Page 33 of Mr. Naughty List

“We’re big like you, RJ,” Beau said, sending him one of his sweet, wide-eyed, worshipful looks.

“Right.” RJ watched them work a few more moments while he ate his cookies, noting Carter’s extreme reluctance to look his way, and then finally said, “Okay, well, I’m upstairs if you need anything. Save a few more for me, all right?”

Carter nodded, and the other two moaned about him leaving, but he just turned and left. Brady, the dog, at least was out back in the fenced yard and hadn’t barked at him. Carter’s nervousness was enough to make RJ feel out of place yet again—as always—in the family.

As he trudged up the stairs, dusting cookie crumbs from his T-shirt, he remembered a conversation he’d had the week before with the little ones. They’d been eating a snack at the kitchen table, and Perri had told him all about the lights Doug was going to put up around the house for the holidays.

RJ had winked at Perri before saying, “Mom and I never put up lights when I was a kid—you guys are lucky.”

“Why?” Beau had asked, one small finger shoved up his nose.

Laughing, RJ had pulled it free and then wiped it off with a napkin. “Mom had to work a lot back then. There wasn’t much time for things like decorating. And she was tired all the time. Christmas was pretty low key when I was your age.”

“But you got presents, right?” Perri had asked, her big blue eyes round and worried.

“I didn’t need presents.”

“Even from Santa?”

“Santa?” RJ had cleared his throat. “Santa was always good to me.” That wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to break her heart. Then he’d kissed Perri on the forehead and they’d dropped the subject.

RJ knew his mom wished things had been different for him growing up, but neither of them could turn back time. And even if they could, nothing would change. She’d still be broke. He’d still be white trash. They’d still be barely making ends meet. It had been their life, and that was that.

The phone in his hand buzzed and he glanced down at it eagerly. Was it Aaron?

Rehearsal Friday at 3 instead? Ok by you?

Just Joel.

Sure.

Casey said you picked up your coat.

Yeah.

Good.

And, shit, why couldn’t he have left something at Mr. Danvers’s this morning instead? Then he’d have a reason to text, wouldn’t he? Why was he just thinking of that now?

Locking his bedroom door so that the little ones wouldn’t come barging in, RJ flung himself down on the mattress and curled onto his side to look out the big window. It opened out onto the street below. Christmas lights blinked and sparkled from the neighbor’s houses across the way as the evening descended earlier every night.

Hell. He had to try. Casey was right.

He got comfortable on his bed, adjusted his pillow behind his head, and then spent twenty minutes getting the text just right before he sent it.

Hey. How’d your day go?

He’d considered sending something flirty, and he’d erased half a dozen texts full of innuendo before finally settling on this message. It was relaxed, easy, something any new acquaintance might ask after a misspent night together.

Bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared.

He started to sweat. Fuck. Was Mr. Danvers not going to reply?

Bubbles appeared again. He breathed a sigh of relief.

I’m assuming this is RJ?

Aaron was pretending not to know who he was? Cold. RJ had texted himself from Aaron’s phone with his own name and a smiley face. It would be there at the top of the text thread. He decided not to call Aaron out on the lie. If this was how he wanted to play it, then so be it. RJ braced himself for outright rejection, even as he typed his casual response.