Christmas Criminal

7. Noelle

7

NOELLE

Tuesday, December 10th

" S he's back!" Christina exclaims as I walk into our apartment. "Have you suitably repented for your sins?"

She's sitting on the couch in front of the Christmas tree, knitting a scarf that will no doubt end up in either my mom's or my pile on Christmas morning. Her blonde hair is tied up in a bun on the top of her head, and she's wearing one of her many Christmas sweaters. A Pentatonix CD plays through the sound bar, a glass of wine on the table in front of her.

"I have suitably repented for my sins," I tell her. "Although I have probably one more week before I can get all my hours in."

She throws her arms around me when I lean down to kiss her cheek. "And then you get to hang out with me until Christmas!"

I laugh. "Yes, then I get to hang out with you until Christmas." I nod to the leg she has propped up on a stack of pillows on one side of the couch. "How's your leg? You need anything?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, though."

I move to grab her computer from where it's propped on the couch next to her, and she closes it quickly, moving it to the coffee table before I can.

I grab myself a glass of wine in the kitchen and join her on the couch, taking the place of the pillows underneath her cast.

She eyes me as I sit. "So Mom told me the math teacher you're doing community service with is hot."

I bite my lip. "I mean, he's fine."

She's quiet for a moment. "Only fine?"

"Okay, he's attractive."

She takes a sip of her wine, gesturing for me to continue. "So? Did you do it?"

I throw my hands out in front of me. "Um, no! He's helping me with community service."

She cocks her head to the side. "But it's fake community service."

Of course that's what my sister would get from that.

I huff. "I know. And honestly, I thought I might get some tongue action tonight at least, but no dice."

I realize what I said when her eyes light up. "Oh really? Like on his desk?"

"No! I meant, like, a kiss."

"Oh. That's boring."

I shake my head, taking another sip of wine. "Okay, well I'm sorry I didn't immediately spread my legs for the math teacher."

She sighs, picking up her knitting again. "Man, all I wanted was a spicy little Christmas story."

"Sorry, Chris."

She huffs. "Maybe next year."

"Maybe once I finish my community service."

"You think?" she asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. I mean, it's not like anything could really come from it. Like, he seems like he would be fun, you know? Like he gets all stoic and quiet sometimes and I feel like in his head maybe we're doing naughty stuff. But if it's the community service that's the problem, it seems almost... moot."

"Moot?"

"Yeah, like if nothing happens until I'm done, then what? One wild night and then we promptly forget all about it? I mean, I'm not going back to that town unless I need to."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, it's not that bad," she says. "And honestly, why not have one wild night with him? I mean, have yourself a holiday season. You deserve it, after all the community service you're doing."

"I would be serving the community."

She throws her head back cackling.

"And after all the manual labor he has me doing, I really should get at least one orgasm out of the deal."

Christina nods her agreement. "Absolutely. He owes you."

"He has us building those Christmas huts they have for the fair every year–"

"Oh really?" she exclaims, turning toward me and grabbing my arm. "Oh, that doesn't sound like community service! That sounds like so much fun!"

"I mean, it's not the worst thing in–"

"Because you're staring at math teacher eye candy."

I press my lips together. "Because it's not like I have to sit and take a remedial class on what I did wrong or pick up trash from the side of the highway or something. One of his students has been helping out. He got detention one day and then just kept coming back afterward because he liked it, and it's honestly kind of sweet to watch his confidence grow, you know?"

Christina eyes me. "Are you becoming a sap?"

"No. It's nice ."

"I think the math teacher put you under a little Christmas spell."

"Christina!"

"Do you have a picture? Mom said he looks like Henry Cavill with glasses."

I blink. "That's not inaccurate."

She sticks her tongue out, panting at me. "Oh, we are so going to the fair this weekend."

"What? No. Don't you want to do normal weekend things? Claw your eyes out with rusty hooks?"

"More like get wine drunk with you and listen to you complain about how you hate Christmas while I make you your special extra dark chocolate-covered berries that you devour with a scowl on your face."

I rear back. "That happened once."

"It happens every year, Noelle."

I glare at her. "You can't even walk."

She waves me off. "I'll bring my scooter, I'll be fine. I want to look at the hot math teacher who looks like Superman. And I want to go to the Christmas fair! Maybe I'll let you buy me a hot chocolate and we can take bets on when Hank's going to finally ask Mom out."

"Ugh. Mom can do better. You realize he was the one who gave me community service, right?"

Christina nods, raising her eyebrows like I'm missing something. "Um, yeah. Because he has a gigantic crush on Mom."

"So why wouldn't he let me off?"

"Because, Noelle, literally nobody wants you throwing eggs at Dad's house. Even Mom."

I take a sip of wine and cross my arms. "I don't regret it."

She leans forward and pats my arm. "And this is why you're the wildcard of the family."

When I head into the high school the next day, the very first thing I notice is the T-shirt Nick is wearing.

"You have to be fucking kidding me," I say, and his head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine above his book.

He grins. "We're in school, Noelle."

"Tell me you didn't buy that shirt for me."

He closes his book, coming to his feet in front of me and throwing it on the desk. "I did not, in fact, buy this shirt for you." He tugs on it, straightening out the I heart math across his chest. "It might surprise you to know that other people in the world also assume that math teachers love math, believe it or not."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to decipher whether he's screwing with me or not. "I guess the better question is, how many I heart math T-shirts do you own?"

He crinkles his nose, his grin widening. "More than I'm willing to admit."

