Page 11 of Sinful Mafia Santa

“I didn’t think I’d have such a good time tonight.”

He pretends to take a shot to the heart. “What every man wants to hear.”

“You know what I mean,” I say, bumping him with my hip. “But honestly, this was perfect. The Rockettes. The meal. The company.” The elevator door opens, and we step into the building lobby. “I don’t want it to end.”

The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize they could make everything awkward. It’s nearly midnight. We’re both adults. “Not ending” generally leads to one place.

And as attractive as I find Gage Rider, as I’vealwaysfound Gage, I’m not sure heading to his bed is my best option. Not with the anniversary of Logan’s death on Monday night. Not when I’m flying back to Chicago on Tuesday morning.

Gage must think the same thing, because he doesn’t give me one of his easy golden-retriever smiles. He doesn’t wink and act like the consummate host. He doesn’t even twist a lock of my hair around his finger, the way he always did ten years ago, when we were working out the choreography for our dance of desire.

Instead, he asks, “You’re serious?”

I nod.

“Then I have an idea for one last stop.” He pauses as if he can feel the misapprehension that flutters beneath my breastbone. “If, that is, you’re up for it.”

4

GAGE

Maybe it’s the old-fashioned good cheer of the Radio City Christmas show we watched tonight.

Maybe it’s the afterglow of some of the most expensive wine I’ve ever drunk in my life.

Maybe it’s the ache of my half-stiff cock, pushing for one more hour, one more glimpse of Aeryn’s tight black sweater, of the soft skirt that gets to kiss her thighs, of those totally impractical red-soled shoes.

When she says she’s up for anything, I tell Curtis to keep my Rivian SUV waiting at the curb. As we wait to cross the street, I offer my arm to Aeryn. She laughs as a gust of wind catches her heavy wool coat. Right on cue, huge snowflakes begin to fall, like we’re starring in some Hallmark Christmas movie.

Hallmark would find a way to get rid of the cartoon characters filling the pedestrian walkway to our destination. There are dozens of them—life size Muppets and Disney princesses and people dressed like Marvel Avengers. They make their moneytaking photos with gawking tourists, surviving on the tips they glean with their high-pressure pitches.

It’s late, and most of the foot traffic is flowing against us. I switch my grip to Aeryn’s hand, telling my cock it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing when her fingers curl around mine. She’s just a girl with common sense, staying close in the crowd.

One more clump of costumed beggars. One more family, three kids crying because of the cold. One more pair of kissing strangers, pushing up against a granite wall, oblivious to the snow that’s started to fall in earnest.

“Where—” Aeryn starts to ask, just as we turn a corner. Then: “Oh…”

She’s seen it on TV, or in a movie, or in someone’s vacation photos on their phone. It’s the Rockefeller Center skating rink, complete with Prometheus bringing fire to us cursed humans and an eighty-foot Christmas tree lit up in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Gage…” she says, and I know she sees it the same way I do. It’s corny and it’s gorgeous and it’s the perfect little slice of New York to cap our night. She turns her face up to me. “Can we skate?”

I laugh, because she sounds like she’s ten years old.

Her forehead wrinkles, and she punches my arm. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not,” I lie.

Instead of arguing, she begs. “Please?”

I tell my cock that’s not what she’s asking for. “Your wish…” I say, making a stupid little half-bow and escorting her down the steps to the warming hut on the edge of the rink. We have to step to the side to avoid a family trudging up to street level, both kids babbling like Santa Claus just gave them a personal tour of the North Pole.

When we get to the hut, a gnome in a scarlet parka is locking a chain across the door. Her raw, chapped hands look like lobster claws in the bright overhead lights.

“Rink’s closed,” she says, a million wrinkles fanning out around her chapped lips. “Come back tomorrow.”

Aeryn whines like someone just sent her to bed without any supper. And my idiot cock thinksthat’san invitation too.

“Just fifteen minutes,” I say to the keeper of the hut.