Missing Christmas (Chance of a Lifetime, #3.5)

by Kate Clayborn

“Jasper,” she says again, and she moves that thumb enough to press it, lightly, on the curve of my bottom lip. I feel like I live a lifetime in that second of pressure, like I see every fantasy I’m not allowed to have about her. Starlight, soft clothes, silence. “Kiss me.”

We stand like two teenagers who’ve been caught right in the middle of the most awkward game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Seven Minutes in Tense Conversation With a Coworker You’re in Love With.

She told me once, not long after we first met, out at a bar in Houston with Ben. He may have asked all the questions, but I remember all the answers.

All I can think about is Jasper, no pajamas, and that bed. The holiday bell is ringing somewhere different at the moment.

“Unbelievable!” I shout, waving a hand in the direction of my laptop. “He’s in a Santa suit, not a ski mask! How does she not recognize him?” Kristen laughs, keeping her eyes on the screen while the aforementioned man wraps his arms around the short, plucky woman who has spent the last ninety minutes not making the extremely obvious connection between her quiet doctor neighbor and the Santa who’s been doing visits to the children’s hospital wing where she works as an events planner.

I have never been this turned on, ever. I hope he doesn’t think I’m having an asthma attack.

the rest of our clothes come off like that—like presents under a tree, like we can’t decide how long to pause and admire the gift we’ve got in front of us before we start thinking about what we still have waiting.

I absolutely regret every time I have teased him for insisting on gym time for himself during our work trips. Gym time is great; gym time should have a hallowed shrine built in its honor.

I’ll say I got my period and need a tampon or something; that always makes men disappear into thin air.

He’s breathing a little heavy, and I know from gym time and now also from sex time that it’s not from exertion.

placing my hands on his chest. Even through his coat I think I can feel the holiday bell of his heart.