Page 78 of Sexted By Santa
“If this is how all my Christmases go from now on, it’s my new favorite holiday.”
Laughing, I snagged a towel from the shower door to clean up. “We better get presentable before Tori gets back.”
Christian blanched and raced to tug up his jeans as if he’d forgotten about my daughter’s imminent return.
“I, uh, thought we weren’t doing this yet?” he said, sounding a little confused. “With Tori not knowing…”
“She’s not here, so it’s not the same,” I said as I straightened my clothes. “But yeah…we might be pushing our luck a little. I’ll tell her soon. I just want her to get to know you a little better first.”
“I understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you or us,” I said quickly, worried he might take offense. “I just…it’s a change for her. This affects her too, and I need her to be ready for that.”
Christian stepped in and kissed me gently. “Jax, it’s okay. I know how much Tori’s happiness means to you.”
His gaze truly did seem understanding. After so many failed relationships, it was difficult to trust my instincts. But my gut told me this man was the real deal.
“Thank you.”
“No,” he said with a heated look. “Thank you. I hope I get to repay your generosity soon.”
I got off as much as he did, but I was happy to accept his sexual favors. “We’ll see what we can arrange.”
We slipped out of the bathroom, and Christian left to check on Sir Elton John. Tori returned a few minutes later.
“I’m back! Is dinner ready?”
“Nope. I’ll need to heat it up. Why don’t you look up the carbs on this and get your insulin ready while I do that?”
She looked surprised. “You trust me to do it?”
“Well, you know how.”
“Yeah, I do, but you don’t usually…”
Tori trailed off as if realizing she didn’t want to remind me that I usually didn’t let her manage her insulin on her own. Outside of a few isolated occasions, I generally felt the need to supervise her. But it was her life, and I was realizing just how responsible she had been with her well-being lately. She wasn’t sneaking snacks without asking or trying to convince me to let her eat something without adjusting her insulin, as she had a few times early after her diagnosis. It was time to let Tori take charge of her health—not without any oversight, of course, but with less hovering.
“How should I find the carb counts?” she asked. “There’s no label on it.”
“Yep, you’re right. When there’s no label, what do I usually do?”
Tori thought a minute, her brow creasing. “Check on Google?”
“That’s right. Are you really hungry tonight?”
She nodded. “Starving.”
“Good. Look up carbs for about eight ounces then. It should be close enough, but keep an eye on your numbers later. If it’s off, you can adjust it a little.”
Tori tapped away on my phone, looking up the info, and I forced myself to focus on reheating the chili. She’d asked the right questions, and she knew how to operate the pump settings. There was really nothing to worry about.
A few minutes later, she joined me by the microwave. “Where’s Christian?”
“He went to take care of his dog. He’ll be back.”
“Oh! You should tell him to bring his dog over here.”
I chuckled. “You’d like that, huh?”
