“Where’s that damn present that you’ve hidden so stealthily?”
She smiles, wiping a tear away, and I feel so fucking bad that I made her cry—on Christmas.
I hang off the bed and look underneath.
That is a fucking big present!
I pull it out and even though I know exactly what it is—because she couldn’t exactly hide it—she’s gift-wrapped it in Christmas paper.
“I hope you like it,” she says, nervously.
“Baby, I love it already.”
She’s bought me a surfboard. It’s a thruster in style, pointed at the nose, but I can see that it’s slightly longer and wider than someone of my height and weight would usually have. The extra width and length will give it more buoyancy—it’s going to make it easier for me to surf on, because my balance is still fucked.
But when I unwrap it…
“Do you like it?” she says, chewing on her lip.
The design is clean and simple: a single blue-green stripe trimming the edge, and across the middle are the words, ‘Semper Fidelis’.
“Baby, I love it.”
And I do. I really do.
She looks relieved.
I kiss her, showing her without words how much she means to me.
She kisses me back, weaving her magic around me, and the world disappears.
When she pulls away from me, I’m hard again, and I try to tug her back, but she laughs and shakes her head.
“Our guests will be here in 45 minutes and neither of us are showered, let alone dressed. And unless you want Nic, Alice and Jenna to see you in your shorts—which I suspect they’d be thrilled at, by the way—I think you should put some pants on.
Ah, crap. The three witches.
Okay, they’re not that bad, but they can be really fucking patronizing. Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat, the way they look at me when they think I’m not watching. I mean, fuck! They’re my wife’s friends. That’s so fucking uncool.
Caro just laughs and reminds me I’m the one who married an older woman with older friends, so I should just suck it up.
The other day we were in a store buying groceries and were lining up to pay. Caro realized she’d forgotten some weird cheese she wanted, so she went off to find it. Then this woman in a pant-suit who was standing behind us in the line starts chatting to me. I’d like to believe she was just being friendly, but then she reached over and laid her hand on my chest in this flirty little move. I mean, she’d just seen me with my wife, for fuck’s sake! What is with these women? Caro thought it was pretty damn funny.
I haven’t told Caro the real reason it pisses me off, because it would upset her; but they’re exactly the kind of women I used to hit on when I was single—tough, career women who told themselves they’d never fall for me—older women who reminded me of Caro.
I push the thought away because this is our first Christmas together and I don’t want to spoil it.
Caro won’t let me shower with her: she knows me too well. So I make the bed while she’s in the bathroom and tidy up the kitchen where I spilt the coffee when I was making it. She never says anything when I clear up, but I know she loves it, because she gets this look on her face like she can’t believe I do stuff around the house. She just doesn’t get that I want to take care of her in whatever way I can. Because I fucking love her.
When I go back into the bedroom, she’s just slipping her cute, black cocktail dress over the red, silk underwear I bought her.
Fuck! I was too late.
“Rain check, Hunter,” she says, in a firm voice.
Ah hell. I’ll just have to walk around with a boner all day, knowing she’s wearing that fucking sexy bra and panties under her dress.
I take a shower—a cold one.
I’m just pulling on a t-shirt when a car pulls up outside. I open the front door for Caro’s friends, and she runs out and takes the lion share of the hugging and kissing, thank fuck. I’m relieved when I see Atash’s family walking up the street.
“As-salaamu’ alaykum!”
They come in, looking a little nervous, but soon everyone is sitting on cushions on the floor—because we don’t have enough chairs—and chatting away. Atash and his brother Kambiz are the only ones in their family who speak any English but it all works out pretty well.
And, I’m not going to tell Caro, but Kambiz knows where to get the best hash. I don’t do it very often, but sometimes I just need to chill a bit.
Caro’s food is fucking amazing, which is a real ice-breaker. She’s made Italian dishes: some weird salted cod stuff, baked pasta, capon, fish salad and a whole bunch of stuff I can’t even pronounce, let alone recognize.