That Man 3

by Nelle L’Amour

  Dad had picked me up at noon at the airport in his station wagon and couldn’t be happier to see me. The feeling was mutual. I was a daddy’s girl and loved my father. Of course, he was surprised Bradley wasn’t with me. I told him there’d been a change in plans and that I would explain everything to him and Mom when we got to the house. Fortunately, he didn’t press further.

  “Mom’s made your favorite gingerbread cookies,” he said as we passed by rows of shingled cookie-cutter homes all decked out with Christmas lights and decorations. “We’re all going to make a gingerbread house later.” Making one of these elaborate holiday confections was a family tradition.

  I studied my father as he drove. Having recently retired from university life at the age of sixty-five, he looked as handsome as ever to me. Though wrinkles lined his face and his hair was now flecked with gray, his sage-green eyes twinkled behind his scholarly horn-rimmed glasses, and a warm smile radiated on his face.

  In no time, we pulled up to our stately red brick house. It was one of the best decorated houses on the street. Strings of bright blinking lights outlined the framework and windows, and a charming manger scene sat on the front lawn. There was also a large wreath on the red-painted front door. Dad parked the car in the garage and helped me with my suitcase. Holding the large shopping bag that contained my parents’ Christmas presents, I followed my father eagerly through the door to our house. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted up my nose. I was home.

  “Darling!” exclaimed my mother as I set foot in the kitchen. Wearing a floral-patterned apron, she ran over to hug me before I had a chance to shrug off my coat or put down the bag. She looked prettier than ever. Her gray-blue eyes sparkled, and her short ash-brown hair was now chin-length and held back by a red velvet band.

  “Where’s Bradley?”

  The million-dollar question. I took a deep breath and the words tumbled out. “We broke up.”

  The look on her face went from joyful to alarmed. “Goodness gracious! Are you all right, darling? You look like you’ve lost weight.” The tone of her voice bordered on panic.

  “I’m fine.” Without going into details, I told her that I’d discovered Bradley was cheating on me with his hygienist. Why beat around the bush?

  My mother gasped. “Good Lord! How did you find out?”

  “Caught him in the act.” I didn’t want to tell them about the video footage; it was simpler with this mild white lie. Well, it was almost the truth. “I gave him back his ring.”

  “You poor thing,” exclaimed my mother, stroking my hair. I was grateful she didn’t probe for details.

  My father remained pensively silent and then uttered one word: “Shmuck.”

  My father said shmuck?

  “Jennie baby, you can do better.”

  Good is the enemy of better. Blake’s father’s favorite expression whirled around in my head. And in a millisecond, the image of my sexy, beautiful boss was spinning there too. I hadn’t stopped missing him. Last night, I’d barely slept a wink. Tears pricked my eyes each time I relived opening his gift. He’d given me a precious piece of artwork. A painting that had moved me to tears. The Kiss. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I knew why Blake had bought it for me. It symbolized us. Two lovers entwined in a passionate embrace. I still wasn’t over the shocking discovery that Blake—my boss—was that man I’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare on the night of my engagement party. He’d kissed me again at the office Christmas party, and from there, we’d surrendered our bodies to each other. He’d made me feel things I’d never felt. Ecstasy! Yet, I had to break away, knowing that Blake was bad for me in every way. The painting, however, had changed everything. It had turned my heart upside down and torn me apart. I could no longer deny my feelings. I missed him for only one reason. I was in love.

  My mother’s gentle voice intercepted my thoughts as well as a fresh batch of tears. “Darling, why don’t you settle into your room and then come down for some lunch? I’ve made your favorite vegetable soup and baked a loaf of bread.”

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, my voice unsteady. My father insisted on bringing up my bag, but I told him I could handle it myself. I needed alone time.

  Glumly, I trudged upstairs to my room. I unpacked the bag and then stood by my bedroom window. I peered outside. The sky was already darkening and, in fact, looked ominous. Perhaps, it was going to snow. In the distance, I could see the snow-capped mountains, and another pang of sadness stabbed at my heart. Blake was somewhere in those mountains. I shuddered at the thought of him surrounded by a dozen blond ski bunnies. I’m sure Mr. Player was in his element and already getting laid. A wicked thought crossed my mind. Maybe an avalanche would bury his bimbos.

