Page 64 of A Very Bossy Christmas
“Dad!” Maddie rubs her temples. “That was senior year of high school!”
“Nothing worse than bad socks.” I casually lift up the cuffs of my pants so he can see the Italian-made socks Nonna gave me this year.
He pats me on the shoulder. “Good socks.” Then he aims the remote at the TV and un-pauses the movie. “Watch the movie. This is my favorite part.”
So I watch the last half ofLove Actuallywith Maddie’s family and eat a reheated mash-up of like nine different kinds of food that I never get to eat at Christmas, and it’s all good, and I love it. I love it so much that I barely even think about how hard it will suck when I inevitably screw this up.
* * *
It’s not until the cab drops Maddie and me off outside the Staten Island Ferry terminal that I finally say to her, “So when you said you told your family ‘everything’ about us, you meant…”
“The faking thing. Not the sex.”
“Got it.” I put my arm around her waist and bring her in closer to me because it’s freezing and because I’ve been in a room with her and her family for two hours, and I just need to touch her. Even if it’s over a big puffy coat and a big chunky sweater. “So not the part about you biting my ass this morning.”
She snort-laughs and looks around to see if anyone heard that. No one heard. No one else is around. It’s freezing, it’s Christmas, and it’s nine thirty at night. I don’t know how I’m going to wait until we get back to my place to get my hands under that sweater and get those leggings off her, but I’ll have to. “Shhh! I mean, I tweeted about it, but my family doesn’t follow me so it’s fine.”
We get inside the terminal, and I can see that she’s blushing, and it’s so fucking cute. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see Maddie Cooper blushing. Never in my filthiest fantasies about her did I imagine myself stopping to kiss her on her forehead on Staten Island. But that’s what’s happening.
I don’t even want to think about what it means that just pressing my lips against her forehead makes me a little stiff. And more than that even. It makes me want to take her home, make her a mug of hot chocolate, and curl up in front of the fireplace with her. After I fuck her like a maniac three or four times first.
“You ever ride the Staten Island Ferry before?” she asks, and I can tell by her tone that she already knows the answer.
“I have not yet had the pleasure, but I’ve heard great things. There really aren’t enough orange boats in the world.”
She elbows me in the ribs, and I barely feel it because we both have so much padding between us, which is terrible.
“It’s actually really stunning to see the Statue of Liberty from the water.”
“Oh well, I’ve done that. From a yacht.”
“Ohwhatevah, mistah,” she says.
And now I’m more than a little stiff.
“Keep talking like that.”
“Like this? You like it when Itawkabout how I spend eightdollahson a cup ofcawffee? You like that?”
“Yeah, baby, I like it a lot.”
“Oh my gawd.” She stops to look me in the face, very serious. “Are you really turned-on right now?”
“Mycawkishawdas a fuckin’ teenagerawkright now.”
“Me too. I mean I’m really turned-on right now too.” Suddenly, she pulls away from me and looks around the terminal. “Shit, I forgot someone from work could see us.”
“Right… Work.” I shove my hands into my pockets.Right. I’m a lawyer. And she’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. Right…“Fuck it,” I say, grabbing her and dipping her. “It’s Christmas.” I plant a kiss on her the likes of which Staten Island has never seen before. I feel her arms around my neck, her body relaxing into my embrace, and Colin Firth can kiss my delicious American ass—I’m romantic as fuck.
When I finally pull my mouth away from hers and lift her up, her eyelashes flutter magnificently and then her eyes close. “You mean that?” she whispers.
“As an attorney, I would never joke about a potentially hazardous situation with an employee, even when it’s regarding non-work activities,” I quote myself back to her, and she laughs.
“Fucking lawyers,” she says, shaking her head.
“Fucking right.”
“Do youreallywant to throw caution to the wind on this cold, cold night, Mr. Cannavale? Come what may?”
