Page 3 of Krampus Kruk
“I’m not one for frills.” He pulls at an ornament on my sweater. The top of his hand is tattooed, a crown with stars.
Bad Santa.I giggle to myself, raising my drink to my lips.
Examining him, I consider my options. If I don’t go home tonight, that would start a next-level ordeal. My mom will scream at me in the morning. I shouldn’t fuck some random guy to regain a sense of control. I shouldn’t lean into the bad habit.
Fuck it.
“Why are you the scariest one here?” I ask.
“You care?”
“No.”
He chuckles, looking at his hands before really staring at me. It’s like he’s studying me, his gaze shifting from one of my eyes to the other. “Want me to kill him?” he asks, then takes a sip.
Him?
“Him who?”
“The guy who put you in this mood.”
“It’s not a guy. It’s my family.”
My mind flashes to my stepbrother Evan ranting about how his taxes are wasted on people leeching off the system. I rolled my eyes—because I pay more in taxes than him and his brother combined. I stayed silent, sipping my water, because it would have done nothing to say corporations, not people, are the real leeches.
“Family,” he groans. “The worst.”
“Right?”
Like my stepbrother Jason insisting me having roommates is the same as him living in my mom’s house. I have a roommate by choice. I can afford a place on my own. He can’t.
“So, no guy?” he asks, and I catch the hope in the question.
“No Mrs. Claus?” I counter.
“Been there, done that.”
We share a knowing chuckle, and the air between us shifts—less sharp, more familiar. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone home from the bar with a guy I barely know.At least I’m not drunk.
“Are your kids older than me?” I ask, testing the waters, assuming a guy his age has kids.
“Yes.”
Alone at the bar on Christmas Eve …I don’t need to know why. “Isn’t it weird you want to sleep with me then?”
He leans in, brushing his lips against my ear, his voice low and deliberate. “I don’t want to sleep with you. I want to fuck your bratty ass.”
“Anal. Bold,” I deadpan, masking my shock.
He chuckles, his hand giving my thigh a quick squeeze over my jeans before resting there. “You are something else.”
“I get that a lot.” I sip my drink.
“I’m sure guys your age don’t know how to handle you.”
I shrug. “Nope.”
His eyes slowly rake over me again. “Do you want to be handled?”
