He’s standing behind his desk wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen. There’s a deformed-looking Rudolph pulling what I’m guessing is supposed to be a sleigh but looks more like a pile of dog poop and Rudolph’s nose is blinking. It’s absolutely hideous.
“Merry Christmas! Ho ho ho!”
My eyebrows draw together, and I tilt my head. What in the heck—
“I’m not calling you a ho, I—That’s something you say, right? Santa Claus?”
He looks absolutely panicked and fall-down exhausted. I know he says his family doesn’t celebrate holidays and they’re Jewish anyway, but he’s got to have more intel on Santa than that. Of course he says ho ho ho. Clearly, Evans has reached the point of dog-tired where he’s losing his faculties. Which is also endearing.
“What is all this?”
“It’s, you know, Christmas. For you.”
Every time I look, I see something new. There’s cotton strung out on the floor I think is supposed to look like snow and there’s a pile of presents in front of his desk.
“You were sad, Lucy. I know it’s not going home, but I thought it would make you less sad. I’m not exactly a Christmas expert, but I tried.”
“It’s wonderful. How did you—”
Half his face scrunches up in a delirious smile. “I don’t think I’ve slept for two days. It’s Christmas Eve, right?”
I nod.
“Then, yes, two days. And India helped.”
“India?”
Of course she was in on it. He couldn’t have pulled this off without her being some kind of aware. It makes me happy, though, that she actively helped. That would explain the note on my desk and why she sent me out for takeout she wasn’t going to eat. But if she was in on it…
“She knows?” Panic grips my insides like a tangled string of Christmas lights. We’re both getting fired for sure.
Stumbling over some fake snow and a cardboard cutout of Frosty the Snowman, Evans comes around his desk and stops short in front of me.
“She does. I told her yesterday.”
If I’d had anything in my stomach, it’d probably be decorating the fake snow I’m standing on. Panic has a way of making me ralph.
“But you could’ve gotten us fired.”
He shakes his head and waves his hands for emphasis. “No, I wouldn’t do that to you. I told her she could fire me, that it was all my fault.”
It was no such thing, but the fact that he poked the dragon…
I state the obvious: “You’re still here.”
“Yeah. And so are you. With a promotion and a raise and an office if you’ll stay. She said she doesn’t care.”
“She doesn’t care? Then why are those rules even there?”
“She said she hadn’t gotten around to revising the handbook yet. When I asked her about it, she started muttering something about ex-wives and Jack being a manwhore.”
I crack a smile, as I’m sure he meant me to, but my amusement is overshadowed by the crazy risk he took. “You could’ve gotten fired. You could’ve lost your job. What about your brother?”
He shrugs, making the blinking bulb of Rudolph’s nose dance on his chest. “I figured I’d still be able to get a good reference since it wasn’t performance-related.”
He promptly blushes, and I love him for it. The dirtiest man I know blushes when he makes inadvertent sex puns.
“And I told my parents I can’t help so much with my brother any more. I gave them the information on the vouchers and other programs you looked up and some contact numbers for people at the VA who should be able to help them out. I said after the holidays I’d help them sort it out, but I can’t contribute as much anymore. I want to have a real life, my own life. And I want to have it with you.”
“With me?”
“Yeah.” His smile is so bright and hopeful it puts all the other gaudy lights in here to shame. “We haven’t exactly gone about this in the most, uh, traditional of ways, but I…I like you, Lucy. And it’s not the sex. I mean, the sex is amazing, like whoa amazing…”
He makes a gesture like something is exploding out of the side of his head and it makes me giggle. “Well, yeah.”
“It’s not just that, though. You’re smart and you’re funny and you’re nice. That probably doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it is. I love that you’re a nice person. Like a genuinely good, kind person. And I know there are more things about you I’m going to like. I want to find out what those are.”
“I’d like that. Even though you spilled to India about Greg Wu.”
