Page 66 of Christmas Bubble

I put my hands on my hips, which isn’t nearly as effective when you’re naked and half-hard.

“Nuh-huh. I was married for twenty-three years. I know when to shut up and admit I’m wrong.”

I get on my knees on the bed. “You better not be comparing me to your ex-wife, or we’ll have serious issues.”

He lies down and pulls me to lie on top of him. “It’s clear in more ways than just the obvious ones how different you are from my ex-wife.”

I pull the covers up and snuggle on his side.

“What was she like?”

“She’s not dead,” he says, laughing.

“You know what I mean.”

He looks up at the ceiling. “She is beautiful, funny, strong-willed, and my parents love her.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Riley looks at me. “She lied about something unforgivable.”

He doesn’t say anything else. I’m curious, but I don’t think it’s the right time to ask. It may never be. It’s in the past, after all, and if he asked me about Harley, I think I’d feel the same way.

I turn his head to face me and kiss him.

He tastes minty fresh and like my coach. This kiss is different. I don’t know how I can tell, but I feel it.

When we part, I keep my eyes closed and bring up a memory of my grandmother when she was still healthy, cooking my favorite meal.

I still miss her so much, but with Coach by my side, it doesn’t feel so bad.

I’m just scared of what will happen when Christmas is over and the bubble bursts.

25

COACH

When I wake up,I immediately know I’m alone because I’m cold, even with the covers over me. I rub my eyes and get up, putting on a pair of joggers, forgoing underwear.

There’s a chill in the air, so I pick a warmer sweater. I look through the window and see a thicker layer of snow.

I don’t need to guess where Bubble is because the cabin is small enough that there’s only one possibility. That and I hear him curse like a sailor.

One quick trip to the bathroom, and I join the racket in the living room. It smells like Christmas has exploded in here. Cinnamon, spice, and all things nice.

“Freakin stale muffins and soggy breadsticks.”

I hear him, but I don’t see him until I get to the middle of the room and see his ass up in the air while he’s halfway inside my fireplace.

He’s wearing green tights, and whatever is over it has ridden up to give me a nice view of his shapely thighs and small but round bubble butt.

I clear my throat.

“Crumbs,” he groans as he hits his head on the top of the fireplace. “Ouch.”

I wince, hoping it didn’t hurt because I didn’t mean to scare him.

When he turns around to face me, I bite back a laugh. Bubble is wearing a long green sweater with a red Santa hat with a fluffy rim and tip. His face is covered in soot and ash, and he doesn’t look happy.