Monica Jackson - Merry Christmas, Baby

by Merry Christmas, Baby

GH0ST30: You haven’t told me much about your family other than your mother is an only child. My mother passed away about five years ago. My father sold the house and went to live in a retirement apartment. He likes it there.

  CHICCHERIE: Right. So you’re just going to change the subject and leave me hanging. No fair.

  GH0ST30: Saturday will be here soon enough for you to find out. The reason I was telling you about my father is what you said about your mother and maid service. I think she’d like a place like where my father lives. It comes with maid service, activities and people to order around 24-7.

  CHICCHERIE: Really? But we could probably never afford it.

  GH0ST30: I don’t know. I just thought I’d mention it. Maybe you can bring it up with your other relatives when they get here for the holidays.

  CHICCHERIE: You mean my brother.

  GH0ST30: Is he married?

  CHICCHERIE: Yes, and he has five children. They’re biracial. He married a white woman.

  Given the amount of time GH0ST30 paused, I gathered he was surprised.

  GH0ST30: Your mother was fine with this?

  CHICCHERIE: Not like she had much say. And she’s crazy about her grandchildren. I think her daughter-in-law gets on her nerves less than my brother. He’s a minister.

  GH0ST30: Really? And that gets on her nerves?

  CHICCHERIE: He’s a minister of the Church of the Glorious Inner Light of Free Earth Beings in Space. That’s the GILFEBS Church for short. Yes, that gets on her nerves a bit.

  GH0ST30: Wow. That almost has my brother beat, but not quite.

  CHICCHERIE: How can that not quite have your brother beat?

  GH0ST30: My brother is a Mormon, an elder in the church. I suppose you could say he’s also a minister. He lives in the Utah desert, a very rural area. He has four wives so far and probably twenty-odd kids. Dad thinks he’s nothing but a no-good swinger who took on that religion to get away with getting a lot of young nooky on the side. He gets on Dad’s nerves a bit, too.

  CHICCHERIE: My goodness. It appears we have more in common than we thought. Is that your only sibling?

  GH0ST30: I have another. She’s more like me. She’s in Africa now. She’s a World Health Organization doctor.

  CHICCHERIE: You’re sounding more interesting by the moment.

  GH0ST30: I’m very interesting, as I’m hoping you’ll discover Saturday.

  CHICCHERIE: Is that a promise?

  GH0ST30: If you want it to be.

  His Sixth

  It was a few minutes before seven. I hurried through the party crowd to the entrance, but it seemed as if I ran into human obstacles every few feet.

  “Nick! It’s been such a long time,” some woman said in my ear.

  “Later,” I replied without slowing.

  I grinded to a halt in front of a gilded figure who’d planted herself in front of me. Oh, Lord, it was Maureen.

  “I will forgive you for not returning my calls if you bring me a martini, two olives. I love olives.”

  I looked at my watch. Damn, it was straight-up seven. Was that Sharyn in the red dress?

  “What an ugly thing,” Maureen said and plucked the multicolor carnation boutonniere out of my lapel.

  “Give that back.”

  “I will when you bring me my martini.”

  Sharyn was looking around with the slight frown of a stranger at a party. I had to get to her. What if she left? I turned away from Maureen with an exasperated sound and made my way through the crowd.

  “Nick! I’m surprised to see you here,” Sharyn said. “I was supposed to meet someone…” she looked around.

  I glanced down at my missing boutonniere that was supposed to explain that I was GH0ST30 to her in one glance. “About that…um…”

  She looked up at me with her brows raised. The words to explain I was really GH0ST30 died on my tongue, an ignominious coward’s death.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I asked.

  “Sure, a rum and Coke.”

  She had uncomplicated alcoholic preferences. No psuedosophistication or girlie, frooty-tooty drinks for her. I liked it. The band started up, playing an upbeat jazz tune.

  Sharyn was at my side, and I knew the night was going to be good.

  The night was as fabulous as the band turned out to be. We danced nonstop. Was it an excuse to hold each other tight? I hoped she thought so. Because for me, I knew it was so.

  Her hair had been pulled back into a knot at the back of her neck, and my fingers itched to release it. Sexy wayward tendrils had escaped their confinement, and her red dress clung to every delicious curve she had.

  The band was playing R & B slow-dance tunes. Sharyn had called it “old school.” Her scent of raspberries and roses intoxicated me more than any strong liquor. As her body moved against mine, at first I had to stick my butt out, way too stiff in more ways than one.

  But the music moved us together like sticky honey. I’d long since given up trying to be circumspect as her soft curves melded against me. Burying my face in her hair, I longed to finish what I had started in the kitchen the other day.

  She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. Our gazes met and something moved between us, something hot and so compelling, I couldn’t look away. Neither could she. I didn’t think as my mouth met hers, couldn’t think for the feeling. Her lips were as soft as I had imagined.

  The kiss deepened, grew more intimate. Urgency pulsed through me like the roar of blood through the arteries in my ears. She pulled away, breathing hard. “Your colleagues…?”

  I glanced around. There were some stares, a few hostile glares from women I’d dated. I’d not made any polite rounds, not left Sharyn’s side or sweet arms from the moment I’d arrived. I supposed people noticed.

