Page 49 of Crave Me

“Favorite candy?” he asks.

“Twizzlers Pull ‘n’ Peel, on the rare occasion I eat candy. You?”

“Twix bars. Favorite music genre?”

“Post Malone.”

“That’s not a genre.”

“I will fight you on this. He can do any and all genres, so he is a whole genre himself. Don’t knock him because my claws will come out.”

“Touchy! Okay, favorite song?”

“‘Chemical’ by Post Malone. You?”

“Wow. I listen to everything, but right now it’s, ‘Feel Like That’ by Sublime and Stick Figure. Dogs or cats?”

“Neither. Especially not cats. Never cats. You?”

“Dogs. Can’t stand cats. They’re temperamental and I swear to fuck they hold grudges.”

“Alright, it’s your turn, we’ve already watchedA Christmas Story,Jingle All the Way,Home Alone, andDie Hard, which isn’t a Christmas movie, by the way.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Fine, with that logic, I’m pickingA Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“That’s a Halloween movie.”

“Like hell it is, Dallas! You made me sit throughDIE HARD. And Halloween should be celebrated year-round because it’s the best.”

“You’re one of those adults who dress up still, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Oh, I absolutely am. And I splurge on all the candy and love giving it out to all the kids.”

“That’s cute. What do you dress up as? I want to picture it, paint it for me.”

“You’re an idiot. This year I dressed up as a witch, the year before that, Wanda Maximoff, before that, a zombie Princess Ariel, which only went over well with the older kids...”

“That’s actually pretty awesome. Maybe next year you can dress up as a schoolgirl for me.”

I swallow hard at his words and look away. There won’t be a next year with him and I need to remember that. I pick up the remote and findA Nightmare Before Christmasand turn it on, relaxing into the songs and story of one of my favorite movies. After the movie is over, we work together to make grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner. We eat together in silence, but the tension is thick and strained, my walls slowlybeing put back in place. It was so easy to get caught up in how effortless it was being alone with him. But this doesn’t change anything. I need to focus on creating a life here in Aspen Ridge, and that banks on keeping my job. You don’t get that by sleeping with your boss, who has no idea who you actually are.

“I’m exhausted, I think I’m going to bed,” I say after we clean up from dinner.

“I’ll meet you there, want a bath first?”

While that sounds incredible, I know it’s not a good idea. Baths are sweet, romantic even. That’s not what this is.

“Raincheck? I think spending the entire day being a couch potato actually made me more tired.” Which is a lie. After the sleep I got last night in Dallas’ bed, I’ll be lucky if I can sleep tonight. Clearly reading me like he always does, he nods but doesn’t push. Which is appreciated.

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“I had a good day, Dallas. Merry Christmas.”

“I had the best day, princess. Merry Christmas.”

I head to bed, working through my sad attempt at a nighttime routine, using water to wash my face, and brushing my teeth with the spare toothbrush. Snuggling up under the blankets of the guest bedroom isn’t the same as sleeping in Dallas’ bed with his strong arms wrapped around me. Even if it was for only one night, it was the peace he somehow brought me that carried me through a night of sleep like I’ve never had before.

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