Page 89 of Christmas Criminal

But he wouldn't be happy.

He wants to teach at a nice school in a nice community, and despite that not being my experienceat all, it's his.

And he deserves that, after everything he's gone through.

As I drive home, my mind runs off without me. I got myself involved with someone sweet–an actualgoodguy–from a place that I absolutelyhate.What was I thinking?

Because now that I'm driving away from him, I feel a little tug on my heart with every mile.

Like the distance is too much.

I never intended to fall for someone like him. In fact, I don't think I've reallyconsidereddating anyone since college. I've had an array of sexual experiences that might border on enjoyable, but I've never felt likethis. He makes me see stars when he touches me but also validates all of my harsh feelings about this town. He tries to cross out the terrible things that happened to me in high school by rewriting them with better experiences.

As much as I hate the town he lives in, I'm not sure I can leave him behind with it.

When I finally get to my apartment, Christina is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, wrapping presents while Christmas music plays through our bluetooth speaker. She grins when she sees me come in, but quickly shoves the present underneath the coffee table.

"Let me guess. Another of your famous scarves," I say, as I shrug off my jacket and leave it on the rack by the door.

She narrows her eyes at me. "You canactlike you're surprised."

"Oh, I will. Christmas morning, I'll act like it's the most exciting gift I've ever received in my life. And I'll also act like I wasn't sitting on the other half of the couch while you knit most of it."

She huffs. "Well, consider yourself lucky to be getting one."

I collapse into the couch, throwing my feet up on the opposite side, and give her a sincere smile. "I do consider myself very lucky to have a brand new Christina Christmas scarf every year. It's my favorite thing about Christmas."

Her brow furrows. "What?"

I shrug. "I love your scarves. You always pick some fuzzy wool that's not scratchy or anything. And they're always fun colors. I think I have every single one you've given me, besides that one we learned wecan'twash."

She crinkles her nose. "Yeah, that was not our best decision-making."

She scrambles up from the floor, her walking stunted by the gigantic cast she still has on one leg. I move my legs so she can plop down on the couch where they are, and she rests it on the coffee table in front of us. I drop my legs into her lap.

"So what's got you suddenly so thankful for Christina Christmas scarves?" she asks.

I shrug, pursing my lips because I'm not sure how much to tell her.

She raises her eyebrows. "Maybe a certain math teacher who happens to love Christmas too?"

"I do not love Christmas."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, Grinch. Is it him?"

I sit up, eyeing her as I cross my legs.

"I like him."

"Certainly seemed like it with the way your tongue was shoved down his throat."

"Christina!"

"What? I'm just saying, that was borderline pornographic. And in the town square, no less."

"You know what? I'm not talking to you about this," I say, turning to get up but quickly being blocked by a cast swinging toward me.

"You sit," she says. "You have an unfair speed advantage right now, but I won't hesitate to knock you in the head with this thing, and I swear it'll hurt."

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