  My wishful thinking was short-lived. A tear escaped my eyes. I suddenly regretted not accepting his offer to spend the day with him and telling him not to contact me—unless it was a business emergency. Without warning, the floodgates broke loose, and tears cascaded down my face. Who was I kidding? I desperately wanted to hear his voice. Inhale his intoxicating scent And most of all, be held in his arms and kissed by those lips.

  *

  Trying to get my mind off Blake, I spent the rest of the day reading an e-book, running errands with my mom, and baking Christmas goodies. We assembled the gingerbread house and put the final touches on our Christmas tree, which stood tall and noble by our living room window, replete with charming ornaments my mother had collected over her lifetime. The fresh pine scent of the tree mixed with that of the delicacies my mother was forever baking and made the house smell delicious.

  Yet, no matter how much I busied myself, nothing could distract me from thinking about Blake. In the short time I’d been home, my feelings for him had intensified instead of diminished. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my mother had always told me whenever Dad was away on an academic conference. She would keep her eyes glued on the kitchen wall clock until he returned. Count down the days, the hours, the minutes. Even the seconds.

  I missed Blake. Plain and simple. Much like my mom did with my dad. I thought about him every minute, every second of the afternoon… what he was doing… what he was wearing (or not)… who he was with. The image of him surrounded by his O.K. Corral—his bevy of blond beauties—made my stomach clench and sent my heartbeat into a frenzy. Absence makes the heart wander. The other side of the equation. I wrestled with the idea of calling him, but that would be breaking my own rule. Rules sucked.

  Late in the afternoon, while I was baking sugar cookies with my mom, she noticed my anxiousness. It bordered on despondency.

  “Honey, you seem a little on edge,” she commented, mixing a bowl of batter.

  “I’m fine.” My voice faltered. I made up an excuse—something about Bradley. Truthfully, he was the last person on my mind. I did, however, secretly wish for Santa to bring him coal; that’s what Dickwick deserved. Upon taking a tray of cookies out of the oven, I burnt my middle finger. Served me right for my wicked thought.

  *

  Christmas Eve came quickly. My mother was preparing her traditional meal with my help. Taking a break once everything was in the oven, I played a game of Scrabble with my dad. It was hard to beat the former English professor. Plus, I had a rack full of shitty low-point letters. Then I spotted an opportunity. The word I had in mind sent a rush of flutters to my core.

  “O-R-G-A-S-M-I-C,” I spelled out, using all my tiles. In addition to scoring fifteen points for the word, I earned another fifty bonus points for using all my tiles. A grand total of sixty-five points. I smiled smugly at my dad. I was now significantly ahead of him. I might even win the game. I had Blake to thank.

  My father’s brows shot up. I think it was more in response to the word than my feat. “Good one,” he muttered. My victory, however, was short-lived when he laid out all his tiles and spelled the word “EXQUISITE.” In addition to also accruing fifty bonus points, he got double and triple letter scores for the eight-point “X” and ten-point “Q” plus a dou
ble word score for a total of two hundred twenty points.

  “Sheesh, Dad,” I moaned. Two hundred and twenty points. It had to be a new Guinness Book of Records high. No matter what I did, I could never beat my dad at Scrabble.

  The sound of Christmas music outside our house stopped me from contemplating my next word. Of course, it was carolers—a group of locals from our church who made it a yearly tradition to go house to house on Christmas Eve.

  My mother heard them too and dashed out of the kitchen. Together, we hurried to our front door. My father opened it, and the carolers, which included several children, stood before our house. It was hard to distinguish their faces because there was a thick layer of fog. And snowflakes were falling. I caught one with my tongue. Wouldn’t that be something—a white Christmas?

