Page 143 of Holiday Hire

"Wear whatever you want…or nothing," I suggest, feeling giddy.

She wags her finger in front of me, reprimanding, "Uh-uh-uh, that wouldn't be appropriate now, would it?"

I chuckle. "Only if we're at the house with no one else."

She questions, "So what is the attire?"

"Whatever you want. It'll be at a bar, so wear something similar to what you wore when we went to the racetrack, okay? Unless you're dying to slide into something besides jeans."

She winces, admitting, "I don't have anything besides jeans and casual stuff."

"Perfect. We're going somewhere casual, so no need to worry. Besides"—I glance around, then lower my voice—"you look hot in anything you wear. Or don't wear." I wink again.

She nudges me with her elbow. "I'll see you at seven."

"Sounds good."

I watch her walk away, staring at her ass and thinking about how much I want to bend her over tonight until she makes those noises I love so much.

The rest of the day seems to drag by. Every moment of it, I spend thinking of Phoebe, excited about our date but also pumped she'll be able to stay in my bed until morning.

And, I know it sounds corny, but I really like Christmas trivia. I love the holidays. You can't be a Cartwright and not love them. Yet, ever since my wife died years ago, things haven't been as happy as they used to be. This year, I feel happy for the first time since before she got cancer and passed away.

Since Phoebe has come into my life, the typical, normal stress hasn't felt so intense. She's always making me smile or laugh, even when we have to be platonic in front of the others. And true happiness isn't something I've felt in years.

When it's quitting time, I go into the house. She's in the bathroom, but the door's locked, and she won't let me in. So I go into my en suite and shower. When I come out, she's standing at the window, staring out.

I step behind her, put my arm around her body, and splay my hands across her thighs. I kiss her neck.

She shivers slightly and turns her head.

"You smell good and look good," I admit, my gaze darting to her lips.

Her beautiful face lights up. She teases, "Well, that's good. It'd be a crappy date if you thought I looked bad and smelled bad."

I chuckle. "Very true." I give her a quick kiss. "You ready to go?"

"Bring on the Christmas trivia," she chirps, pumping her fist in the air.

I chuckle, leading her to the car, careful not to get too close to her. I hate that I have to be conscious about our closeness, but I don't know who's watching.

We get to the truck and I open the passenger door. She gets in, and I go around, practically prancing, reminding myself not to look so jolly, but it's hard. I slide into the driver's seat, and we make our way into town.

She inquires, "So, is this Christmas trivia a serious thing? Like, is everyone in town involved, and the stakes are high?"

"Something like that."

"Are we on the same team?"

"No. Opposite teams. Remember, if I win, I lick your pussy. If I lose, I lick your pussy," I remind her.

She laughs. "Oh yeah, I forgot."

"You forgot? I guess I need to do a better job at licking your pussy."

Her face turns red and she slaps my bicep.

I chuckle.

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