Chapter 11 Gideon
Gideon
Valencia, as it turns out, has a subscription to a female-focused ethical porn streaming service. She seems embarrassed as she rambles out an explanation.
“Earlier this year, after ... Well, you know what happened. Anyway, this summer, I was embarking on my Hookup Era, and I’d never been with a woman before. But I wanted to, so ...” She gestures at the girl-on-girl scene playing on my TV. “Research.”
I want to ask about this Hookup Era, but all I say is, “I fucking love this about you.”
Her cheeks go pink. “You just like the idea of me eating pussy.”
My grin is wolfish. “That too.”
While the women moan on-screen, Valencia and I gather everything in the living room. Since we’re wrapping gifts for my firm’s toy drive, I bought the presents, and Valencia brought wrapping supplies made from recycled materials.
As we sit on the floor to work, Valencia eyes the pile of Nintendo Switches, iPads, and LEGO sets. “Don’t you think you went overboard with the gifts?”
“Valencia, look who you’re talking to.”
She snorts. “Remind me again why you work?”
“Because I don’t like being bored.” I glance at the TV and cringe. “How is that comfortable?”
Valencia tilts her head, mimicking the awkward angle of the upside-down woman’s neck. “She must do yoga.”
We get started, and to my surprise, Valencia is .
.. not the best at wrapping gifts. I, having been trained by Andrea Noble herself, wrap with the precision of an origami master.
Or close to it. It’s nice to know Valencia isn’t perfect at something.
Not so I can make fun of her, like I would have once upon a time, but just to know that she’s human.
I want to ask if she needs help, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I listen to her muttered curses, which sometimes mirror those of the women on-screen. Finally, Valencia tosses down a roll of eco-friendly ribbon and glares at me.
“Show me how to do it,” she demands, and I hide a smile.
I show her the way my mom taught me—measuring the right amount of paper, then folding the edges and creasing them with a fingernail before applying tape. Once she’s got it, she takes over wrapping while I handle ribbons and bows.
A threesome scene comes on next, and I watch idly out of the corner of my eye.
“Why no swords crossing?” I ask.
Valencia shrugs. “Missed opportunity.”
I turn the volume down. The woman in this scene is pretty loud, but I guess I would be too if I had two dicks in me.
Valencia passes me a wrapped iPad. “My mom always did this part,” she says quietly.
“Wrapping gifts?” I want to make sure I’m following.
She nods. “Mom was so creative. I wish I’d inherited that from her.”
“First of all, our list is extremely creative. And second, I’d wager you got more from her than you realize.”
She shoots me a grateful look. “I just thought I had more time, you know? It was so sudden.”
“Did you talk to anyone about it? After?”
“I did grief counseling for a while. It helped. Maybe I should revisit it. The shock, and then being the only one left to manage everything ... That was really hard. Like I said, I probably leaned on the Mulhollands too much. But they helped me with the paperwork and were really supportive. I’m not sure how I would’ve gotten through it without them. ”
I wonder how much of her attachment to Mulholland was about his parents, but I don’t ask. The fact that she seems to be more upset about missing Christmas with them than lamenting the dissolution of her engagement is pretty telling.
“But I guess losing a parent is never easy. With your father, was it ...” She trails off, like she’s afraid to ask for details. And while it’s painful, I don’t mind telling her. After all, she knows this particular grief well.
“It was a pretty rapid decline. Only three months from the time he found out he was sick. And he didn’t tell me, initially. He’d known for a month before I figured it out and asked my mom. So for me, it was more like two months.”
It hadn’t been enough time for me to wrap my head around it, to come to grips with watching him waste away, then scrambling to pack in a lifetime’s worth of closure with a man who had no real interest in it.
“He did say he was proud of me,” I say quietly. “During our last two-sided conversation, before he couldn’t talk anymore. He said he was proud of me, but I don’t ... I don’t know if he meant it. Sometimes I think he just said it because he was dying.”
She doesn’t speak for a while, just keeps wrapping, before she asks, “Does it matter?”
I shake my head ruefully. “My therapist has asked me that so many fucking times.”
“And?”
I heave a sigh, and my gaze flicks to the TV, where the woman is getting spit roasted.
Shaking my head, I look away. “No, it doesn’t matter.
Even if he only said it because he was dying, he still thought to say it.
And it doesn’t matter that he did, because I can’t live my life to try to make him proud.
It was impossible then, and it’s even more impossible now. I can only try to be proud of myself.”
Her eyes shine as she presses her lips together. Finally, she whispers, “I really want to say I’m proud of you, but that seems counterproductive.”
