Page 5 of Yours to Ho Ho Hold
“What’s the topic?” I ask in challenge. I’ve always been pretty good at reading people. It’s why I was able to climb the ladder at my company so quickly, despite being the only manager without a college degree. Though I suppose losing my job today pokes several holes in my logic …
“Each other.” He places the book face down on his thigh and meets my gaze. “We have to make three correct assumptions about the other, and we only get three tries a piece. We’ll alternate turns.”
“Fine.” I nod. “Who goes first?”
He gestures toward me. “Ladies should always go first … and definitely more than once.”
His words are laced with innuendo, and I’m embarrassed to admit my panties are a little wet because of it. Damn this dry spell. I’ll sleep with the first decent looking guy I come across as soon as I land if that’s what it takes to knock this stupid, sex-crazed fog out of my head. It’s clouding my judgement, making me not think clearly, hence my current situation. For all I know, Drew here is just a figment of my imagination, a horny conjuring straight from my dusty, shriveled up vagina in an attempt to trick me into fucking whoever is closest in proximity …
“Fine.” I bite my lip as I study him and his bulging muscles, which are covered in tattoos from his exposed chest all the way up to his neck. I’d be willing to bet he’s got plenty more hidden beneath that Santa suit. Great, now I’m thinking about the other parts of him.
“Any day now,” he teases.
“Hey, don’t rush me. I’m thinking.” I tap my lip as I scan him. He’s very put together, not a hair out of place, and his skin is perfectly flawless … too flawless. I narrow my gaze in on his jawline when I see the faintest hint of a makeup line.
“You’re either an actor or a model … judging by your perfect physique, freshly trimmed hair, and the leftover makeup on your face.”
His smile stretches to his eyes, and he nods as he tucks his hands underneath his arms. “You’re good. Beautiful and smart. Dangerous combo.”
I try to hold back my smile at his compliment, but I probably look more like I’m constipated than unaffected by his praise.
“My turn.” He sits up and drinks me in, his gaze lingering longer than socially appropriate around my thighs and chest, and I almost forget what we’re doing here. “You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and that was only something small you could grab on the go like a muffin or a scone … chocolate chip’s my guess.”
I narrow my eyes. “How could you possibly know that by looking at me?”
“Am I right?”
“Yes.” I blow out a sigh of defeat.
He reaches toward me and wipes something off my shirt right above my breast, causing me to suck in a breath. “You’ve got a little chocolate on your shirt, and your leg hasn’t stopped shaking since I sat down.” He puts a hand on my knee, and I immediately go still. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
I guess my low blood sugar isn’t exactly helping my nervous first-time-flying jitters, either.
“Your turn.”
I purse my lips as I think. I need to go with something more generic this time but I can’t help myself. “You have a long-term girlfriend back home who doesn’t know you flirt with everyone you come across.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them, maybe because I’m curious, or it could just be my overall distrust of men in general.
He smiles again, but this time, it’s what I’m learning is his cocky smile as he shakes his head. “Wrong. Lucky for you, I’m single as a Pringle.” He narrows his eyes. “Do you really think I’d play a game to win a date with you if I had a girlfriend?”
I look down and shrug. “All I know is you’re a hot guy wearing a Santa suit sitting next to me on an airplane.”
“So, youdofind me attractive?” he says with a grin.
“It’s your turn,” I remind him.
“All right. All right. Let’s see. Judging by your tense shoulders and irritability … and the book you’re reading … I’d say you’re also single?” His words come out like a question. “And have been for quite some time.” He taps a finger to his lip, drawing my attention there, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such incredible lips on a man. They’re full and perfectly smooth, framed by his impeccably groomed mustache that’s surprisingly working for me.
“My guess is six months minimum … maybe longer …” His eyes search mine in question, and I roll my eyes. He pumps his fist in a silent triumph.
“How long?” he presses, and I shake my head.
“That’s none of your business. You got the question right. That’s all you need to know. My turn.” I try to think of every immediate judgment I made about him because, most of the time, I’m right. “You have a very strict diet when you’re weight training, but when you do have a cheat meal you love …” I scrunch my nose as I think back to how he smelled when he held me. “Mint chocolate chip cookies …”
His mouth falls open, and he glances behind him like he’s looking for someone to share in his surprise. “How’d you know? Mint chocolate chip cookies are my absolute weakness.”
“You seem like you’re one of those Christmas people.”
“What do you mean ‘Christmas people’? It’s the day before Christmas Eve. Everyone loves Christmas this time of year.”
