Page 83 of Christmas Criminal

Nick tugs our hands into his chest, pulling me along with them, and kisses me. "You make me feel like a teenager again," he says.

"What, never-ending boners?"

"Exactly." He hums. "Plus maybe a little bit of giddiness. A little bit of optimism about what might come from this."

I swallow, his words bringing me right back into all of my concerns about makingthis–whateverthisis–work longer than a season.

"I feel that way, too, with you," I say. While I have my concerns, what I say is absolutely true.There's no one quite like you.

He kisses me again, as if cementing our confessions.

And when he pulls away, he glances over my shoulder and clears his throat. "Uh, I think we have company."

My brow furrows, and I glance behind me.

Only to see my mom and sister, shit-eating grins on both of their faces.

"Oh, didn't see you there," Christina says, scooting over to us. "So is this what they call community service nowadays? Making out with the math teacher?"

I roll my eyes. "Christina! My community service is over."

"And you decided to stay in town regardless?" She turns to Nick, her eyes flashing with delight. "Wow, you must have made quite the impact."

He shrugs as he nudges me with his elbow. "I think somebody likes Christmas a little more than she lets on."

I scowl at him, my finger rising to point at him. "Don't say things you can't back up in a court of law."

His head tips back with his laughter, Christina and my mom following suit.

"Nick, nice to see you," my mom says. "I'm glad to see you're getting along with my daughter." She reaches out to pet my hair, and I feel the urge to crawl up into a tiny ball and rock back and forth. She turns to me. "It's so nice to have you here around Christmas, even if it's not withmespecifically." She turns to Nick again. "I swear, as a mom, you can feel when your kids are nearby." She pats his shoulder. "You guys will understand one day."

"Mom!" Christina's laughter is uncontrollable.

Nick, to his credit, nods. "I understand the sentiment."

Good fucking answer, Saint Nick.

"So, what are your plans for Christmas?" my mom asks Nick.

And I have a feeling I already know where this is going, but it's not a train that I think I can surreptitiously derail.

He pauses for a moment, as if considering his answer carefully. "I usually spend Christmas at a friend's house."

My mom nods. "Well, we would love to have you if you have any time over the holiday. My house is always open. And I'm sure Noelle would appreciate the company." She winks at me.

I close my eyes. "Mom, you've got to be kidding me."

"That would be lovely," he says. "Thank you for the invite." He opens his mouth like he's going to continue–maybe weave some sort of excuse that would get him out of Christmas at the nuthouse–when my sister screeches.

"Dad!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," my mom mutters. A quick puff of laughter escapes Nick. I roll my eyes, begrudgingly turning to where my sister is tackling him in a hug, his two teenagers flanking him on either side.

When he sees us, he heads our way, Christina doing a little loop and scooting along beside him.

"Ladies," he greets us, somewhat apprehensively.

"Dad," I say, even though I'd really rather refer to him as 'Sperm Donor.'

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