about ten other men in complete desert gear in front of a Humvee, weapons held loosely at their sides.

Roger had a picture very similar on his own wall. When you fought overseas like that, the men you fought with became your family. You wanted to commemorate those good times, to balance out the bad.

The date at the bottom of that last picture was a little over three years ago. It must have been taken just before Andre died. What a terrible loss.

Roger circled back around the room and sank down onto the comfortable looking couch. Oh, yeah, he could totally chill here.

Cassandra made little noises as she worked, and he thought she might have been humming something. Pans clinked and water ran. Then he heard a refrigerator door open and close. He realized she was making the cocoa from scratch. Damn. Now that was dedication … and would be delicious.

Roger sighed as the couch wrapped around him, making his eyelids heavy. The anxiety and tension from anticipating the blind date and then the actual meet up faded away. He hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been.

The Christmas tree glittered, the only source of light in the room other than the glow from the kitchen.

He shut his eyes, just for a moment.

* * *

Cass peekedinto the living room to ask him if he wanted some Bailey’s Irish Cream in his mug, but she caught herself. Roger had tipped his head against the back of the couch and appeared to be asleep.

“Roger,” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She tried again, a little louder. “Roger?”

Nothing.

Damn! He’d fallen asleep on her couch? She’d only been in the kitchen a few minutes.

Grinning, she returned to the kitchen to shut off the stove. He wouldn’t be drinking any cocoa in the near future.

She was a little torn now though. Should she wake him up just kinda accidentally? Or should she just let him sleep?

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