Page 52 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
It’s a post of Matt and me doing sit-ups side by side at Bossfit. The video shows us glancing at each other when we think the other isn’t looking. I thought I was so subtle that day. Apparently not. But I had no idea he was stealing glances at me, too.
My cheeks flush in real time.
The post is undeniably adorable. And the commenters agree.
Couchtomato420: Where can I get a guy who looks at meeeeee like that? #bedroomeyes
EyeLoveMyPug99: If looks could impregnate, that girl would be DUE! #kisshimalready
DaddiezAmex4Evr: Following so I can watch when they finally consummate. #onlyamatteroftime
“She wants to watch us consummate?” I whisper to Keira. “These people do realize you’re running a department store’s social media feed, right? Not a porn site?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re just being silly.” Keira waves me off and takes her phone back. “I think a cute pic of you guys would keep social media engagement up as we kick off the season. Please?” she begs. “Just one little pic? We gotta give the people what they want.”
“Do we, though?” I whine.
Dottie steps in. “Penny, it’s totally fine if you’d rather not. I know how it feels when you’re trying to deny feelings for someone.”
Is she messing with me right now?
I scoff at her. “I’m not denying feelings for someone.”
“Oh, so you’re admitting you have feelings for someone?” Dottie’s eyes twinkle with mischief.
“No! What are you—? I have feelings for absolutely no one.”
“Well, that’s a sad statement, honey.” Dottie frowns.
“You know what I mean.” I lower my voice. “I mean, I have no romantic feelings for Matt.”
“Great!” Keira chirps. “So there should be no problem with getting a cute little picture with him for our socials then.”
“No problem at all,” I say.
“Fantastic!” Keira fires back. “So prove it.”
“I will!”
She smirks when I stay frozen in my spot. “You do that.”
“I will!” I stomp over to where Matt is milling around his throne. “Matt? Hi. I’m going to sit on your lap now.”
His eyebrows pull together. “You are?”
“Yes! If you, um, if you consent, of course.”
He smiles. “You’re asking if I consent to you sitting on my lap?
“Yeah,” I say. “I am. And if you ask me, all those women gyrating all over you just now should have asked for consent before they sat on you, too.”
He laughs. “I think the consent was implied by the fact that I’m sitting here on a big-ass throne dressed as Santa Claus, no? And would you really call what they were doing gyrating?”
“I would, yes! And implied consent is bullshit. Do you feel objectified, Matt? Because if you feel objectified, we can reassess this situation. Maybe having you work out in costume in the sporting goods department is enough. Maybe we should leave the lap dancing—I mean the lap sitting—for Tony and Herb. They’re professionals and?—”
“Penny?” He places his big hands on my shoulders. “I promise you, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
No. Clearly, I’m losing it.