He turns a fiery shade of red I can see even in the glow of the Christmas lights. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. But it all worked out okay. I wouldn’t have let her take it out on you.”
“I wanted to stay anyway.”
“I know. And I’m glad you don’t hate me for meddling. I promise to be a way better secret keeper in the future. I won’t tell anyone about anything ever.”
“That seems extreme.”
“Yeah, well, I’d do it for you.”
My lips curl into a smile because he’s so freaking sweet. “Okay. You’re forgiven.”
“Then maybe after this PRA insanity is over, you’ll go on a date with me? Like a real date? Not a quickie in the copy room or a picnic dinner that ends up with us doing it on the floor or an office event where we have sex in a restroom.”
“Sure. Under two conditions.”
“Name it. Anything, it’s yours.”
“Will you teach me how to say your name? I won’t use it if you don’t want me to, but I want to know what it is and I want to say it right. Even if it’s only in my own head.”
There’s a look on his face like I’ve reached in and poked his very heart, and it hurt but maybe in a good way.
“Yeah, Luce. I can do that. I’d be happy to. Thank you for asking.”
“I tried to learn from the internet, but even they said it different ways and I don’t know which one you like best.”
And there’s that heart-poking look again. I’d like to make him look that way as many times as possible. To treat him with so much kindness and care and consideration that he doesn’t even know what to do with himself, because he deserves it and I bet he’ll make me feel the same.
“Yeah, definitely. What was the other thing?”
I let the corner of my mouth curl up and hopefully look a little devious.
“That it’ll still count as a real date if we have sex?”
He frowns briefly, as if he actually has to think about it.
“Evans. You know sex and dating aren’t mutually exclusive, right?”
He shakes his head, adorable embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, of course I do. I just didn’t want you to think I only want to spend time with you if there’s sex involved.”
“You’re spending time with me now.”
His cheeks turn as red as Rudolph’s blinking nose. “Yeah. About that. I had some kind of filthy ideas that involve getting you naked and then dressing you back up with Christmas lights.”
“By dressing me up, do you mean tying me up?”
“Maybe. That depends on how you feel about being tied up.”
I purse my lips. How do I feel about being tied up? That voice in the back of my head whispers good girls don’t like being tied up, I shouldn’t be defiling this almost-holy day with this pagan sex-crazed madness, but I pick up my mental stiletto and squash it. Because it’s about joy and it’s about love and there can’t be anything wrong with that. “I’m not sure. But I’m willing to find out.”
Geeky enthusiasm blazes bright over Evans’s face. He said he doesn’t know anything about Christmas, but he’s got the gist. “Awesome. That’s awesome.”
“But could you do something first for me?”
“Anything, Lucy. Anything at all.”
“I love that you’re wearing that sweater, but could you take it off and possibly burn it in your trash bin? Because it’s really offensive t
o the eye.”
He doesn’t even wait for me to finish my sentence before he’s tugging the godawful thing over his head. “I thought you’d never ask. It’s itchy too.”
Now that the demon reindeer is gone, I feel as if I can touch him. So I do. His eyes close as my hands land on his chest, and I wrap my fingers around the holly-printed tie. He went all out, and the pleasure I feel about the effort he went to, all for me, is at once thrilling and mortifying. Hold on to the thrill, Lucy, let the rest go.
And the best way to do that is to kiss him, so I do. Again and again until we’re breathless and clawing at each other. There are far, far too many clothes in between us.
Epilogue
‡
One Year Later
Evans
Never have I been so nervous to get on a plane. I can almost understand why India hid in the bathroom. It’s because when you’re on your way to somewhere that could end your life as you know it, a tin can flying through the sky is the last place you want to be.
Luckily, Lucy’s a good enticement. She spent more time than usual on her hair this morning, and it’s falling in soft curls around her shoulders. She’s wearing this fitted top with a riot of greens on it, and though the cut is conservative, it doesn’t leave all that much to the imagination, mostly because Lucy’s body is—fist-biting gorgeous. Out-of-this-world awesome. Breath-stealing sexy.
