Page 9 of Christmas Criminal

"I dressed for painting," she says, gesturing to the minuscule tank top she had been hiding underneath. She drops thesweatshirt on the ground on top of her bag, and I have to force my eyes to anywhere but that thin line of cleavage that's now exposed.

Her shirt is covered in little specks of paint, and what looks like a hand print on one side.

A hand print that is far too large to be her own.

A spike of jealousy zips through me from my caveman brain.

I'm not thinking of her like that. I'm not attracted to her. I'm supposed to be helping her.

But god, the curve of her waist is absolutely riveting. The way her shirt bunches there. The tiny sliver of skin that shows between her shirt and her leggings.

And now she's tying her hair up, her arms above her head as she makes one of those messy buns that are always fifty percent adorable and fifty percent sensual.

Maybe she's trying to kill me. That must be it.Maybe she knows my weakness for small brunettes and someone has sent her here to take me out once and for all.

She raises her eyebrows. "That cool with you?"

"Hm?" I ask, accidentally starting my drill again and jumping at the noise.

"If I start with the paint?" She nods to it. "Unless you need help with your little drill?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I can drill just fine on my own."

Noelle loses herself in painting.She takes care of the worn areas quickly, but as we take a step back to look at the fresh coat, we realize that after years of use, the fresh paint of the same color doesn't match the worn areas.

So she kneels down again and drags the brush to the corners of the float in an attempt to hide the difference in color. I've finished my stair repair at this point, and there's only one brush, so I'm stuck waiting until she's done. And my eyes are drawn to her. The way her body stretches to paint the far corners. She's on her hands and knees, and my eyes are drawn to the way her body moves back and forth. How perfectly mine would frame hers.

When I snap back into my brain, I force myself to think about how else we can use our time today.

"I'm going to run out to pick up some lunch. What do you want?" I ask.

Her head snaps up, brush hovering over the float. "Um. Some sort of salad maybe? Where are you getting it from?"

I shrug. "I was going to run to a Wawa. Do they have a salad you like?"

She nods. "Chicken caesar?" She scrambles up from where she's kneeling to reach into her bag.

"Don't worry about it. You can get lunch next time."

"Oh," she says. "Well, thanks."

"You good to hold down the fort?"

She nods, returning to her painting. "I'll keep slaving away."

I take a good look at the floor before I leave, scrunching up my brow as I gaze at her work. She pauses when she sees me and sits back on her ankles. "What?"

I point vaguely in the direction of the far end, where she can't get to unless she wants to step in fresh paint or dangle over the side of the float and say, "You missed a spot over there," before zipping along the side of the float and out the door into the school.

Just as the door shuts behind me, I hear her shout, "Where?" A second later, as I'm speeding down the hallway, she shrieks. "Nick! What spot?"

Nothing could prepareme for the sight I walk into when I return with my bag of food from Wawa.

She's hanging over one side of the float, angry-painting the spot I gestured to vaguely before I left. She found a step stool somewhere to hoist herself up over the edge, but now she dangles there, balancing by her hips with the paint can perched on the ledge of the float.

"Well fuck, it took you long enough!" she says, her foot moving in a small circle as she searches for the step stool. "I can't get this stupid spot. I don't know if the material is just, like, paint-safe or something but I've literally been painting this since you left and it won't freakingstick!"

Uh oh. Sounds like I've angered the pixie.

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