  “I couldn’t care less.”

  “It’s awkward,” she said, her voice faint. I loosened my embrace and we continued to dance, our hearts thundering against each other’s.

  “Would you like to go—”

  “I’d love to,” she answered before I got my sentence finished.

  I held out my arm and we went to retrieve our coats from the coatroom. I abandoned my own party without a moment’s hesitation.

  I felt shy with her in my car. It wasn’t something I was used to feeling with a woman. “Do you want to go to a restaurant? A jazz club? Or if you want to dance, we can do that.”

  “I don’t think I’m in much of a party mood tonight after all.” She gave me a smile that almost took my breath away. “I’d like a quiet evening, a chance to get to know you better. A restaurant would be great. Simple food is fine.” I could feel her gaze on me. “Or we could go to your place. I’m curious about how you live. It’s only fair, since you’ve been to my house so often.”

  I caught my breath. A man’s dream come true.

  But I knew if I took her to my place I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her. She had to know it, too. She thought she was in control, didn’t she? Coming off a bad relationship, she needed to be in control of this. I’d bet money that was the case. She wanted to see if she could handle us, just me and her alone together, without it raging out of control.

  She thought she could. But I knew we couldn’t. And too soon for us would be disastrous.

  “I know a great little restaurant I want you to try. Italian,” I said.

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Cohen. Good to see you again.”

  “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

  He led us to a great table, his eyes gleaming with appreciation as he glanced at Sharyn. So Tony liked her better than some of the other women I brought here? I appreciated his taste. It was excellent in both women and wine.

  “How about you serve us, Tony? House specials in everything.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure, Nick.”

  “I hope you like surprises,” I said to Sharyn.

  “I love them when they’re good.”

  “I trust Tony. I think he’ll hook us up fine.”

  Tony appeared on cu
e with two wineglasses and a bottle of rosé. He proffered it to me to taste, and I shook my head, trusting him. He poured our wine with a flourish and then retired.

  “It will be good,” I said.

  She sipped. “Excellent.” Her finger traveled around the rim of the glass after she replaced it on the table. “You know, I’m glad I ran into you. I was wrong to turn down a date. I did want to go out with you.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I was afraid to take a chance. I recently came out of a bad breakup. I’m still a little bruised, you know?”

  I knew too well. I should tell her right now I was GH0ST30. I’d tell her about Maureen and the boutonniere. Everything would be all right.

  “Trust is the most important thing to me in a relationship,” Sharyn said. “After being lied to for so long, I want to get it right next time.”

  I was a squirrel in the middle of the road and an eighteen-wheeler was bearing down on me.

  “I understand,” I choked out, my throat dry. I emptied my wineglass. A waiter appeared as if by magic to refill it.

  I understood too well. I’d broken her number one rule right out of the gate. How could I tell her now?

  The waiter put our salads in front of us—the fresh vegetables, cheese and olives cut and arranged like a work of art.

  “This looks too pretty to eat,” Sharyn said.

  “I’ve had it before. It’s delicious. You’ll be surprised how easy it is to eat once you get started.”

  I picked up my salad fork even though I was no longer hungry.

  “Have you got your Christmas shopping done yet?” Trite, but I needed to fill the silence.

  “You’re right, this salad is yummy. Yes, it’s done. My brother and his family will be here day after tomorrow. I’m getting in gear with the baking. I’ve got the holiday off from work this year. What are your plans?”

  “It’s just my father and I. We don’t do much. And besides, we’re Jewish.”

  “Really? Then why don’t you come over? I warn you—it’ll be wild. My brother has a passel of bad kids, but I think kids are what make Christmas fun.”

  “They are. You know what? I’d love to. I think I can drag Dad along for the ride, too.”

  She laughed, delighted. “Mama likes you.”

  “You could have fooled me. I think what she likes is to call me ‘boy.’”

  “She’s trying to get a rise out of you. She’ll grumble for the effect, but she’ll be thrilled.”

  Sharyn had invited Dad and me to her home for the holidays? A grin spread across my face. Like that, my mood lightened, my trepidation was forgotten. Wine and laughter flowed.

  The waiter served veal piccata. By the time Tony came to ask how we were enjoying the meal, I had relaxed again, enjoying Sharyn’s company, enjoying the food, enjoying everything.

  I’d worry about that trust thing tomorrow.

  Sharyn looked at her watch. “It’s almost eleven-thirty! Nick, I have to get home. May has to leave soon.”

  Everything comes to an end. We drove to her house in companionable silence. It probably was particularly companionable because we were both stuffed to the eyeballs. Tony had outdone himself and I’d rewarded him well.

  I opened the car door for her and helped her out like the queen she was. At the door, I pulled her to me, hungry for a different meal. She met my lips with the same fervor, her arms twining around my neck.

  “I want to ask you in for coffee, but…”

  I thought about the Dragon guarding her lair. “That’s all right. I’ll pick you up for brunch tomorrow. Noon?”

  “Perfect.”

  She gave me another kiss, before turning to unlock the door and disappearing inside.

