Page 8 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

I’ll pay for all our travel expenses as I’d insisted but she’ll pay for… “Snacks and coffee?”

“It’s the least I can do. I’m getting a trip home out of this, too. Agreed?” She sticks her chin out, Carol’s stubborn look, and I know this is not a hill for me to die upon if we’re going to get rolling before noon.

“Agreed.”

There’s a very detailed list of what constitutes snacking. Apparently, snacks are very important on a road trip. I won’t argue that coffee’s a necessity.

We’ve got three planned overnight stops so we’re not absolutely killing ourselves to get there. I keep reading and reach the first blank spot. It follows the word ‘accommodations.’

“I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to share a room the whole time.” I’d forgotten how pretty she is when she blushes. Or had I ever realized it back then?

“Okay, accommodations,” I say, clearing my throat and my wandering thoughts. “On the way there, I’ll get us our own rooms. I don’t think we’ll encounter any of those ‘only one bed’ situations.”

“No, this isn’t a romance novel, right?”

“Right. In Whistler, we’ll be sharing a suite at the inn but I can sleep on the sofa if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Don’t be silly, Nick. We’re adults. We can share.”

“Great.” A week of sharing a bed with Carol? Fuck me.

But, I nod as she pencils in what we’ve agreed to and find myself really invested in discovering how far down her chest that blush of hers goes.She’s agreed to do this as your old friend. Don’t be a dick, Nick… by thinking with your dick.

I skim down a little further and reach the next blank space labeled ‘PDA.’ “Public Displays of Affection,” she clarifies when I give her a blank look.Oh. “We won’t make a convincing couple if we don’t look comfortable touching each other. And, there might be mistletoe again,” she says, softly.

“There’ll be mistletoe.” It’s a staple of Christmas décor for Grams.

“Okay. Then, I think during our journey we should…practicegetting comfortable with physical closeness, don’t you?”

I note the new current of tension between us. Huh. I’m excited and inexplicably nervous, too. What’s with that? Kissing is just kissing. I’m not the same nerdy boy who’d never kissed a girl like the night when I kissed Carol. I’ve kissed dozens of women. But this isCarol.

“I’m comfortable with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

A businesslike nod as she gives me the ground rules: hand holding, casual touches, hugs and kissing are all okay as needed to sell the relationship. “No touching when we share a bed unless it’s while we’re asleep or unavoidable.”

I can’t help grinning at this odd conversation that I never would’ve imagined having when we were kids. “Okay, and no exploring your tonsils with my tongue in front of your dad, I suppose.”

The tension dissipates entirely when she chucks a pillow at my head and we start laughing. She points at the dotted line beside the treble clef next and we sign.

The rules are all laid out and we’re ready to go. A simple bargain has been struck for our mutual benefit, nothing more.

But, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m looking forward to practicing some PDA with Carol.

6-Carol

Road Trip Rule #1: Expect delays. Especially with cats.

We passed through Nevada and we’re making good time in Utah when we come to the first agreed upon kitty rest stop. “Holy snowballs, it’s pretty in an austere way, isn’t it?” I say of the desert surrounding us.

“Holy snowballs?” Nick stops looking at his phone - where I suspect he was busy calculating how close we’d be to done with our journey if we’d flown instead - and starts to grin. “I’d forgotten that.”

“I don’t take chances with the Naughty List this close,” I grumble as my face gets hot. I don’t curse at Christmastime, or try not to. I substitute certain Christmasy phrases instead.And, Nick remembers this tidbit about me.

“I didn’t think you’d still be doing it since… you do know about Santa, right, Carol?” he teases.

I roll my eyes at him. We’d mourned the truth together as kids. “Old habits. Don’t laugh.”

“I always thought it was cute. No one says ‘Figgy pudding’ quite like you,” Nick tells me with a look I’m too embarrassed to interpret.

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