Movement in Brain Freeze's window catches my eye. Sophie's decked head to toe in the sexiest Mrs. Claus outfit I've ever seen. The red skirt clings to her curvy hips before flaring into a wavy row of fluffy white cotton around her bare thighs.
She pulls a tangled light string from her box of goodies and goes to work unknotting the thing. By the time I’ve taken chocolates from the cooler, she’s sorted the tangled mess. She stretches, reaching high above her head to hang the lights from the window ledge’s ceiling. She balances on tiptoes, and I swallow hard as the little skirt inches over the roundness of her ass.
If I were a gentleman, I’d look away. If I were a gentleman, I’d rush over to help her.
I don an apron and plastic gloves, though I’d rather watch Sophie than whip up a batch of fudge. I dawdle at the counter instead, arranging and rearranging chocolate displays until Sophie’s finished. She steps around the sparse spruce and bends to plug in the lights she’s meticulously worried over.
Her skirt inches up even more, and I catch myself holding my breath, eyes glued to the fluffy white hem. Her creamy thighs thicken as the fabric eases upward until the swell of her lace-clad cheeks peeks from beneath the hem.
Sweet Santa.
My heart thrums to an invigorating beat as blood rushes through my veins on a clear path straight to my manhood.
A raucous billow of laughter sidetracks me momentarily, and I glance away. A group of young males exits a car at the far end of the block. One plugs a meter while the others gather around on the sidewalk. I focus my attention back on Sophie and find her bent over, butt in the air reaching for something.
I rip the plastic gloves from my hand and fling the apron across the counter as I dash out the front door. My feet slip in the deep piles of snow the plows pushed against the curb, slowing my frantic pace. The bottoms of my jeans cling to my ankles, wet and cold, but I make it to Brain Freeze before the boys pass by the window.
“Sophie, you’re...” I grab my knees as the cold air burns my lungs and throat. I gasp for breath as I point in the general direction of the window. “You’re...”
“I’m what?” Sophie pops up on her knees. Her little Santa skirt falls back into place, and the posse of young men pass by the window with barely a glance. “Are you okay?”
She knee-walks to the platform's edge and steps onto the tiled floor. The sight of her up close would steal my breath away if I weren't struggling to breathe already. The velvety button-up top squeezes her breasts into the most delicious mounds of cleavage I've ever laid eyes on.
She lays a hand on my shoulder, steadying me as I catch my breath. I cover her hand with mine. She’s as warm and soft as I knew she’d be. As soon as the burn in my lungs eases, I upright myself, taking in every ounce of her holiday ensemble for as long as ogling is appropriate.
“What’s going on, Sebastian? What were you going to say?”
What can I say?You flashed your ass to the entire town square.Nope. Not opening that can of worms.You shouldn’t be dressed like that.Again no. Because, whoa, I'd role-play with her dressed like this any day of the week.
The row of lights in the window flicker, then wink their final twinkle before fading. I grab at straws and manage to blurt out the only thing I can think of that isn’t offensive or none of my business.
“You’re, um, lights. They’re not working.” I release her hand and point and nod at the window. She frowns, then turns her head, following my prompt. “We should add lights to our shopping list.”
“Huh...ah, really?” She’s visibly irritated, but at least it distracts her from my ridiculous intrusion. “Do you know how long I spent untangling that...that...oh,fudge buckets. Nothing’s going right.”
She kicks her foot into emptiness and balls her hands into fists. I snicker, unable to help myself. She’s cute when she’s angry. At least when her ire isn’t directed at me.