"Oh my god, I bet you have an entire closet dedicated to I heart math shirts."

He shrugs. "None that I bought myself. But yes, more than enough to keep me clothed for the rest of my life."

"Pity," I say, and then catch myself. He blinks, and I start talking too fast to cover up my slip. "That's kind of adorable in a really nerdy way."

God, that's not much better.

He bites his lip. "Well, if you like them so much maybe I'll give you one as a present once you're done with your community service."

"And there I go thinking I'd get one of those T-shirts that says like, 'I went all the way to Snow Falls and all I got was debilitating high school trauma.'"

He pauses before he speaks. "I don't think you need a T-shirt to tell people that."

My jaw drops. "Saint Nick, are you busting my balls right now?"

He grins and holds up two fingers. "Maybe a little bit."

"Wow, I kind of like this side of you. There’s a little zing under those glasses, huh?"

"Keep it quiet. I don't need my kids finding out I'm funny."

I snort. "Hey, now. Nobody said anything about funny."

He raises his eyebrows. "What is 'zing' if not funny?"

I falter. Drop dead sexiness hidden behind Clark Kent glasses. Nice boy in the streets and dirty-talking lover in the sheets.

" I don't know. What is this, English class? I'm bad at English, don't test my vocabulary please."

He laughs. "Don't worry. Turns out I'm the math teacher," he says, pointing to his chest.

"Ah," I say, nodding. "Of course. How could I ever forget?"

He rounds the desk, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he gestures down the hallway to the garage. "The kids finished decorating the float yesterday. I figured, if it's cool with you, we can go ahead and use today to clean up the mess they left."

I raise my eyebrows. "Is it really that bad?"

He shakes his head. "No. But the huts are all done so I had to get creative when I was thinking things up for us to do today."

"So cleaning it is," I say.

He shrugs. "Unless you can think of something better to do?"

I nearly scoff at the very obvious answer.

But I press my lips together and shake my head instead.

Something tells me he wouldn't be amused if I asked him whether boinking the math teacher could count toward my hours.

The garage is not particularly messy, and I get the feeling that Nick is really scraping the bottom of the barrel when I see that 'the mess' he was referring to can be taken care of with a quick sweep of a broom.

I blink as I take in the bits of tinsel on the ground. The few plastic wrappings that once held ornaments that are now affixed to the sides of the float. I pick one piece up, turning to face Nick with a grin, and walk it very slowly toward the trash can.

"So can I ask what other options were brewing in your head for tonight?" I ask, as I head toward the wall that holds the cleaning equipment. A broom stacked against the wall, a mop that we likely won't need for this project.

He sighs, straightening a bit of tinsel on the float, and leans back against it.

"Well, I asked Mrs. Nguyen if she had anything we could do in the library," he starts, watching as I drag the broom toward him. "She had nothing but praise for our computer updates, but unfortunately nothing to add to our to-do list." I stop in front of him, resting my hands on the top of the broom and leaning against the float like he is. "I asked Hank if he had any troubled youths we could corral into a game night."

I grimace. Forcing teenagers to play board games sounds horrible. "You did?"

He nods. "And Hank made a very similar face. Said if I wanted to herd cats and do experiments on them, he has a few strays hiding out in his barn."

I snort. "Thank god. That sounded horrible."

"I even looked for kids who were misbehaving during school so I could give out a detention."

I cock my head to the side. "How would that have given us something to do? Then there would be three of us cleaning up this tiny mess."

He clears his throat, pushing his glasses up onto his head and running his hands over his face. "Ah, you're right. I guess I was looking for any sort of distraction. Or inspiration, I guess I should say."

He shakes his head.

I narrow my eyes."Distraction?"

"You know, because we'd have to do something."

I bite my lip, watching his eyes as they follow the movement. "Like clean up this very tiny mess?"

He nods, his eyes on mine, and after a few seconds of heated eye contact, he shakes his head. "You know what? All this is pretty silly anyway. I can sign your little timecard and you can head home. It's fake community service anyway, right?"

I shrug. "I don't mind. I mean, I told Hank I would go through with it. Told my mom I'd be around a little more this Christmas. I might as well fulfill my promises, right?"

"Well, we're not doing anything, right?"

I push the broom back and forth across the floor. He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm doing something," I say.

He's quiet for a moment. "Why?"

Because I want you to kiss me. "Because this is my duty."

"Which I'm releasing you of. Seriously, I'll mark down the full two hours. I mean, god, I'll go ahead and give the rest to you. I don't even know how I got in this position. One day, Hank waves me down while I’m on a run and the next he has his friend's daughter showing up waving a fake timecard at me. Like, take your hours and go. You've served the community."

He takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I bother you," I say.

He shakes his head. "You don't bother me at all. Really. It just... this whole thing is a little ridiculous."

"No, I mean I bother you in a different sort of way."

He's quiet, his breathing heavy.

I lean the broom against the float and take a step toward him. "I do, don't I?"

He's staring at me, his arms crossed tight over his chest, and I feel the intense urge to slip my hands underneath his shirt and feel the muscles underneath. Stand on my toes and press my lips against the bit of skin above the neckline of his T-shirt.

When he doesn't move away, I take another step forward, resting my hand on his thick bicep.

He looks down at it, his eyes glued to my hand like they might start solving whatever math problem is causing that little wrinkle in his brow.

"Noelle," he says, my name low and gruff from his lips. His eyes lift, meeting mine. "I'm a professional."

"You don't have to be, with me."

He bites his lip, his eyes darting all across my face, and takes a step back.

"I do."