Page 45 of The Santa Rules
“Doesn’t sound like nothing. You keep looking over here and grumbling.”
I toss the last stuffed animal in my hand into the pile and sink onto the couch as I prop my arms on my knees and bury my face in my hands, blowing out the last of my resolve in a long, slow breath.
When I open my eyes, she’s standing in front of me, and I look up into her blue eyes. Eyes that are so light blue, they’re almost grey. Eyes that are looking down at me with hunger.
She puts a hand on my shoulder to shove me back against the couch and then slowly sits down, straddling my lap.
“I’ve seen you staring at me all afternoon. Little glances here and there. Why do you think I’m taking my sweet time going through that box?”
My heart races in my chest and I worry she can hear it as Ishrug, unwilling to answer her question. Be strong. Resist the hot teacher.
“Not a day has gone by that I don’t think about the way you manhandled me in that storage closet. The way your tongue did acrobatics against mine. Or the way you ate me on the couch. I’m tired of bending over waiting for you to make a move. I’m almost thirty-five. I can’t keep bending like that without paying for it tomorrow.”
I chuckle as I rub my hands along her outer thighs. “So that would make you a nineties baby, huh? I was born in the previous decade, and you don’t see me complaining.”
“Yeah, but you literally work out for a living so you can do all the manly fire shit. And you don’t look a decade older than me.”
My stomach knots at her words. If only she knew how bad I actually was at that fire shit when it mattered most. I swallow down the nerves, trying to keep things lighthearted. “I didn’t say I was that much older than you, just born in the decade before you.”
“What year?”
“Eighty-nine.”
“Ah, the year of our lord and savior, Taylor Swift. And seriously, you’re like a year older than me.” She laughs as her hands stroke up my chest. The air grows thick between us as I stare at her. My eyes focus on her plush lips as she leans in and kisses me.
I let it go on far longer than I should as she winds her hands around my neck and makes little circles against me with her hips. I’m only a man—a weak, weak man who is tired of pushing away the one thing I want most.
She breaks the kiss and trails her lips along my jaw, around my neck, until she finally lands on a spot near my collarbone that has me bucking up against her.
“Fuck. We need to stop,” I say reluctantly as I grab her arms and hold her away from me.
“What’s wrong? Did you not like that?” I can see the insecurities building in her head. I pull her off my lap and stand as I start pacing the living room.
“I can’t do this. We can’t do this,” I say, stopping to wave a hand between us.
“There are no school rules preventing it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I checked. And I can clearly see your enthusiasm outlined in your pants, so that’s not the issue either.”
“It’s not that.” I turn my back to her as I try to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside of me, like my grief is the offensive line and here comes my lust, trampling all over it like a defensive line blocking a winning play. What the fuck is wrong with me? She wants this. I want this. I wanther. But I can’t—I can’t get more attached. I can see myself falling for this woman, and the thought of losing her already terrifies me. What if I can’t save her? What if something happens to her, and I can’t get there fast enough?
“Then, what is it?” There’s a teasing quality to her voice, but I can hear her frustration too. “Please enlighten me, because I’m tired of your grump calling the shots here. I don’t know how I can be any more obvious, but I’m going to lay it all out, because what the hell else do I have to lose at this point? My dignity went out the window the minute we met, so clearly…”
She trails off, and I turn to face her, curious to know how she was going to finish that thought. “Clearly what?”
“I like you. I might more than fucking like you. And I can’t believe I just admitted that.”
“I more than fucking like you too,” I say, taking a step toward her.
“Then, what is the problem?” she asks, exasperated.
“I can’t fall for you.”
She winces, and the hurt on her face makes a knot form in my chest.
“I’m the reason why Avery doesn’t have a mom. It’smyfault. And now I’m raising her on my own, and I’m fucking that up too. I’m trying to split my time between her and work, but there’s not enough of me to go around and Avery’s noticed. I don’t think she’s okay with me sharing any more of my time beyond her and work.”
“That’s a lot of information to unpack. Can we start with the part where you think it’s your fault that her mom died?” She looks at me expectantly, but there’s something in her eyes that makes me want to tell her everything, and at this moment I know that she can handle what I’m about to throw at her.
I sit next to her on the couch and drop my head into my hands. “There was a fire at a boutique clothing store in Denver. It was a busy day, and I’d gone out on another call when it came in. It turns out Lydie snuck out on her lunch break to pick up some things. I didn’t know she was there.” I take a deep breath, willing myself to continue as a rush of shame washes over me. “She was supposed to be at work, but apparently, she was in the store when it caught fire, and the building collapsed before they could get her out.”
