Page 21 of Christmas Criminal

"You're a fucking badass," Noelle spouts, a big grin on her face. And then she starts, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, shoot. Sorry. But I think that if I get one more accidental expletive for the night, that one is worth it."

Robbie shrugs, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile.

I roll my eyes. "You did well," I say. "I agree with Noelle's sentiment despite her potty mouth."

She shrugs, grinning again. "I wonder if there's a job that's, like, doing that, but bigger."

"Foreman," Robbie says.

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that what you want to be?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"Because I think you'd be good at it."

He glances up at me but doesn't say anything else.

And then the orange-shirted volunteer speaks. "You guys are looking good. Thanks for helping us out today."

"Thanks for having us," I say, nodding.

We gather up our things and the three of us walk back to the school together. Robbie is quiet but he doesn't seem upset. Introspective, maybe. Noelle yawns and stretches, rubbing at a spot on her arm that she knocked when trying to drill one side of the hut together.

She's cute when she's exhausted.

I knock that thought from my head as quickly as it enters.

Robbie calls a friend for a ride as we walk, and when we get back to the school, Noelle and I wait on the stairs out front for his ride to arrive. He stands on the curb, looking out over the parking lot like his vigilance might inspire his friend to drive faster.

"So, same time tomorrow?" I ask Noelle, leaning against the concrete side of the staircase.

She lets out a long breath. "Same time tomorrow," she agrees.

A car careens into the parking lot, music blaring, and comes to a stop in front of Robbie.With a quick wave behind him, he clambers inside and zips off with his buddy.

Noelle stands once he's gone, stifling a yawn in her elbow as she heads toward her car.

As I've taken to doing, I walk with her. I don't know why–this school is a safe place, even at night, but when I think aboutwaving to her over my shoulder and diverting off to my own car, something about it feels completely wrong. Like I'm shirking my duty to make sure everybody here gets to their transportation in one piece.

It must be the teacher in me.

I sigh as we walk, both relieved and nervous about finally being alone with her. She hands me her timecard, and I scribble incoherently across it like I've done every other day.

When I hand it back to her, she gives me a dainty smile with eyes full of warning.

"Fuckity fucking shit stain dickhole twat waffle," she says, catching my eye and grinning.

I blink. Points for creativity. "So that's really been building up, huh?"

She shrugs. "So what's your determination: orgasming or not?"

I purse my lips because Iwantto laugh.

But I know she's baiting me again.

"Goodnight, Criminal."

She rolls her eyes as she tugs her car door open and slips inside. "Goodnight, Saint Nick."

---