If she heard me saying these things, she’d roll her eyes, but I’d see the secret smile afterward. She doesn’t always like compliments about her appearance, but she trusts them from me because that’s only one on the long list of things I love about her. And I do. Love her. Have told her so. And she said it back, because I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.
I can’t find my words at the moment, though, because the idea of getting on a plane to fly to Iowa to meet Lucy’s family… Well, that knots up my stomach, even though she says they’ll love me. I’m not so sure. Her brothers could probably crush me with a single fist and I bet they’d get along better with Darren than with me, but maybe not. Lucy says they’re hard workers and don’t stand for slackers. I do work hard, even if I do it in a suit and tie instead of Carhartts and boots. And to be fair, Darren’s gotten better. Moved into his own place and finally got into some programs that might actually help him stay there and build a life. We get along better now, have started meeting up a couple of times a month. And yeah, sometimes it’s at the Hen House. But sometimes not. For the first time since we were kids, we actually celebrated the first night of Hanukkah last week and that was nice. It might not sound like much except that it’s a vast improvement where my relationship with Darren is concerned. We taught Lucy how to play dreidel, and she looked up how to make latkes. They were delicious.
Now that I’m on better terms with my brother, I’ve got to start winning Lucy’s over. She’s promised—threatened?—that her brothers are going to take me out to see the cows, so we’ll see how that goes. Hopefully I won’t make too huge a fool out of myself. Or if I do, that Lucy finds it endearing. Especially now.
I’ve got a certain something burning a hole in my pocket. Okay, it’s a ring. Kind of a big one. I hadn’t meant to spend quite so much, but it’s so perfect for her, and now that I’ve got more cash coming in, it’s not so much of a stretch. It’s a vintage ring from the sixties that would probably seem too heavy, too full of detail for a lot of women, but for Lucy… I think she’ll love it, and if she’s going to be wearing it forever, it should be something she’ll adore.
My hand slips automatically to my pocket to check that the box is still there, and it is. The velvet is soft under my fingertips and it eases the knot in my stomach some. I’d been planning to ask her on Christmas Day, but all of a sudden, that seems like too much pressure. What if she doesn’t say yes? What if she doesn’t want it to be a big production? What if her brothers strangle me with Christmas lights? I know Lucy pretty well, but this has got me stumped.
There’s a tug on my hand that yanks me out of my “thinky-ness” as Lucy calls it. And there she is, with her bouncy red hair and a big, sweet smile on her face. “Come on, Evans, they’re calling our group.”
She holds my hand as we wait in the line, and we both mumble pleasantries to the agent staffing the desk and the flight attendants welcoming people. We find our seats in first class, and Lucy settles in with exaggerated pleasure.
“This is nice. You get to do this all the time?”
“Not all the time, but a lot.”
“You deserve it,” she says and leans over to plant a kiss on my cheek. A warm flush spreads all the way through me because she means it. She thinks I’m pretty great, and with a steady diet of her telling me so, I’ve started to believe it.
“So do you.” I return her kiss, and she smiles at me. We’d finished up a hard week at work yesterday—the second year of the PRA bond project and two more contracts to function as municipal advisors we’d signed after pulling that clusterfuck off. I’ve got reason to believe I’ll be getting a promotion and a good-sized bonus when we get back. If that ends up working out—and whatever else she may be, India’s a woman of her word—I’m going to buy a new car. Preferably one with a bigger backseat, because banging in the car has become a bit of a pastime for us.
It’s possible I get a bit carried away, not just pressing my lips to her cheek, but trailing kisses behind her ear, down her neck, and nipping at her shoulder.
“Are you thinking about what I’m thinking about?”
Her whisper makes me smile against her freckled skin. “Probably.”
