Page 46 of Ho Ho Oh No

“When the girls had the sexy Santa costumes,” Shep clarifies.

Klein proves me wrong, answering almost immediately. “Jingle Bell Rock.”

My cheek twitches again, and it’s getting harder to hold off the blink. Shep’s mere seconds away from winning the staring contest. And I hate that almost as much as I hate having tits for brains.

“And is that a Rat Pack song?” Shep asks, one brow arching in a mocking gesture.

Yes, his brow is mocking me.

Stupid sexy brow.

“While the Rat Pack has performed that song many-a-time, I wouldn’t consider it a Rat Pack song. Besides, the version in the movie wasn’t even from the same time frame.”

“Fuck you, Klein,” I snap, unable to hold my tongue.

“Oh, hey, Kri. With a mouth like that, you’ll be getting coal in your stocking.”

What does Mia see in that moron?

Surrendering completely, I blink, falter back a step, and let the tension release from my shoulders. “Dammit.” I put my head down in defeat.

Shep gloats like the devil who just successfully bartered for another soul. “Thanks for your help, pal. See you at the party.”

“You got it,” Klein chirps and ends the call.

I try to sneak away, but Shep cages me against the one empty wall in my office.

“What’s the Brat Pack, Kri?”

“Isn’t that what they call the teenage actors from those eighties John Hughes movies?”

“Perhaps. Follow-up question.” He lowers his forehead, his heated glare burning into me from under his strong brow. “Wereyou a teenage actor in the eighties? Because the math ain’t mathin’ unless you lied to me about your age.”

“Val’s vernacular is rubbing off on you.” Since the staring contest is over, I blatantly roll my eyes with gusto. “What do you want from me, Shep?”

His smirk is precariously teetering between cocky and sexy. How does he pull that off so well?

Stupid hot smirk.

“Are you and the girls doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”

“Something I shouldn’t be doing?” I repeat, frustration and obstinance coloring my tone. “Are you honestly attempting to control what I do outside the bedroom or who I associate with?”

His smugness dissolves, and his eyes grow thoughtful and unfocused. “Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

This smells like victory. A grin plucks at the corner of my mouth.

Suddenly, he shrugs, his posture going as casual as a stroll on the beach. “I guess you’re right. You and the girls can do whatever you want. Silly of me to be concerned.”

I jerk my chin in a showy nod. “Damn right.”

He gives me a chaste kiss, then drops his arms so his his sexy body no longer cages me in. “I mean, assuming that nothing you’re doing with your group of friends spills over intoourbedroom, then we’re good.”

In classic Shep style, he manages to convey so much with a single statement. He knows what we’re up to, yet he won’t try to control me.

His words do give me pause, though.

Is that what we’re doing? Sharing secrets and strategizing ways to gain the upper hand—occasionally and in a sexy way—over our partners?

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