“So…” Amelia turns, eyeballing me from head to toe.
“So?”
“I think we need to find you something a bit more festive to wear,” she says with that lopsided grin I’ve come to really love. To the point that I miss the one-sided dimple when it’s not there.
When I look behind me, I let out a laugh. “No way. Nope.”
“Come on!” Making puppy dog eyes at me, she starts for the market stall with the light-up Christmas sweaters you could probably see from space.
“No. We are not decking the halls.”
“Wait.” She pauses mid-inspection of a bells design where the lights make it look like the bells are moving. “You watch Christmas movies?”
“I said we don’t celebrate Christmas, not that I don’t know what it is. You do realize I’m not an alien, right?”
“Which is your favorite?”
I’m not sure if she’s referring to the sweaters or movies, but then she presses the top of the bell and the “Jingle Bells” tune starts playing. It’s better I take control of the conversation and keep it on Hollywood.
“Deck the Halls is my favorite.”
“Really?” Without reluctance, she holds up the sweater in front of me, sizing it up. When she’s happy that it’s a fit, she goes to pay for it.
“Really, I love Danny DeVito. You know what I don’t love though?”
“I’m guessing my taste in sweaters, but I think it’s appropriate after last night. You jingled my bells just fine.” With a wink at me, she takes her purchase from the vendor and links her arm with mine as we head toward the food huts.
“Your jokes are beyond corny.”
“But you love them,” she replies too quickly to catch herself.
When her words settle, she starts to get as awkward as she did when the woman at the pub thought we were a couple. Something tells me that she’s been burnt about how freely she speaks her feelings, and even though I like to keep my distance with most women, Amelia is different. I know she won’t take advantage of anything that happens between us.
“I do,” I tell her, taking the sweater bag from her and wrapping my arm around her shoulders to pull her into me. “It’s what makes you different.”
“Good different, right?”
Kissing the top of her Santa hat, I stop in front of the line-up for the rink. “Are you fishing now?”
“Will you drill me till I squirt?” Her comeback is so quick that it renders me speechless. Not to mention it has my dick trying to flag down her attention in a nanosecond. Somehow I didn’t expect her to make an ice fishing reference, but I can definitely work with that. Me and the ice have been friends for a very long time.
“Trust me, spitfire, I’ll drop my jig into your ice hole any time.”
“And you’re telling me my humor is corny?” she laughs, and the sound of it makes my heart beat faster.
Amelia is stunning with her cold-bitten nose and fiery hair flicking wildly around her shoulders. I imagine that in the summer she’ll have golden freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, and to know that I’ll never see that makes my chest tighten. I hate the thought.
“How does a Cali girl know how to reference ice fishing?” I ask as she finishes her mulled wine and aims the small paper cup at one of the large penguin bins a few feet away from where we’re standing in line.
“Some of our clients have adventurous event themes. We did this amazing launch party for an upcoming caviar brand last year, and we had an Arctic theme at this incredible ice bar in London. Caviar, vodka and anything to do with ice.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It was fun.” She shrugs, but the pleased hitch to her smile tells me that it’s something she’s particularly proud of. “It was our first major corporate event. Kate and I couldn’t believe it when they told us we’d won the bid for it.”
“Sounds like I might have to hold on to your number after all,” I tease, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her to me.
Amelia is short enough that she has to tip her head back to look up at me, and I like that. I like that I get to see every detail of her face every time she looks at me.
“You couldn’t afford me,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out.
Things feel different between us today. The coyness she normally possesses is gone as though we really are no longer strangers. I can’t stop touching her, and she can’t stop touching me. When we’re not physically touching, we’re in each other’s sights. The odd thing is, it feels good to be this connected to someone. It’s grounding in a way.
“Have I told you I own a jet?”
“It’s the company’s, not yours so…”
“Huh, who’s going for the jugular now?” Pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, I hold her flush to my side as we move forward in the line for the rink. We’re almost to the front when I ask her, “I assume you like ice-skating given how much you love Christmas?”
“Umm…I don’t mind it. I’m not the best at it…”
Somehow I doubt there’s anything she’s not good at. Amelia is the type that puts her all into everything she does. There’s no holding back on her part on anything; it’s why it’s so easy to be around her. What you see is what you get, there are no ulterior motivations or hidden agendas. “No worries, I’ll have you dancing in no time.”
“What?”
“You’re talking to the greatest right wing Trinity’s ice hockey team has ever seen.”
“Cocky much?”
“It’s the truth.” I tap my card on the reader and take the tickets for the rink, taking Amelia with me as she continues to marvel at the tidbit of myself I shared with her.
I’ve got her in skates, and we’re standing on the edge of the rink with her holding on to the side when she looks at me with a quirked brow. “Ice hockey.”
“What’s so surprising about it?”
“I don’t know, I…” She shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess I thought players were bigger. Like wider, you know?”
“Are you calling me scrawny?” Pulling away from the edge, I tug her toward me. “You know, it’s not about size.”
“Only if you don’t actually have it,” she sasses back as I hold both of her hands and bring her into me so I can spin her around with me.
We’ve gone around the ice several times, and I’m twirling her along to one of the Christmas songs when she tells me, “You’re actually good at this.”
“You’ll find I’m good at most things.”
“Oh yeah?” Amelia pauses, and I spin her so that her back is flush to my front and her ass is pressed to my groin.
Tracing the shell of her ear with my lips, I whisper, “I’m great at fucking you.”
Almost stumbling to a halt, with an audible hitched breath, Amelia looks up at me with a deep blush. When I circle her back to face me with a wiggle of my brow, she slaps my chest lightly with a soft gush. “Oh my God, stop!”
“That’s not what you were saying when I was balls-deep in your pussy…my thumb in your ass. Trust me, you wouldn’t be saying that if it was my dick either.”