Page 23 of Christmas Criminal

He nods, and then opens his mouth like he's going to speak and decides against it. Nick and I both naturally wait, seeing if he's going to speak. "I liked building the hut yesterday."

I nod. "Well, thank god you'll be there because I don't think I can lift some of those pieces on my own and lord knows old Mr. Monroe can't do it himself."

"Hey! I'm not old."

"You're the oldest one here," I parry back, noting the small smile on Robbie's lips as we turn and head in the direction of the town square.

"Well, somebody around here has to be an adult," he says, knocking my arm.

"It's called having fun. You should try it sometime."

He shrugs. "I have plenty of fun outside school."

And when I glance at him, he winks.

Hewinks.

What on earth is this man implying?

And why do I so desperately want to be a part of it?

I won't lie–I was poking the bear a little bit yesterday. Talking about swearing while coming and all that bullshit.

But I can't get a read on whether he's into it or not. Warmth trailed down my spine when he implied heknowswhen a woman is orgasming.

Every time he walks me to my car, I feel like the natural closure of our night should involve a good, old-fashioned kiss at the car. Maybe a little groping with some tongue action. Hell, throw a little grinding in there too.

I never got to be the fun girl in high school. I had one relationship that ended with the sharing of a picture that reallydid notneed to be shared.

And thanks to that picture, no one ever wanted to touch me.

And now I keep getting funny warm feelings in my core when he looks in my direction. When he gives me those hidden smiles that Robbie doesn't see or thosewinksthat–I'll be honest–make me salivate.

"Yeah, I bet you have fun outside school by, like, calculating an exact twenty percent tip anytime you eat out."

Oh god. And now I'm thinking about him eating me out.

And taking twenty percent of his tip.

To start, at least.

"I do find it very rewarding to be able to do mental math quickly when I need it," he says. "Though to be fair, recently I've been giving closer to twenty-five percent and rounding to the nearest dollar. I'm really into integers lately."

I look at Robbie and make a gagging face. "Are you hearing this? Really intointegers?"

"And what are you into, sans serif fonts?"

I snort. "Okay, I'm a web designer. I literallyhaveto have an opinion on fonts as part of my job."

"I'm a math teacher. I should enjoy math. I don't think it's all that wild."

I eye him. "You have one of those shirts that says, like,I heart mathor something like that, don't you?"

He narrows his eyes. "If I catch you snooping through my drawers, I'm going to put you in detention again," he tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Jesus Christ, get a room already," Robbie mutters, walking ahead of us to check in with the orange-shirted volunteers.

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