Page 162 of Santa Daddies
“It’s a date, not sex,” Starla says.
“It’s a dead end. The auction is in less than a week.”
“You have to go… do it for me, pah-lease.” Jolene puts her hands together as if in prayer.
Starla and I laugh at her dramatic response.
“So both of you would go on the date? You wouldn’t feel bad about leading a guy on?”
“Oh sweet, starry-eyed Bellamie, dating apps wouldn’t exist if people fell in love after one date.” Jolene has been on her share of dates but never felt a connection, which was her way of saying, she’d prefer her stepbrother.
“She’s right.” Starla takes her side.
“I sure am, and I think this date is exactly what you need to prime you for the auction. Help you have eyes for someone other than your stepbrother. Like Starla and her dad’s bestie, Cullen.”
Starla slaps Jolene’s arm. “Stop. He was just being–”
“He was just coming on to you. I was there. I saw it. I swooned.” I appreciate the chance to turn the tables. She’s right, we’ve all been so obsessed over our stepbrothers, we’ve made it impossible for guys our age to measure up.
Starla’s too flustered to respond for a moment. “Do I need to remind you who sent the text with an urgent question? I think you wanted us to give you permission.”
A customer enters and my friends pretend to shop, but more customers enter and Starla and Jolene end up having to leave.
But I think I have my answer.
With all of the flutters in my tummy, there's no way I can finish the lamb gyro. It’s still not real to me that I’m sitting beside Krampus at a picnic table on our theoretical date. His presence does things to me–pretty much the same things as when he tied me up and spanked me.
If it wasn’t for Jolene and Starla, I never would have shown up since Krampus made it clear that he was being theoretical. But my besties made it clear that I needed to trust that a guy could like me, and that he wouldn’t be so specific if he didn’t mean it.
I also got the sense that they worried if I wouldn’t go out with a guy, I might not go through with the auction.
But they aren’t the only ones to blame. I wanted to come–badly enough that I lied to my parents to get out of spending an evening with them.
Of course, going on a date,theoretically, is the easy part. Small talk is what will bring an end to the fun. He’ll ask what I want to do with my life. I’ll tell him I want to be a mom. He’ll run for the hills. I guess pregnancy takes all the fun out of sex.
But he’s leaving town, I have to stay a virgin for Friday, and we’re not really on a date, so all is well. I take one final bite, wrap the rest up, then decide not to stick it in my purse for later.
I can't believe I'm sitting here with him–all six feet whatever of him. Shorter than however tall he was in the costume with those huge horns, but without the costume, the bulge of his muscles against the sleeves of his hoodie offers a new temptation.
He continues feasting on his gyro while I turn my attention to my hot cocoa.
“So you work atPeaches and Jeans.” He sets his food aside.
Here goes the dreaded small talk. I nod.
“Do you have aspirations in retail? Climbing the corporate ladder? Owning your own store? Not that you need to, sorry. I just… forget it. That was pushy.”
“It's not pushy. It's just a job for me, for now.”
“You have something different planned for later?”
A nervous laugh dies in my chest. Why did he ask me out? And why only in theory? There was something weird about that entire exchange, like he was holding back.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.” He sets a hand on my thigh, then quickly pulls it away.
Given that he’s leaving town, I decide to hold back too, and only reveal the plan I put into motion before I got invited to the auction. “You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Okay.”
