Page 19 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

“Oh, no you don’t.”

I sprint after her, dropping my skates between our two cars as she rushes around them in a figure eight. I finally catch her as she flings open the back door of my Bronco to crawl inside and go out the other side. My arm circles her waist as her hands stretch forward to keep the envelope and photo out of my reach. She freezes instantly, and her arm muscles slacken, allowing me to finally grasp the picture in my hand.

“That’s your high school stick. The one you saved for all summer your junior year.” Her body flexes underneath mine, both of our lungs working a little extra from running around the cars.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, holding my weight up with my free hand grasped around the seat back. Even bracing myself, my chest covers her back.

I lift myself more as she shifts, reaching for the stick on the floor. I sit back on my knees as she moves to lay on her side, holding the blade in her hand.

“I figured I don’t use it much anymore. The college bought me a dozen of them, and I’ll probably have to use a sponsor brand for the rest of my life, and?—”

She lays the stick back on the floor and twists until she’s on her back, resting on her elbows while I straddle her legs. This position we’re in is so far beyond a simple kiss after getting caught up in the moment. This is the kind of predicament two people fall into before they blur lines for good. I should be reveling in it. I’ve wanted it for months. I’vereallywanted it for days. But the way Frankie’s looking at me right now somehow makes everything feel heavier. It’s making me doubt my next move. My next word. Next breath.

“Conner Graham,” she says, her voice a raspy whisper.

I chew at my bottom lip and scrunch a shoulder.

“There are two Graham households in Miller Brook, and one is in the senior center, so I figured?—”

Frankie sits up in a flash and grabs the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers before I have a chance to finish my thought, let alone my sentence. My hands fly to her face, cradling it as her mouth widens to deepen our kiss. A faint whimper escapes her as she breaks for only a breath, then clutches at the buttons along my chest, pulling me down until I’m caging her between my arms.

She nips at my upper lip as I suck in her plump bottom one, my teeth grazing along her soft skin until her mouth eventually slips from my hold. A ragged breath accompanies my name for about a second before she covers her face with both of her hands. I sit up, this time giving her enough room to pull her legs out from under me and sit up on her own, a good two feet of space between us.

I rub the back of my hand along my mouth, not shocked at the smear of pink that comes off. Frankie stares at me with wide eyes, then swivels her head to stare at the quiet and empty rink outside the windshield. She drags her index finger along the edge of her mouth, and I breathe out a laugh.

“You’re going to need a mirror.”

Her body quakes with a silent laugh, her smile fleeting. She steps out of my Bronco, and I shift to sink back in the seat by myself, groaning when she shuts the door. I’m not sure how many times I’m allowed to get this wrong.

Was that wrong? I let her decide. I followed her lead. That kiss was real.

My brow lifts in surprise when Frankie opens my passenger door and flips down the visor to check her seriously smudged lipstick in the mirror.

“Can I go with you?” Her gaze shifts just enough to meet mine in the reflection.

“Uh, yeah. I’d like that. I mean, I think Conner would like that.”

I’d like that. Why can’t I just say I’d like that?

I flip over the now crinkled photograph and press the dome light. It’s not the shot I was afraid Norris captured, the one where I nearly finished in my Santa trousers thanks to my helper’s ass on my swollen cock. But I see what I think got to Frankie. Norris managed to snap the one moment our eyeswere locked in a trance, and the strangest sense of wonder and possibility hung in our expressions.

We look like two people in love.

“It’s a nice photo.”

I smile at it and think of how much my mom would love this shot.

“It is.”

I flit my gaze up to meet hers again in the mirror.

“You can keep it,” she says.

I drop my attention back to the image, tracing the curve of her leg, light along her arm, and rosy, perfect face.

“Thanks.”

She flips the visor back up as I tuck the photo back inside the envelope. I’ll flatten it under some books or something. Or maybe I’ll see if Norris will print us each new ones. I guess that depends on how this mission goes.

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