A Suds and Sam Christmas by Stella Marie Alden

Author:Stella Marie Alden [Alden, Stella Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Suds

When I wake, she’s spooned close, her back all warm and soft, pressed against my morning wood.

Shit. I forgot to cuff myself to the bed. Thank God nothing bad happened. I need to be more careful.

The damn shrink said I’m getting better but I shouldn’t take chances. I don’t have PTSD. The only problem I got is I’m too well-trained. If I was in Afghanistan, no one would think twice.

My cock swells as she turns, opens her beautiful eyes, and smiles. “Good morning.”

Hell, yeah. It’s good morning. Damn, she is beautiful. I kiss her fingertips when they reach up to my mouth and look forward to more lovin’.

Glancing at the red digits on her dresser, she moans, kisses me, and eases away from my desire. “Sorry, tough guy. I need to shower and get to work or I’ll be late.”

I could make her stay but if I do, she might not be able to pay her Uncle Vinny. “Tell your Aunt Marion you need tomorrow off to find the miraculous infant. I’ll pick you up from work, we’ll drive to Boston, and talk to the museum curator.”

“Will do.” When her phone-alarm blares, she jumps up and trips over our pile of clothes before she manages to turn it off.

While I snooze, Sam and her cousins ready for work. It’s not until their footsteps clomp down the stairs and they shout their goodbyes to Joey that I get up.

The bathroom smells like a summer garden and products too numerous to mention crowd window sills, the top of the john, and the ledge of the tub.

Growing up with one older sister, I’m used to some floral shit but this blows my mind. I put the seat down, shower with what appears to be plain soap, and dress. Back in the kitchen, I drink the leftover coffee and open my laptop.

First, I email Sister Mary Agnes and ask her to give us a moment with the boys this afternoon. Then, I stop by the rectory where Mrs. O’Shay shares some old photographs of the stolen carving. I capture the images with my cell phone and send them to Jason.

Done with detective work, I wander the local shops, wracking by brain for a Christmas present for Sam. I spent a big chunk of my savings on the office rental so an engagement ring is out of the question. I hope I made the right choice. I don’t want her family, especially Vincent, thinking I’m not serious but what am I supposed to do? Get down on one knee and hand her a fuzzy box with an IOU?

Again, last night, she told me not to buy her a diamond. According to her research, high divorce rates go hand in hand with expensive rings. It’s sexist, she said. Also, she insisted it’s archaic. In earlier times, it was a way of ensuring the bride would be financially stable if she had sex and was no longer marketable as a virgin.

Despite all her reasoning, I don’t agree.

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