Page 16 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Nova

“How can I when you literally took photographic evidence and put it in the group chat to prove it after Logan cried bullshit?”

“Damn, I’d forgotten about that.”

“We haven’t.”

“No shit, when it comes to someone else’s misfortunes, you three have elephant brains.”

“And on that note, I’m going to take my trunk and head home. Have fun tonight, and don’t forget to hit me up in the morning with all the juicy details.”

“Let’s shoot for evening, your time, since you’re seven hours ahead,” I reminded her. “If I try calling you in the morning, it will still be the middle of the night for me, and there are plenty of other things I’d like to be doing in the wee hours of the morning, thank you very much.”

This time, she burst into full-on laughter and shook her head at me. “Fine, you go get your freak on but at least shoot me a text to let me know that you got back to the hotel safely, so I don’t lie awake worrying about you winding up on an episode of Forensic Files.”

“Spoken like someone who watches way too much true crime television," I pointed out. “But you’ll get your text, if only so you aren’t frantically trying to play long-distance detective in the middle of the night and sending real law enforcement agents to Robbie’s place in SWAT gear thinking I’m being held hostage.”

“Now that would make one hell of a vacation blog post,” she remarked, knowing how much I loved to read vacation blogs.

“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed. “Reading about vacation mishaps is a far cry from living them, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Laters.”

I was still grinning after she ended the call and shaking my head over the antics of my sweet, wacky friend.

With time to kill and not much to do before I needed to get ready, I sprawled across the bed, turned the volume back up on the television, and got lost in one of Chef Ramsey’s tirades on Hell’s Kitchen and daydreams of the evening ahead.

Chapter 8

(Robbie)

“Oh, you’ve got moves,” I growled in Nova’s ear as I splayed my hand across his abs and yanked him back against my body while he rode the thigh I’d pressed between his legs.

“Yup,” he replied, his hand hooked over the back of my neck as he tilted his head back to look up at me. “Rusty ones, but still.”

“Don’t look rusty to me,” I replied, nuzzling the bit of exposed skin beneath his ear. “Don’t feel rusty to me either.”

He giggled, the warmth of his body sinking through the front of my shirt as we danced.

“You come here a lot, don’t you?” He said as a redhead, I’d seen several times before stepped up to dance in front of him.

“Used to,” I said. “It’s way more fun coming with somebody than hoping to find a partner on the dance floor.”

I said that part louder than necessary, for the benefit of the guy who’d decided to sandwich Nova between us.

“My best friend is always saying the same thing,” he replied. “Though sometimes I get the impression that the main reason she likes having me tag along is so she can pretend we’re together when she wants someone to leave her alone. Unfortunately, I’ve had to turn down her invitations more often than I’ve been able to accept them this past year.”

“Everyone needs a wingman they can rely on,” I said as I spun Nova to face me, since our extra dance partner had yet to get the hint that we were together.

“True,” he said as he wrapped his arms around my neck.

He was an excellent dancer, despite his claims of being rusty, but as the dance floor grew fuller and the room got louder, we were jostled several times, and once he let out an eep and jerked like he’d just been groped. If I’d seen it, the person responsible would have been nursing a broken hand for the holidays.

“Would you like to get out of here?” I asked, one arm wrapped around him protectively.

“Yes, please,” he replied, slipping his arm around me and clinging.

It took patience and finesse to weave past a packed dance floor full of grinding, gyrating bodies, but we made it to the door without further incident.

“Wow, talk about a packed house,” he said once we were outside. “Some people should not wear platforms if they don’t know how to dance in them. My heel might need a week to recover from that last stomp.”