Jack
I keep a close eye on her, but Clara seems fine. She still smiles at me like I’m her hero in the warm glow of the tree; she stifles a laugh in her sleeve as I grab a spray cleaner and cloth from behind the bar and wipe down the booth table.
“Gotta be responsible.” I wink at her, scrubbing.
Clara beams.
So… maybe this is okay. Maybe I haven’t done something terrible here. Maybe she wants this as badly as I do.
Maybe it can happen again.
Fuck. I’d give anything for this to happen again. For Clara to touch me casually, to kiss me on the cheek in the mornings, for her to let me back between those butter-soft thighs. And if she’d let me be her man? Forget it. I’d kill for that role.
Clara yawns so wide, her jaw cracks.
“Alright, then.” I tuck the cleaning stuff away and steer her toward the staircase. Her slipper boots scuff over the floorboards. “Up we go.”
How many times have I thought about climbing these steps to see her in her room? More than once, in the dead of night, I’ve had the horrible urge to sneak up here and watch her sleep.
I didn’t, obviously. I’m not a complete psycho. But my heart pounds as I climb behind her, that curvy little ass swaying in her pajama pants.
“It’s nearly morning,” Clara mumbles, her words thick with exhaustion.
“You’re going to bed anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you won’t go across town this late, will you?”
The worry in her voice makes my chest glow warm. “No, I won’t. I promise. I’ll crash in my office for a few hours.”
Her voice is small when she replies: “Oh.”
Look, I know what she was hoping for there. But I remember, even if she doesn’t, that her bed is a cramped single cot. Barely big enough for one person, let alone sweet little Clara plus a whole grown man. We won’t fit, not comfortably, and she desperately needs some good sleep.
Clara doesn’t speak again as we climb to her room.
I hover awkwardly in the doorway as she settles in. Since I’m not staying, it seems wrong to tramp in there and get in the way. Clara kicks off her slipper boots and throws the bed covers back, lowering down with a crinkle of bed springs.
There’s no need for me to be here at all, not really, but I wasn’t ready to leave her yet. And some mixed up part of my brain wanted this to be like a date, one where I walk her home.
“Goodnight.” Clara flops down on her side, tugging the covers over her shoulder. I smile at the pink tip of her nose, but I can’t tell if she smiles back.
“Merry Christmas, Clara.”
“Merry Christmas, .” Her voice sounds funny. Strained.
My boots thud against the stairs as I retreat to the bar. I’d be a shit Santa Claus in real life—I’m not built to sneak. And no way would I fuck around with chimneys when buildings have perfectly good doors.
I swipe the red hat off the table on my way to my office, twisting it in my hands.
Then close the door with a snap, nerves churning in my gut.
* * *
I toss and turn on my office sofa, my mind racing a thousand miles an hour. The more I stew in the darkness, the more my body joins in, sweat prickling over my top lip and my heart pounding faster. I scrub my hands down my face, restless.
Did I upset Clara when I came back down here?
Maybe I should have just stayed up there. Dragged a chair next to her bed or something. I mean, I’m sure as shit not getting any sleep anyhow, and now my baby’s up there doubting me. Feeling abandoned.
Fuck.
I push upright on the sofa, stifling a groan.
Sometimes, I feel young. Fit and sprightly. And sometimes, when I try and sleep on this fucking sofa, I feel like death warmed up. I roll my neck, wincing at the ache, and jam my feet in my boots before pushing to stand.
I’ll just check in on her. Nudge the door open and peek through. And if she’s already sleeping, I’ll leave her be and talk to her about it in the morning.
The floorboards groan under my weight as I cross the small office. Already, the voices of reason clamor in my head, telling me to turn around, , and let that girl alone. But the thought of Clara feeling sad up there has chased the last shreds of control clean out of me.
I yank the office door open and freeze.
Clara blinks up at me, fist raised. She’s still bundled in that red wool sweater, but her hair’s loose now, mussed and wavy over her shoulders from being in that braid.
I’m the first to recover. “Clara? You okay, baby?”
The pet name gives her a jolt. And she smiles up at me, sweet but unsure. “Hi, . Um. I know you told me to go to bed, but I was lying up there missing you and I couldn’t sleep because of it. Um.”
