Page 20 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“Boyfriend?” I raised an eyebrow.

“You did say you wanted to sleep with me, not date me,” he reminded me. “You might, I don’t know, have a boyfriend. I’ve had girls go out with me because they just wanted to… scratch an itch.”

“No wonder it’s so hard to get a man if bitches are out here with three of them,” I muttered then moved one of the obnoxious Christmas candles out of the way before it caught my sweater on fire. “Look, no. I sleep with one guy at a time. That’s enough for me. I have a job and family obligations. I cannot be juggling a reverse harem. The bed only held me and my Rudolph pillow.”

“Is that some weird”—Ryder searched for a PG word—“sexual innuendo?”

“You’re thinking of the rabbit, which is a vibrator.”

His cheeks went red. “Oh!”

He looked down at the mound of greenery on the tiny table and grimaced. “Maybe the guys were right. It has been a while since I’ve been on a date. I’m out of practice,” he said to himself.

Since he wasn’t looking at me, I felt safe to smile at Ryder. He was adorable.

His back straightened, and he rolled his shoulders, sending all that muscle under the frankly sinfully tight gray T-shirt rippling.

I wished I’d gotten a better peek at the Christmas package in the black jeans before I’d sat down.

“What are the magic words?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Like, what do I have to say to get you to take me home and fuck me into your mattress?” I rested my chin on my hand.

“I—that’s—I don’t do that on the first date,” the hockey player sputtered.

The waitress came by, saving him, and I ordered Ryder another beer and a Christmas Cosmo for me, extra vodka.

“Don’t tell coach I’m having two beers,” Ryder said, like a guilty kid who’d peeked at his Christmas presents.

“Ooh, two whole beers.”

“Do you always do that?” The handsome face scowled.

“Do what?”

“Mock whatever people say.”

“Only for hot guys.” I winked at him. “You gotta take them down a peg, or they just run ragged all over town. Entitled little shits.” I laughed when he winced. “You’re so cute when you’re offended.”

“You’re negging me,” he said accusingly.

“I’m negging you?” I drawled.

“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s a terribly offensive dating tactic. Putting someone down so they try and overcompensate to make the other person like them.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I blew him a kiss. “It’s just because you’re the captain of a team I hate. If I was actually negging you, you’d be curled up under the table,” I said as the waitress brought our drinks.

Ryder glared at me over his beer.

“Hey! Don’t knock it! It’s actually gotten me in the bed of many a hot Manhattan finance bro, though”—I tapped my chin—“in hindsight, they may have had a humiliation kink.” I sipped my drink thoughtfully.

“Well, I don’t neg women or—”

“Humiliate them when you fuck them?” I laughed into my drink.

“Sincerity is nice.” Ryder looked right at me then, trapping me in the intense blue of his eyes. Like an ancient glacier lake, they were that kind of cold, pure blue that steals your breath and reminds you that you are alive.

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