Chapter 24 #2
“I have no goddamn clue. When I asked her out, she was normal, but then she sprang that on me, and let’s just say I faked intestinal issues and fled.”
“Did you have to say intestinal without the T?”
“I believe I said, ‘Oh no, my belly is ouchie. Bye-bye.’”
She chuckles some more. “I guess I’m pretty normal compared to her.”
“Betty, you are easily the most normal. I was just thinking about how it feels so easy with you. Like I don’t have to think too much. We just work together.”
She tilts her head cutely to the side. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Yeah, this is easily the most entertaining, thoughtful, fun, comfortable date I’ve ever been on.”
Leaning forward, I take her hand in mine and entwine our fingers. “You know what that means, right?”
“If you say we’re destined for each other . . . I couldn’t agree more.”
I laugh. “Holy shit, you know me too well.”
“Do I know you too well, or are we oddly the same person?”
“Yeah, I’ve considered that as well. Maybe we should do a rapid-fire round, see how similar we are.”
“Ooo, I like that idea.” She rubs her hands together. “On three, favorite month of the year.”
“December,” we say together.
“That was an easy one,” I say.
“Yes, but if we couldn’t match up on an easy one, do we even dare on the hard?”
I point at her. “Good thinking.”
She playfully fluffs her hair. “Thank you.”
“Okay . . . if you were a misfit toy in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which toy would you be?”
“A water pistol that squirts jelly,” we say together, making us laugh.
“Because squirting jelly is way more fun than water,” she says.
“Fuck yeah. Honestly, Pistol has it easy. Charlie-in-the-Box, on the other hand, what a major disappointment.” I stab my finger into the table playfully. “I don’t know one single child who would play with a Charlie-in-the-Box. It’s either Jack or get it away from my face.”
“Whoever thought of a Charlie-in-the-Box is deranged. An absolute menace to society.”
“Lock them up,” I say.
“Throw away the key,” she adds, making me like her that much more.
And it must be obvious, because I have a smile stretching from ear to ear as I look back at her.
“Okay, here’s a question for you.” She wets her lips. “If eggnog was the liquid, what would you dip in it? On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three.”
“A dick,” we say at the same time, only to bust out in laughter so loud that the entire bar turns to look at us.
But we don’t care.
We continue to laugh until we both have tears in our eyes.
After a few seconds, I take a deep breath and say, “You don’t even have a dick.”
“True, but I’d find one and dip it,” she answers. “I’d dip it until it was fully coated.”
I wipe at my eyes. “Fuck, you were made for me. Any other normal person would say a cookie or a cinnamon stick or something food related, but no, not you. You’re dipping a dick.”
“Or a dong, some might say. A new Christmas tradition, dipping the dong.”
I snort. “It’s not really Christmas until Granddad dips his dong in the eggnog.”
She winces. “Did we have to get Granddad involved?”
“He’s people too.”
“True,” she says with a nod. “Just because they’re old doesn’t mean that they’re dead.”
“That’s right. Granddad deserves the dip.”
“And Grandma deserves to dip too.”
I raise a brow. “Are you talking . . . maybe a nip dip?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh my God, what if . . . the key to Christmas magic is a dong dip and a nip dip in eggnog, only for the tip of the nip and the tip of the dong to connect, coated in eggnog, and that’s what sparks a Christmas miracle.”
I sit back and start to slowly clap. “Holy shit, Betty. I think we just cracked the code.” I lean forward again and whisper, “We know the secret to Christmas.”
She smirks. “I dare you to ask Bob Krampus.”
“Ha!” I guffaw loud enough for the sound to echo through the bar. “If I asked Bob Krampus if he and Sylvia dip their nip and tip in eggnog to form Christmas magic, you can bet your cute fucking ass that I’d be exiled from town, never to be seen again.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Bob Krampus doesn’t take kindly to tomfoolery when it comes to his—”
“What doesn’t my father like?” A large figure presents himself at the end of our table.
I look over, taking in unbuckled black galoshes, a black snow shovel, and a long black jacket. When my eyes make their way up to his face, I know I better watch what I say next, because it’s none other than BKJ.
“Um, milk and cookies,” I say and then clear my throat. “BKJ, great to see you. Umm, out shoveling?”
“Cleaning up some of the sidewalks, making more room. Dad was saying the walking spaces were looking tight, so you know, want to make sure no one gets hurt.” He looks between the two of us. “Dad told me you had a date today. It’s good to see you two together . . . laughing and having a good time.”
“Yeah, a very good time.” Betty bites down on the corner of her lip and then glances at me, her gaze fleeting.
