Page 8 of Santa's Little Helpers

“Must be going soft on her.”

Derek shook his head. “You know me better than that.”

I did, but I couldn’t miss an opportunity to give him shit. “I don’t know, man. If she were mine, your bed would be made, just saying.”

“If she were yours, huh?”

“Hypothetically speaking.”

“Bullshit. I see the way you look at her. I’m not dumb.”

Apparently, I needed to tone it down. I didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. She was much too young, and I was much too busy. “Who wouldn’t look at her?” I blew him off. She was beautiful, and Derek knew it.

Derek eyeballed me skeptically but let the matter drop. “Let’s find you some bedding. I will talk to her tomorrow.”

I followed him out of the study and back up the stairs to a huge walk-in linen closet where we found a mass of rolled up bedding in the middle of the floor.

“Well at least we know where your stuff is.” Derek scratched the back of his head in frustration. The way the blankets, sheets, and pillows were rolled together made it obvious someone threw them there in a hurry.

Shrugging it off, I scooped it all up into my arms. “I got this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait. You shouldn’t have to make your own bed. You’re a guest here.”

“I’m tired, and I’m quite capable. Go to bed. I’m sure your wife is waiting.” I winked.

Derek smiled. “She’d better not be, or I’m going to tan her little hide.”

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