I open my mouth to tell her that maybe it shouldn’t mean anything to me, but it does . But at that very moment, the woman on screen yells, “Do it! Fuck my little holes with those monster cocks!”
There’s a beat of silence. Valencia and I stare at the TV, then we both burst out laughing.
“This is too weird!” Valencia digs through a pile of discarded wrapping paper for the remote. “I can’t talk about grief and wrap a walking, talking Elmo during a DP scene. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”
I shudder as she hits pause. “I thought this would be sexy, but it just feels wrong .”
“I’m putting on a movie instead.” She navigates to the dashboard and picks The Muppet Christmas Carol .
“Excellent choice, but this doesn’t count toward Day 10.” I jab a finger at her. “You’re not getting out of our agreement early.”
“Don’t worry,” she says breezily. “We’re still on for movies this weekend.”
We wrap presents while Valencia sings along with the movie.
She knows every word, and it’s fucking adorable.
Her voice isn’t very strong, but she can carry a tune, and there’s something pleasant about tying elaborate bows and thinking about the child who’ll open this gift, while Valencia sings “One More Sleep ’til Christmas” with Kermit the Frog.
When the song ends, she passes me another box. “Does your firm do this toy drive every year?”
“Yeah. Rodrigo’s in charge of it.”
She side-eyes me. “You give money, too, don’t you?”
“I can confirm that a monetary donation is also made on behalf of the Noble Foundation.”
“The Noble Foundation.” She repeats it under her breath, but she’s smiling. I have a feeling she’s going to look it up, so I save her the trouble.
“Do you want to see the press release listing our other charitable donations from the year?”
“Actually, I would.” She gives me a sunny smile. “And then I have a list of environmental groups you should recommend for next year.”
“Consider it done.”
She stares at me. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” It’s funny that she thinks there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her. “My mother and I are the ones who make those decisions now. And she doesn’t require convincing the way my ...”
I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to. Valencia pats my knee, and when a new song begins, she sings along with gusto. In between songs, we talk about work. She tells me about the Clean Air Act presentation she’s giving tomorrow, and I talk about a win with my latest immigration case.
Once all the presents are wrapped, she holds up three fingers. “Wrapping presents—three stars.”
I frown. “Only three?”
“I don’t like things I’m bad at.”
“What about wrapping presents while watching porn?”
“Ugh, zero stars.” She makes a face, then purses her lips in thought. “I’d watch porn with you under different circumstances, but we should’ve paired it with another prompt, like baking.”
“Maybe we can try a do-over,” I say, testing the waters, but all she says is, “Maybe! What about you?”
“Me?”
“How would you rate the evening?”
I pause, then blurt out, “Five stars. For wrapping presents while you sing along with the Muppets.”
She smiles. “You charmer.”
As I walk her to the door, I realize that we didn’t even have sex tonight.
And despite how absolutely ravenous I am for her, I don’t feel like there was anything missing.
It was enough to spend time with her, even if things were sort of awkward, what with the porn and the presents and the discussion of dead parents.
But we weren’t awkward. We got through all of it, together, and I’ll see her tomorrow.
And the next day, and the next, and every day until Christmas Eve.
Still, I pull her in for a goodbye kiss before she leaves. I don’t mean to make it sexy, but once we start, I can’t let go. I slant my mouth over hers, changing the angle, and she opens for me. Before I know it, she’s nipping at me with her teeth, and I’m sliding my knee between her thighs.
“Oh, fuck, Gideon,” she rasps, grinding her pussy against my leg. “Damn, that’s good.”
I growl in response, since my mouth is busy trailing sucking kisses down her throat. I’m hard for the first time all night as I tug her scarf aside and scrape my teeth over her clavicle. I adore the sounds she makes when I do this.
I’m reaching for the zipper on her coat when I stop myself.
“Go.” I grip her arms and maneuver her away from me. “Go, before I ...” Fuck, I don’t even know what. Before I beg her to stay? “Text me when you get home.”
Her lips are swollen, her eyes glassy. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I hope your presentation goes well tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.” She nods, still looking dazed. “Thanks.”
I want to walk her home, but if I do, we’ll end up in her bed. So I just open the door and give her a smirk full of all the pent-up desire raging through my system. “Good night, Valencia.”
Her voice has a dreamy quality to it. “Good night, Gideon.”
I close the door behind her and lock it, then drag my hands down my face.
I’m tempted to turn the porn back on and jerk off, but I don’t. The anticipation won’t kill me. And besides, I have a surprise planned for her.
Whistling the finale song from the movie, I head to my bedroom to set up.