Uh-oh.
I know that look.
I recognize that feeling.
Hell, I’ve felt it. She’s uncomfortable.
She’s awkward.
She’s about to ramble.
“We’re talking about dipping penises in eggnog.”
And yup, there it is.
Christ. Now I know how Cole feels.
“Pardon me?” BKJ says, tugging on his ear.
“And nipples. Penises and nipples in eggnog,” Betty continues.
“As a joke,” I say, wanting to help out, because wow, probably not what BKJ was thinking he would hear when he walked up to us. “And we weren’t talking about your dad and mom using eggnog in that way. Not even a little.”
“Nor did we say it was how Christmas miracles happen,” Betty continues.
“Not one mention of your parents. None at all. And definitely not about how a nip and a tip would connect and make magic. Nope. Not even a little. Because that’s inappropriate and would be way out of line to speak about your parents in such a way, so we would never. ”
BKJ raises his brow, his mustache twitching while he stares us down.
I can see Betty’s gulp.
I can feel the back of my neck sweat.
“Yup, nary a mention of them,” I add for good measure.
He studies us for one more second and then says, “You know, you very well might be a perfect match.” He taps the table. “Have a good night.”
Then he takes off, clomping his boots across the hardwood floor until he leaves the bar.
I turn to look at Betty. “Wow, you are not smooth at all.”
Her mouth falls open, mirth all over her expression. “As if you are.”
“Uh, smoother than you.”
“You’re the one who brought up his parents.”
“Well . . . you brought up the penises, which triggered me to talk about the parents. I wasn’t going to say anything about the eggnog.”
“Oh . . . you were. It would have been a few seconds, but you would have. Guaranteed. I could see your mind twirling. I honestly think I said that to protect you.”
“Oh, bullshit.” I laugh. “His boots scared you, and therefore you started rambling. I was holding it together.”
“If you call that holding it together, then I fear for you.” She crosses her arms. “Let’s call a spade a spade. We were both folding under his stare. Admit it.”
I scratch my jaw and then say, “But I don’t know why. He’s a nice guy, and I’m taller than him—I shouldn’t be frightened.”
“It’s the boots and shovel, simple as that.”
Betty
“Okay, this is amazing,” I say as I take a bite out of a Junior Mint ice cream cake while sharing a booth with Atlas at the Polar Freeze.
I’ve never been to the local ice cream shop because every time I’ve visited, it’s been cold, and ice cream doesn’t really scream Christmas to me, but I’ve been missing out.
First of all, the entire place is set up as if you stepped foot into the Arctic tundra.
The walls are coated in plaster and shaped to form caves, coves, and arches that are painted in white and covered in clear glitter.
The floor is concrete with icebergs painted like stepping stones leading up to the counter.
An old soda shop–type bar spans across the right side of the store while iceberg-blue and white leather booths flank the other side, offering a great deal of seating.
My favorite parts are the snowflakes, icicles, and lights that dangle from the ceiling, adding that last piece of whimsy to tie everything together.
“My favorite treat. They only make it during the Christmas season.”
“Really?” I ask, taking another bite while Atlas has his arm around me, keeping me close to his side. Yes, we’re that couple, sitting side by side in a booth rather than across from each other. “Why would they keep such a delicious thing as a seasonal dish?”
“I think it’s to get more people through the doors during the Christmas season. It’s so cold, ice cream really isn’t someone’s go-to treat.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”
“They actually do a monthly special to keep people coming in. The Junior Mint is by far the best.” He takes a bite, and I watch as his mouth wraps around the fork, his expression suggesting he’s truly enjoying the dessert.
I’ve shamefully watched him enjoy his food all night.
I’ve watched him suck, lick, chew—it’s been a cornucopia of turn-ons, and now that we’re here eating dessert, I’m starting to get the impression that he’s not the only horny one in this duo.
“Hey.”
“Huh?” I look up at him.
“You’re staring at my mouth.”
“Am I?”
“You are,” he says, smirking.
“Umm, I don’t think I was.”
“Uh-huh, so then what were you looking at?”
“The, uh, penguin behind you. Bold choice since penguins and polar bears don’t live in the same habitat.”
“We’re getting back to you staring at my mouth in a second, but . . . they don’t?”
“Nope, it’s a misconception,” I answer. “Penguins live in the Southern Hemisphere, and polar bears live in the Northern Hemisphere.”
“Huh, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you’re welcome for educating you. Anyway”—I take the last bite of the ice cream—“we best be going home now.” I attempt to get up, but he holds me down by the waist.