Charming Co-Worker - Jeannine Colette Page 0,38

and tilts his head with a grin. Any way you’d like, I think he’s saying.

I shake my head. “I’ve known Hunter for a couple of years now. And I wouldn’t say I’ve nailed him down. He’s the one who demanded he be my boyfriend. I finally gave in.”

I smile in his direction, and his eyes crinkle at the sides.

“Demanded, huh?”

“Well, yeah. I was just minding my own business at work when he came in and declared that we were dating. It was terribly embarrassing actually,” I try to say with a straight face. “My boss was watching and everything.”

Hunter’s eyes narrow at the mere mention of Branson. “Is that right, Christmas vixen?”

My mouth pinches as I kick him under the island.

He seems to find this amusing. “Katie here wanted to go—what was it, honey? Jingle his balls?”

“That’s enough, Hunty,” I say sweetly yet sternly.

“Rock his sleigh bed,” he says, and I have to put my hand over his mouth to quiet him. I feel his smile against my palm.

I hear Melissa snicker under her breath as she pushes off the counter and opens the freezer. “Let’s get Ella’s dessert going, so we can get her in bed sometime tonight—and away from their lewdness.”

I release my hand from Hunter, and he lets out a deep, laugh. I close my eyes and shake my head as I stab a potato and pop it into my mouth.

Hunter rubs my back and whispers into my ear, “Man, am I happy I brought you home.”

I stare at him quizzically as his mother looks back at us with an expression that’s half-surprised, half-contented. I really can’t decipher what it is.

While Hunter and I eat our dinner, Nancy and Melissa get dessert ready, and the three men talk football. We eat quickly, enjoying all the food, and top it off with three pies—pecan, cherry, and coconut cream. I’ve never enjoyed a meal so much. Of course, as soon as we’re done and Hunter tries to clean up, Nancy stops him.

“No, I’m putting my foot down on this one. I can clean up!” Nancy shouts while shooing Hunter away. “I’m sure you guys are exhausted. Why don’t you go get settled in?”

I turn to Hunter, suddenly surrounded by nerves of what our sleeping arrangements will be. I don’t get the feeling his family is old school in traditions, especially since he’s a man in his thirties, but do they expect Hunter and me to share a room?

He senses my hesitation and comes to my rescue. “I’ll get her set up in my room, and I figured I’d sleep out in the pool house,” he says, rubbing a calming hand over my back.

“It’s okay if—” Nancy doesn’t finish her sentence because Hunter is shaking his head at her. “I’ll go turn the heat on, so it’s nice and warm when you get there.”

She heads out the sliding glass door at the side of the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to give up your room for me.”

“It’s no big deal. There’s a pullout couch that’s actually pretty comfortable. I used to sneak out there with my high school girlfriends.”

I fake admonishment. “Not something you’re supposed to be telling the girl you brought home for the holiday.”

He moves my hair away from my face. “You’re right. Come on. I can show you where I used to masturbate to Britney Spears.”

“Hunter!” I reprimand.

“Man, do I love messing with you.” He kisses the side of my head. The scent of his cologne and natural maleness seeping through his shirt invigorates my body.

He grabs our bags and leads me up a grand staircase to a room that looks like it’s stuck in the ’90s.

“So, this was your room, growing up?” I ask, searching around.

He chuckles under his breath. “Um, can’t you tell?” He holds his hands out to the sides. “My mother refuses to change a thing.”

His walls are lined in posters of his football idols from when he was younger as well as trophies and medals he must have earned over the years. And of course, there’s a poster of Britney Spears in her “Baby One More Time” phase. A picture of him and a girl, which looks like it was taken at their prom, hangs in his mirror that sits over a desk in the corner.

“Was she your high school sweetheart?” I point to the photo.

He holds up the picture and grins. “Abby McKenna.”

“Broke her heart?” I ask.

“She broke mine when we went to college. It was a good thing because I had