Page 23 of The Christmas Extra

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll text Teddy later tonight and let him know.”

“I’m sorry we’re making you so much work,” he said, then called goodbye to the last partiers to leave our tiny office. “Mignon, go on home now. I’ll help Stillman clean up the mess.”

Mignon placed a plate of ranch corn chips on my desk, made namaste hands at his boss, and raced out, leaving his empty coffee cup on a folding chair.

“I can do it alone,” I grumbled, thoroughly fed up with actors and cinema people. And mayors. And stupid sheriffs who kissed and fondled thespians before confessing his deepest feelings.

“I never said you couldn’t but let me help. It’s okay to ask for help.” He tossed his limp stalk back to the platter and then set about gathering plates, cups, and plastic silverware. I sighed and shrugged. There was no sense in arguing. The man was as stubborn as I was at times. Plus, the sooner things were tidied up, the sooner I could get home and go hide in my bedroom. We’d barely spoken this morning. Mignon came to pick up Tony, and I had snuck out while he’d been showering so I could pound the living shit out of a weight bag at the ass crack of dawn.

“Whatever,” I muttered like a sullen teenager before picking up and folding the chairs. We worked in stilted silence for a few minutes. “I’m going to start hauling these down to the basement.”

“I’ll help.” He tossed the last handful of plates into the trash and then grabbed two chairs in each hand, tucking them under his armpits just as I had my four. “We’ll have to come back for the rest.”

“Yep,” I replied and made my way to the elevator. He lumbered up beside me, silent as stone, as the lift raised from the basement to the ground floor. We stepped inside, chairs bumping and clattering as we wiggled into the small area. I used my elbow to push the B button. The door closed. Quiet settled over us. It was the longest and most awkward elevator ride in the history of elevator rides.

The basement in our century-old courthouse was musty and generally used for storage at this point. All the offices had been moved up during a flood about twenty years ago so we had all kinds of small rooms for stashing old office furniture, boxes of decorations, and a nativity scene for the front yard that we no longer used because several people—me included—had pointed out that sticky little point about separation of church and state. That had gotten me some dark looks for a few months from the local pastors.

The chairs were stored in an office that used to house the county treasurer. The walls were old cinderblock and cold as sin. There was little heat down here, just enough to keep the water pipes from freezing. Adding the iciness that Tony and I had brought with us made the dark area even more dismal. Wishing to be anywhere but here, I toted my chairs to the rear of the room, my mind racing around in circles like a dog after its tail, when I heard Tony drop his chairs and the door slam. I turned to see if he’d tripped over the brick used to hold the door open, but no, he was fine, just as angry as a wet hen by the looks.

“You dropped your chairs,” I pointed out as I placed mine tidily against the rest.

“Yes, I know, Stillman. I dropped them on purpose so you would turn around and fucking look at me!”

Yep, he was mad. I turned. Oh yeah, he was pissed. I could tell by the tight V between his sleek eyebrows. He had to pluck or wax to keep them that well kempt. Either that or my eyebrows were wild monsters. Probably the latter.

“I know what you look like, Tony.” I spread my legs in a defensive posture and crossed my arms over my chest. This was my tough cop stance. It sent off don’t fuck with me vibes. To most people. Guess my ex was immune to my mean AF aura.

“You’re being a jerk. What are you so damn uptight about? Telling me you still loved me? Is that what has your balls in a vice?” I opened my mouth to reply, but he chugged right over my attempt to speak. Once a Gugliotti got a head of steam, it was hard to interject. This I knew from previous experience. “If that is the case, then hey, I said the same thing to you! So why are you acting like you were the only one to admit that you harbor feelings for me?”

“Can I speak now?” I asked and got a scathing glower.

“I wish you would. Just speak. Don’t keep things bottled up like you do.” He took the same stance that I had. Ready for battle. Only, I didn’t want to fight with him. I just wanted—“Well, are you going to say something or are you going to just zip your lips and let things fester?”

WhatdidI want? Him, obviously, that was pretty damn clear. But what else? Did I want to fuck him? Well, duh. My cock was already perking up at the mere thought. There was more to work through than just the physical. It was apparent that we desired each other still. The crusty shorts in my hamper was proof of that. Did I want more than just sex, though? And if so, why? There was no possible future for us. West Coast and East Coast careers would do us in immediately. I was not a long distance romance fan. Not that I knew for sure since he’d taken off without giving me—or us—a chance to even find out. Could I do LA flights monthly? Could he work by coming east?

“Stillman, if you do not talk to me, I am going to start talking at you and I know you zone out when that happens.”

I jerked back to the here and now. “I don’t zone out when you talk to me, but I do zone out when you talk at me.”

“Well then, you best start flapping those kissable lips because I’m just about ready to go into full Rosie Gugliotti mode.” His dark eyes were snapping. I’d seen his mother let into him a time or two when we’d been dating. She was a force to be reckoned with even if she were a full foot shorter than her son. Rosie knew how to wield a wooden spoon and a sharp tongue.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I opted to say, shouldering my way around a dumbfounded baby Jesus—yeah, I know I’m pretty stunned that I said that as well, little guy—and gave the doorknob a twist. Nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing. Third time was a firm jerk on the lever. Still nothing. Then I gave the knob a better look while Tony began unloading verbal buckshot into my back. Oh super. A keyless self-locker. Superb. I jiggled the lever, but it was not budging. “Fuck me.”

Now it all came racing back. Three years ago, all the doors in the courthouse had been refurbished with state-of-the-art locks. In case terrorists decided to infiltrate the deep secrets of the Rockmount Courthouse and steal our county secrets. What those secrets were I had no clue—the total cow per home head count maybe—but Bradley had been running for reelection so we’d been promised tighter security if he were reelected. And he had been so new knobs for all doors. Take that, terrorists! Christ.

“...perhaps if you would open up a bit and be honest with me, we could—”

“Hey, so we have a thing here.” I blew out a breath to look at Tony, who was glowering at me. “Seems someone kicked the brick out of the way to throw himself, and now the door is locked.”

His irate expression disappeared. “What?”

“Yeah, the brick is to keep the door from closing, so we don’t have to call Carlton to find the fucking codes to reopen them.”

“Who the hell is Carlton? Why didn’t you tell me not to move the brick?!”

His temper was up, and while I shouldn’t find that sexy as fuck, I did. God he was stunning when he was riled. The urge to bend him over the plastic donkey behind a giant plywood Easter basket was overwhelming.

“I didn’t think you were going to have a temper tantrum, which involved throwing chairs and kicking bricks.” His glare was legendary. My dick began to swell.Fucking dick. I was not going to give into lust again. I reached for my phone in my back pocket. It was gone. Fuck. Right, it was charging on my desk next to Tony’s. Oh how fucking fabulous. “We’re stuck here.”

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