Page 28 of Sexted By Santa
“Exactly!”
“I’m…sorry? Do you want me to leave?”
Christian looked tempted, but then he slumped and waved a hand to the seat across from him. “No, I’m sorry. I imagine your evening is ruined as well. You might as well get some food out of it.”
Flatterer.
I pulled out the chair and sat across from him. He smelled nice, like a forest after a fresh rain. He’d trimmed his beard. Dressed up for this date. I felt a flicker of disappointment. He really was a very handsome man.
“Why are you angry about my age?” I asked.
“I set the age filters for thirty-five and up, and your profile marked you as older. I’m sure of it.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I lied on my account.”
Christian stared at me. “Most people lie to appear younger, but you did the opposite?”
“I did.”
He looked at me as if I were a puzzle he’d like to solve. I felt heat rising in me, along with the tug of an inconvenient attraction that would no doubt horrify him.
“You don’t want to be targeted by people looking for young men. Why?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve got an eight-year-old daughter, Professor. I feel thirty-five. I don’t have patience for most people my age, much less college guys.”
He gave me an appraising look. I felt as if he could see right through me. I hated being reminded of the life I almost had. Not because I regretted Tori, never that. But because I wished I could have graduated before she was born and offered her an easier life.
“Call me Christian,” he said.
“Really?”
“You can’t go around calling me professor all night.”
All night, huh?Maybe I’d misread the situation. Would he want to hook up? Did I want to? We were neighbors and not entirely amiable ones.
I tested the waters with a little tease. “I could always call you Santa.”
“Oh Christ,” he muttered. His eyes sharpened. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Do you want me to be?”
The server arrived before Christian could answer. He ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I asked for a Dos Equis beer. Christian also pointed out a selection of tapas.
“Bring us the Empanada de Cebon, Alas de Pollo, Tabla de Quesos, Patatas Bravas.” He paused and looked at me. “Do you have any food allergies or major dislikes?”
I shook my head. “I’m easy.”
A slight flaring of his nostrils gave away his dirty thoughts. He cleared his throat and returned to the menu, rattling off a few more orders. Given that I didn’t know Spanish, I had no idea what would be arriving at the table, but it sounded like he’d ordered enough for the larger party behind us. Granted, they could probably use more food to soak up all that sangria.
When the server walked away, a loaded silence fell between us.
“So, do you meet a lot of dates here?” I asked. “You seem to have the menu memorized.”
“You’re not my date,” he said quickly. “We’re just two neighbors having dinner.”
The words were out before I could think them through. “Just neighbors, huh? Neighbors who sexted.”
Christian inhaled so sharply he started coughing. Our drinks hadn’t arrived, but there was a pitcher of water on the table. I filled a glass and pushed it toward him.