Missing me. She was up there, missing me. I rub at the ache in my chest, drawing her into the office by the elbow with my other hand.
“Okay, uh. Well. It’s cold in here,” I warn her, closing the door again. “And the sofa’s not too comfy. But you can stay as long as you like.” I flick on a table lamp, the room washing gold.
When I turn back to Clara, the breath catches in my throat. Because that light—it brings out the burnished threads of her caramel hair. It shows the dusting of freckles over her nose, and her pale green eyes, and the cute little gap teeth digging into her bottom lip.
“You take the sofa,” I rasp. “I couldn’t sleep on it anyway.”
“Thank you, .” She makes no move toward it. Just stands there, staring up at me, like she’s willing me to understand.
Well, hell. I can’t read my own mind most days. What chance do I have with Clara?
As we stand there, an awkward silence brewing, the wind kicks up outside. It howls and slams against the window, rattling the glass in the frame, and I swear the temperature drops a few more degrees.
Clara shivers, hugging her waist against the cold.
“Here.” I snatch the tartan wool blanket off the back of the sofa, draping it around her slender shoulders. Then I cast around for more layers to offer her, but the only thing I find is that damn Santa hat.
Oh well. A layer’s a layer. I swipe it off the desk and ease it onto her head.
Clara’s hair is like silk where it brushes my knuckles. The hat’s way too big for her, sagging backwards off her head, but it’s worth putting it on her for the smile she gives me.
“My turn, huh?”
I chuck her chin. “I guess so.” Seriously, I can’t stop touching her. Any excuse, and my hands are all over her, my pulse ticking faster in response.
Clara turns and flops down on the sofa, grinning up at me. “You want to sit on my knee, ?”
“Baby, I’d flatten you.”
She nods, pretending to be serious. “Yeah, but I’ve thought about it. That’s how I’d like to go.”
Ah, damn it. She’s so fucking sweet. And I’d kind of like to flatten her, too, but not by sitting on her knee. I’d like to stretch out on top of her, cover her with my whole body, feel her curvy little frame under mine, and rut her into those sofa cushions until she’s a puddle of need.
Clara bites her lip, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You’re looking at me funny, .”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
I take one step closer. Just one step. It’s all I can trust myself with. “Funny how?”
“Funny like earlier.” She sucks in a breath, and it’s ragged. “Funny like I’m something to eat.”
I can’t help my chuckle. I take another step, the floorboards groaning. “Well, so you were.”
Staring at her the way I am, I see the exact moment twin spots of color start to glow on her cheekbones. Those spots are the starting line, and from there the blush spreads over her cheeks, her nose, and down her pretty throat. I watch its progress, fascinated, and I forget myself for a moment, lowering to sit next to her on the sofa.
“You’re flushed, Clara. What are you thinking about?”
She swallows. Shakes her head, not saying anything.
“You won’t tell me?”
Clara shrugs one shoulder.
And maybe I should let it go, but she came to me, said she was lying awake missing me, and this night is nearly over, the pale tinge of dawn creeping over the windows. It seems to me that if we leave things unsaid now, if we let things stay tangled, it’ll be much harder to untangle them in the daylight. And I don’t want things messy with Clara. They’re so simple, coming from my side.
So I prod her a little. I’m not proud of it.
“Why did you come find me, Clara?”
Her plump mouth twists, her fingers squeezing the tartan blanket. “I told you, . I missed you.”
“So this is all you wanted? The two of us, sitting in the same room?”
She shrugs again, and she looks so miserable that I take pity. Start talking, before I can think better of it.
“You know what I think? I think you wanted me to touch you again. Maybe lick between your legs. To make you come a second time. Is that right?”
Her blush flares brighter, and triumph swells in my chest, but then she’s shaking her head again. Well, shit.
I try not to look too much like my chest is caving in. Like cold is spreading through me, icier even than the snow outside. “No? That’s okay.” My voice is pure gravel. “You can just sleep here if that’s all you want. I’ll sit at the desk and keep out of your way.”
I move to stand up, but Clara grips my sleeve. Holds me in place, her knuckles white against my sweater.