I’m thinking about the pilot costume I bought online last week in anticipation of this morning. It’s possible there was some roleplay and rather energetic shagging in her apartment’s coat closet earlier. We’re both too—what’s a cute word for uptight?—to actually have sex in an airplane lavatory—also, it’s called a lavatory, which is not a sexy word—but it sure was fun to pretend. And I only got poked in the ear by a hanger once.
Speaking of being poked, this box in my pocket is not comfortable. It’s reminding me with every dull jab, every unpleasant poke, that I have a whole part of my future in my pants. Not in a genetic material kind of way, which I guess would also be true, but in a hopefully-making-the-woman-of-my-dreams-my-wife kind of way.
I make it until we level out, and then I can’t take it anymore. The stupid box pokes me in the thigh again as I wave the flight attendant over and ask for some champagne.
“Fancy.” Lucy makes big eyes at me, and I have to chuckle.
“Drinks are free in first class, Luce. You should get whatever you want.”
“Oh, right.” She blushes, because why would she know that? She’s basically glued to her desk while India jet-sets all around, and I’m not much behind the boss lady on frequent flyer miles.
The flight attendant is back quickly with two flutes filled with generous pours, and she gives me a bit of a suspicious look when she hands over mine. I try to use all my mental faculties to shove down the blood rising to my cheeks, but my body’s uncooperative. Before I can get any more flustered, I turn to Lucy and offer her a clink of my glass. We manage not to spill any, and she wiggles after her first sip. She’s so cute.
“So, Luce, I wanted to ask you something.”
My heart is pounding in my chest; she’s got to feel the vibration from here. I feel as though I’m shaking so hard I might down the plane. Which would be so awkward… I can see the headline now: Plane forced to land in soybean field due to a passenger’s panic attack, caused by proposing to his girlfriend. She, of course, said no.
But Lucy takes another dainty sip of her champagne and beams at me. “Don’t worry, my brothers probably won’t challenge you to a push-up contest for real.”
I almost choke on the bubbles, because honestly, that hadn’t even occurred to me. I’m in decent enough shape for someone who spends his life on a laptop, but those farm boys could kick my ass along any dimension.
“That wasn’t…�
� If I could get through this without spluttering, that’d be amazing. I think about calling up that cocky guy, the one who’d pretended he flew planes and took people’s lives in his hands every day and felt entitled to bang a smoking hot redhead in a goddamn lavatory thirty thousand feet in the air, but I don’t think that’s who Lucy would want to propose to her.
She likes that guy well enough, sure, because he’s fun and apparently isn’t so bad in the sack, but this is about spending the rest of our lives together and I don’t want to put on an act. I want her to say yes to awkward, fumbling Evans, because let’s face it, that’s who I am most of the time.
Shaking my head, my brow furrows, because I’m going to get through this even if I have to hurl what champagne I’ve managed to swallow into the airsick bag. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
Her perfectly done nails come to rest on my forearm, and she squeezes, scratching lightly over the cotton of my shirt. “I was teasing. Go ahead. What did you want to ask?”
“I was wondering, if you might, if you would…” Dammit. With one hand trapped by hers, and my champagne in the other, I have no hands to dig the damn box outta my pocket. So I have to ask her to hold my glass and then rummage around in my pants, which god, can’t make a pretty picture, but when I finally extract the box, her pretty lips part and her eyes go as big as I’ve ever seen them. “Lucy, will you marry me?”
The entire first-class cabin, including flight attendants, has gone silent and still. At least I’ve got people waiting with me. But if she says no, this was a terrible, terrible idea. Because sitting next to the person who refused your proposal in an enclosed space for hours isn’t awkward at all. Way to go, Evans. You smooth operator, you.
She’s still staring at me, and I want to grab my champagne glass back from her and bolt it to dampen my nerves or drown my sorrows or celebrate, depending on what exactly she’s going to say. If she says anything at all, which is seeming less and less likely.
Due South (The Compass series Book 5) Page 20