  My parents and I huddled together in the doorway as the carolers sang a succession of traditional Christmas songs. I loved Christmas music; it moved me to tears. Every which way it was sung—be it traditional renditions of the songs or contemporary rock ones, instrumental or acapella. My favorite of all was The Little Drummer Boy, which, to my delight, they sang before dispersing to the next house.

  After the carolers departed, my parents retreated to the living room while I remained motionless at the doorway. There was one remaining lone caroler.

  He stood tall before me, his hands tucked in the pockets of his heavy down jacket. A knit ski cap with reindeer antlers covered his head, and somehow that silly hat made him look more heart-stoppingly adorable than ever. My heart drummed against my chest and then jumped into my throat. My eyes clicked open and shut like a camera lens, taking a snapshot of this moment I wanted to keep forever. It was him. That man who made me delirious with lust and desire. Blake!

  A giant lump swelled in my throat as he sang, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” His sexy, raspy voice resonated like a rock star. My rock star! Tears poured from my eyes as I broke into a broad smile. In the background, I could hear my mother yelling, “Jennifer, close the door. It’s freezing in here.”

  I was on fire. I could no longer contain myself. Before he could finish the song, I bolted out of the house and ran up to him—in my sweats and barefoot. He swept me into his arms and swung me around and around. As the flakes of snow danced in the moonlight, his lips latched onto mine in a fierce, passionate kiss I wanted never to end.

  “What are you doing here?” I managed, my arms clinging to him, my mouth hungrily gnawing at every visible ounce of flesh I could find.

  He held me tight. A puff of his breath warmed the icy air. “Oh, tiger. Don’t you know?”

  “Know what?” I gasped, gripping his scarf.

  “I’m crazy about you.”

  My eyes searched his face. “Meaning what?” He was a little insane.

  “Meaning I can’t bear to be away from you.”

  “Meaning…?”

  My heart literally stopped as I awaited his response.

  “Meaning I’m fucking in love with you, Jennifer McCoy.”

  Hot tears fell from my eyes as the frigid night air shot through me. Trembling, I struggled to get words out. “How do you know that?”

  He tilted up my chin with his soft leather-gloved hand. My watering eyes met his; not a blink. He licked a snowflake off my cheek before my tears melted it.

  “Because your needs come before mine.”

  My words! What I had once told him when he’d asked what it meant to be in love. Sobs mixed with laughter. I shivered.

  “Baby, you’re cold.” He drew me closer to him, blanketing me in the warmth of his strong arms and snuggly down jacket. I pressed my head against his chest as he held me tightly. He gently kissed the top of my head and then I looked up and held his beautiful face in my gaze. Passion danced in his eyes.

  “Mr. Burns, I only have one need.” One word. “You.”

  His face broke out in that dazzling dimpled smile. Yanking off his wooly hat, he lowered it over my head and then wrapped his scarf around my neck. “And that’s why I’m here. You’re my world, baby. You’re everything to me. Everything.” His lips crashed back onto mine, and despite the freezing temperature, I melted into him.

  “Jennie McCoy! What are you doing outside in your bare feet? You’re going to catch pneumonia!”

  At the sound of my father’s voice, I hastily pulled away from Blake. “I love you too,” I whispered before responding to my father who was standing in the doorway. I was sure he hadn’t witnessed our embrace.

  “Dad, this is a friend from work, who by coincidence, happens to be in town.”

  “Hi,” said Blake cheerfully with a wave of his hand. I had to stifle my giggles.

  “Well, don’t just stand out there and freeze. Invite him in.” My father headed back inside the house.

  I could no longer contain my laughter when Blake scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the front door. His lips smothered mine. In my whole life, I’d never been happier.

  *

  Blake’s mother had her famous brisket; my mother had her famous Irish stew. It was what she made every year for Christmas Eve dinner, and I never got tired of it. A hearty blend of beef, potatoes, carrots, and onions that she marinated overnight in a secret-ingredient beer-based broth, it was melt-in-your-mouth scrumptious. She promised when I got married she would share the recipe; I was just going to have to wait longer than I thought.