  Yes! I know it was undignified but I couldn’t help a few air punches as I danced back to the car. I was the man! I was her man to be. We’d dated and we were going to date some more. Our families were going to spend Christmas together. Touchdown! Well, almost.

  Her Seventh

  I took my hair down, threw my red dress on my chair and studied my kiss-bruised lips in the mirror. Nick Cohen was hot. Tonight I’d been willing to get burned. There was something about that guy that turned me on all the way. He made what Patrick and I had had together seem like practice for the real thing.

  Nick was the real deal all right. Thank goodness GH0ST hadn’t shown up. But what if he had? Once Nick and I got together, we didn’t take our eyes off each other all night.

  If GH0ST had arrived, he would have seen me grinning up in another man’s face, glued to another man’s side. Would I have spoken to somebody if I were in a similar situation? Probably not.

  Maybe GH0ST had shown, but what would be, would be. Given how I was feeling about Nick, it wasn’t fair not to tell GH0ST about it. I didn’t want to string him along, and an online connection had no comparison to the flesh-and-blood immediacy of Nick.

  Resolved to tell him, I signed on my computer and logged in to the chat room, but GH0ST wasn’t there.

  “You confused, boy? Somebody else already did my session,” Mama said to Nick.

  “We’re going out,” I said.

  “Going out! Why are you going out with that boy, chile?”

  “The usual reasons, Mama.”

  “Humph.” She turned her baleful gaze on Nick, and I swear he flinched. “You take care of my child. And spend some money on her. We Silvers women don’t suffer cheap-ass sorry fools, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Silvers.”

  Trust Mother to put the icing on the cake of my mortification. That was why I never brought boys home in high school. I never met a man yet that Mama couldn’t scare, but Nick was holding his own with Mother. This was one white boy she wasn’t cowing. I smiled.

  “What you grinning at, girl?”

  “You, Mother, I’m grinning at you.”

  “You better get your hind end outta here.”

  I winked at Mama, grabbed Nick’s hand and raced to the door.

  “Are you sure you want to play with the Dragon like that?” he asked as the door shut behind us.

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  “Don’t you know by now that Mama’s bark is the worst thing about her? So y’all call her the Dragon at your physical therapy place?”

  He looked embarrassed, a slight pink spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah.”

  “Mama would be flattered.”

  “She would?”

  “A dragon is a mighty formidable mythical creature, beautiful and strong. Who wouldn’t want to be a dragon?”

  “I guess that’s a point.” He opened the car door for me and then slid into his seat. “What do you want to eat?” he asked, starting the motor.

  “I want to eat something I cook at your place.”

  I don’t feel as if I really know somebody until I see how he chooses to live—and I wanted to know Nick Cohen.

  “All right.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Just that tiny movement turned me on. I twined my fingers together to keep from touching him.

  I frowned a little, wondering why something like that affected me so much. I bit my lip as I realized that Nick wanted to know me as much as I wanted to know him.

  Nick lived in one of those luxurious high-rise condos downtown with a parking garage underneath.

  “I left a mess,” he said as we stood in the elevator.

  “I always wonder about OCD or the down-low if a guy is too neat.”

  “Isn’t that gender discrimination?”

  “Nope. I’m suspicious of overly neat women, too.”

  “That type gets on my nerves, too. They’re always following around, picking up something. Thank the Lord for cleaning services.”

  I nodded. Nick Cohen was a man after my own heart. He believed in cleaning services! He was damn near perfect so far.

  We got off on a floor high enough to make me dizzy, and he turned the key in his lock. I drew in a sharp breath as he opened th
e door.

  His place was stunning, both masculine and beautiful, decorated with bold slashes of color, reds, browns and black against white, and set off with silver.

  “I love your place. It’s very modern but not cold.”

  “I like it, too. I got a bargain. I would never have paid the prices that decorators charge firsthand.”

  I noticed he didn’t say he couldn’t afford it.

  “Who decorated?” I asked.

  “A friend. Want to take a look around?”

  When we got to his bedroom, with a stunning platform bed, the tension between us gathered, thick and palpable as steam. I wanted him to kiss me. I craved his touch.

  “Maybe we should go look at the kitchen and see what there is to cook,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Maybe we should do that.”

  “Yeah. I think I have some eggs.”

  “I like eggs.”

  “They’re especially good with cheese,” he said right before his lips covered mine.

  It was as if the room filled with music. We moved against each other in our own special slow dance. Nick had a fluid grace, and I matched him move for move.

  His sex rose and thickened, musk-hot, pounding and throbbing, out of control as he kissed me, his mouth demanding, our tongues hungry, wanting needing more.

  He cupped his hands around my buttocks and pulled me close against him. I buried my face into his neck, inhaling his scent, musk and fire. Arousal hardened my nipples as I moved against his body.

  Butter-silk smooth, I ground my pelvis against him, I didn’t want control anymore. I wanted him. As I abandoned care and fear, all there was left was Nick and this feeling. Our mouths met again, our tongues dancing in time to an inner beat.

  Overwhelming and urgent need for this man overcame me, and I gasped against his lips with the desire to have him buried inside me, his hands on my naked body.