The One Night Stand Before Christmas - Jana Aston Page 0,3
and no use for time constraints. He’s good-looking. Of course he is. Men who come with a warning always are.
Crap.
He’s the kind of good-looking that makes my heart rate speed up. And he’s got sexy eyes. Yeah, yeah, I know that sounds dumb, but you know the type? They light up when he talks and they smolder when they look at you. He’s tall with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Strong jaw and perfectly symmetrical features. He’s the kind of attractive that you know is going to age really well.
And yeah, I want to punch myself in the face for even thinking sexy things about Jillian’s brother.
He stares a moment longer before shrugging and saying, “Sure,” with a small laugh as his eyes trail over mine. Heavy-lidded brown eyes the color of a swirl of caramel in a pecan pie, which has always been my favorite of the pies. “And you are?”
What a dick. Who says “sure” in response to “hello”? This time I make a show of checking my watch before I respond. “I’m Noel. And you’re late.”
“Ahh, you’re Noel. From the community center.” He says this as if it’s all clicking into place for him. As if he’s just remembering he was meant to do something at the library besides drop off books.
Super bright, this one.
And I bet those books were overdue.
I refrain from grunting as I tell him to follow me and spin on my heel, talking as we walk, reminding him of what Jillian has surely already explained to him. Santa. Kids. Pictures. It’s not hard. We should have this wrapped up in a couple hours and then he’s free to go.
When we reach the office he’s smiling. “So you need me to put on a Santa suit and play Santa?”
“Yeah, that’s the general idea.” I’m not sure why he’s so seemingly amused by this. He’s almost acting like he’s doing me a favor when really he’s doing the favor for Jillian. And the fifty bucks.
“You’re not what I expected,” he finally replies.
“Put this on,” I respond, shoving the Santa suit into his hands. When he simply grins and starts unbuttoning his pants I take it upon myself to step into the hallway because it’s pretty clear he’s got no relationship with modesty. It’s also clear why Jillian sent the Santa padding along with the costume because her brother does not have the body to play Santa. Unless it was a male stripper version of Santa—that he could definitely do, I think with a peek through the open door. “What were you expecting?” I find myself asking against my better judgment.
“You were described to me as sweet,” he answers, laughter in his voice.
“I am—” I start to object but I cut myself off with a shake of my head. I don’t care what this guy thinks. Jillian warned me he was a flirt. I need to stop engaging with him. A guy like Teddy is the last thing I need. Call me crazy, but I find employment and a place of your own really attractive in a man.
“You’re feisty,” he calls out from inside the room. I wrinkle my nose, reminding myself I don’t care what he thinks. “Sexy,” he adds, and my jaw drops open. Okay, maybe I care a teeny-tiny bit. I wonder if he’s joking though. I’m wearing jeans and a green turtleneck sweater. He must be joking, unless he’s got a turtleneck fetish.
“Well, you’re exactly what I expected.” I lean against the opposite wall to force myself to stop spying on him through the open doorway.
“How’s that?” He steps out of the office, still buttoning the Santa jacket over the stomach padding. He should look ridiculous—red pants, wide black belt slung over his shoulder and a half-buttoned matching jacket—but he doesn’t. In fact I’m having decidedly un-ridiculous thoughts about him as I watch his hands moving the length of the coat. When he finishes, he winks at me and I blush at having been caught staring.
Maybe I have a Santa fetish? Eww. Is that even a thing?
“You’re an even bigger shameless flirt than I was warned about.”
“Were you? That’s unexpected.” He smiles, appearing more amused than offended.
I shake off the weird sexual tension between us and push past him into the office to grab the beard wig and the hat. Beard wig is the correct terminology, right? Jillian left some boob tape to ensure it stays put. Body tape. I’m sure it’s called body tape. I think? Still, I laugh ’cause we