Hot Winter Nights
Page 21“I know,” she said. “So I’m going to follow this angle and you’re going to follow another, and we’ll meet up and compare notes.” She started to pull back to walk off but he still had a hold of her hand.
“Molly—”
“Don’t say I can’t do this.”
“Actually,” he said. “You’re smart, resourceful, and incredibly crafty about getting your way. I think you can do anything you set your mind to. But tonight, you’re limited.”
She stiffened. “I’m not—”
“You’re favoring your leg,” he said quietly. “In a big way. If you have to run—”
“I can run. I pass Archer’s fitness test every year like the rest of you,” she said hotly, as he was currently standing on her biggest, most rawest nerve point.
“But you’re in pain,” he said.
“So what?” She gave him a push. “I’m almost always in pain. I deal with it, so you can too.”
He drew in a deep breath, as if the thought of her in pain caused a mirroring pain in him. But that resonated a little too close to pity for her and she went hands on hips. “I’ve got this,” she said. “Unless you think I can’t handle it.”
He was a smart man and he apparently knew a dare when he heard one. He wisely let go of her hand. And she walked into the office and found another elf behind a counter, whose fingers were racing over the keys of an ancient adding machine.
“Hi,” Molly said. “I’m here about an elf job.”
The woman looked up. Like the others, she too was at least seventy, which Molly was really hoping wasn’t a requirement for getting hired.
“You want to be an elf?” she asked Molly doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“But you’re like . . . twelve.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” Molly said.
“Or never,” Molly said. “Given the current political climate and all.”
The woman didn’t crack a smile.
“My name’s Molly. And you are . . . ?”
“Louise.”
“Well, you’re right, Louise, I don’t get social security checks. Is that a requirement?”
“No, being on social security isn’t a requirement. It’s just usually what it is,” Louise said.
“And what do the elves do exactly?”
“They follow Santa’s orders. The elves in the white caps are the worker bees. They’ve created the goods and work the booths and sell food. The elves in the green caps run bingo. I’m assuming you don’t knit, crochet, sew, or embroider?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because no one under fifty does those things.”
Right. “Okay, so I’d have to be a green capped elf,” Molly said. “Am I hired?”
“Do you have any elf experience?”
“Well, I’ve got experience with bossy, alpha men and getting them to do whatever I need them to do,” Molly said honestly. “And I look good in green.”
She hoped.
“Those things are indeed a plus,” Louise said and slid off her stood. She stretched, popping her neck and back. “Lord, if only I was sixty again.” She grabbed a clipboard and handed it to Molly. “Fill out this form.”
“And then I’m hired?”
Oh boy.
She was directed to a bathroom, where she locked herself in and glanced in the mirror. “For elves everywhere,” she told herself and began to strip.
Lucas had walked the entire length of the village while waiting on Molly to come out of the office. He’d been smiled at, winked at, and even propositioned by one particular feisty elf running a cotton candy booth.
He had to give these ladies credit. Either they were taking their replacement hormones and vitamins every day, or he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone.
He’d texted Molly twice with a question mark. She’d answered him back with two exclamation marks.
He had no idea what that meant.
By the time the office door finally opened again, he’d eaten three hot dogs and two soft pretzels and he’d been groped by the elf who’d served him.
Molly stepped out of the office wearing . . . Christ. The smallest elf costume known to man, complete with elf ears, an elf cap, and a little green spandex dress that appeared to be shrink-wrapped to her body. A body that had his mouth going dry.
She flashed him a self-deprecating smile and he was struck dumb and mute for so long she managed to come down the steps, cross the aisle and come toe to toe with him before his wits returned.
“Do not,” she muttered.
“Do not what?”
“Do not tell me what you think.”
He shook his head. Deal, because what he thought was that he wanted to pick her up and sling her over his shoulder and take her caveman style back to his place, where he’d unwrap her from that green spandex one inch at a time, making sure to kiss every single one of those inches as he did until she was begging him for more.
And if she wanted to scream his name while she did it, he was all for it.
“Okay,” she said, staring up at him. “I changed my mind. Tell me.”
Not even if someone was holding a gun to his head. “You look . . . green.”
Realizing he wasn’t following her, she turned in exasperation. “You coming?”
Unfortunately, no. There’d be no coming for him any time soon. “Where are you going?”
“I’m working eight o’clock bingo. Thought you’d want to buy in and sit in the back and check things out.”
“Bingo,” he repeated.
“Yep. You’ve got yourself a real live wire for the evening. You ready for this?”
He looked down into her eyes and had to laugh. He considered himself a man who’d seen and done it all, but he’d never felt so out of his league in his entire life. He was in no way ready for this. Not for bingo. Not for working so closely with her. He wasn’t close to ready for any of it, but especially not ready for her. “Lead the way,” he said.
She flashed him a smile that dazzled him even more than her skimpy elf costume. “Follow me.”
As if he could do anything but.
Chapter 11
#BingoBabe
Molly learned two things about herself that night. One, bingo wasn’t some sweet little old lady thing. It was a no-holds-barred, cutthroat, winner takes all thing.
And two, Lucas was an old lady magnet. He sat quietly by himself, but as the room filled with patrons, he was virtually surrounded and ooh’d and aah’d over.
“You new, honey?” asked one.
“No worries,” cooed another, sitting on his other side. “We’ll show you the ropes.”