  Just before we sat down for dinner, Blake ran to his rental car that he’d parked down the street. When he returned, he was covered with a fine layer of snow and carrying three oversized shopping bags. He withdrew three beautifully wrapped boxes from the two largest and placed them under our tree. The third one he handed to my father.

  “I thought you might enjoy these at dinner,” Blake said as my father removed the contents.

  Fine wine. California Cabernet—not one, but two bottles.

  “How thoughtful of you, Blake dear,” chimed my mother.

  “My pleasure.” Blake beamed like a proud Boy Scout who’d had just received his first medal of honor.

  Smiling, my father examined the labels on the bottles. “A Napa Valley Select Reserve from l990. An excellent year. The year our darling daughter was born.”

  I felt my cheeks turn as red as the wine. Blake did everything right. Everything to rouse me. He shot me a saucy smile and made me heat up more.

  Dinner was served in our dining room. The table was festive. My mother used her special holiday china. Votive candles and colorful Christmas balls were scattered across the poinsettia-print tablecloth. The velvety wine flowed freely, and everyone ate as if there were no tomorrow. I could tell my mother was pleased Blake adored her stew; he even asked for seconds. He was a far cry from Bradley for whom my mother had once painstakingly cooked a special vegan meal—most of which he didn’t eat.

  Blake also bonded with my father over college football and was familiar with the Boise State Broncos. To my relief, he avoided talking about work—and no mention was made of heading a porn channel where I worked. Phew! My parents had no clue. I sure didn’t need to give them both coronaries on Christmas Eve.

  I was in heaven. My eyes made subtle contact with Blake’s every chance I had. My body was aflutter; every nerve was buzzing. I couldn’t believe he was here celebrating Christmas Eve with me. And I couldn’t believe he was in love with me. And I with him. Blake Burns, my boss. That man who’d I kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare. That man who’d consumed my lips once again under a bough of mistletoe. And then fucked my brains out and had given me what I thought was the best present of my life. A painting I’d coveted called The Kiss. There was only one present better. More powerful. More precious. The gift of his love.

  Someone pinch me. Under the table, two fingers did. Blake’s. The way they’d pinched me at the Conquest Christmas party—right on my clit. I jumped in my seat a little, hoping in one breath he would behave himself in front of my parents, and in another, hoping he’d finger me until I could no longer sit sti
ll. For better or for worse, Mr. Burns behaved. Well sort of.

  “How did you find our house?” I asked.

  He grinned and fed me his familiar line. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Come on, tell us,” I pleaded as he continued to scissor my clit. Beneath my dress, I was a hot wet mess. I forced myself to take another bite of my mother’s stew. My parents were all ears.

  “I came across some carolers. They told me they’d be passing by. So I followed them.”

  “Very clever, Mr. Burns.” My clit on fire, I squirmed in my chair. Oh was he!

  My mother smiled. “So nice of you to come.”

  At the word “come,” a massive orgasm assaulted me. I choked on the mouthful of stew I was swallowing. I quickly washed it down with some wine.

  “Are you okay, darling?” asked my concerned mother. My father’s brows furrowed.

  “Yes,” I gulped. At least, the near-choking reflex had covered up my reaction to what’d just happened. Catching my breath, I knew my face was as red as a poinsettia. Blake shot me an innocent glance. I loved and hated him. Scratch that. I so loved him. The glow in his eyes sent me the same message.

  Dinner culminated with my mother’s delicious bread pudding, served along with coffee and brandy. Blake devoured the dessert and once again asked for a second helping to my mother’s delight.

  “I should be heading back to my hotel,” he said, scooping up the last morsel of the yummy pudding.

  My heart sunk.

  “Where you are staying?” asked my dad.

  “At The Grove.”

  The Grove, located downtown, coincidentally shared the name of the Los Angeles mall where I’d purchased all my Christmas presents. It was one of the most luxurious hotels in Boise but truthfully paled in comparison to Blake’s parents’ mansion.

  He pushed back his chair and stood up. My mother excused herself to bring him his ski jacket. My father rose to shake his hand. “A pleasure to have you here, Blake.” The genuine smile they shared put one of my own on my face. Dad liked Blake.