Page 4 of Stocking Stuffers
She liked it. A lot.
Maybe he was a lumberjack. Hewaswearing flannel.
He smiled, his eyes bright. “I feel like I crashed your sales pitch. I’m sorry if I made it awkward.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not shy.”
His gaze landed on her lips before jerking away. “I think half the book club is heading out soon, and the rest are staying at the inn to wait out the storm. They’re drawing names for a book exchange rather than playing Dirty Santa.”
“Oh, that’s good. I’ll go get their orders, so I can head home too.”
He took a deep breath. “This might be out of line but would you go to dinner with me sometime this week?”
Her pulse galloped off like a herd of reindeer. She hadn’t been on adatedate in ages. Dates led to expectations and crossed boundaries. She hadn’t dated since … well, since the worst Christmas ever had soured the idea of relationships for her forever. Being left at the altar on Christmas Eve did that to you.
Rather than spill her issues on an unsuspecting hot guy, she said, “A date? All you know about me is that I sell sex toys for a living.”
Some people thought that made her available or even a slut.
“No. I know you’re smart and confident, and I like your voice. There’s this lilt when you speak, like you’re always having a great time and everything is funny. And your hair. I like your hair.”
“Wow. Thank you.”
A few of her regular lovers had not been fans of her hair when she’d chopped it into a pixie cut a few months ago. Needless to say, they weren’t her lovers anymore.
He ran an unsteady hand across his chin and lips. In the darkness of the hallway, she couldn’t see his eyes clearly. She wondered what color they were, wanted to see them alight with pleasure. She had a feeling Perry would be delightfully expressive and genuine in bed.
“I’m not the best at this,” he said, voice shaky.
“You’re actually doing pretty awesome.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really, but I’m not the dating type. And regardless, don’t you live in Topeka?”
His smile withered, and she had the irrational urge to cup his cheek.
What was happening to her?
She wanted to blame her sudden soppy, sweet feelings on the Christmas cheer in the air. It was like those parasitic spores that latched onto everything, multiplied, then smothered their host.
“Ididlive in Topeka. I, uh, I’m not … My living situation is complicated.”
“I’m not in the market for complicated,” she said. “Though, you’re super cute, so I’d probably be game for a night together. A one-night stand, basically. But not tonight because, you know, snow and ice and rear-wheel drive. I need to get home.”
His mouth had gone a little slack, and she inwardly cringed. She tended to steamroll people. Men especially expected her to be more circumspect about her sexual appetites and romantic boundaries, but that wasn’t her problem. It was theirs.
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell if you’re rejecting me or propositioning me,” he finally said. The corners of his eyes crinkled.
“Both.”
“I like you,” he said decisively, and she laughed.
“I’m a bit much, I’ve been told. I like to fuck, eat, masturbate, and read, and I don’t do any of those in moderation. Still interested?”
She had no idea why she was unleashing all her sass on him. Maybe to scare him off. Or to see if he’d stick around.
“I’m definitely still interested, Sasha.”
