The Spirit of Christmas. Liz Talley

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      CHAPTER FIVE

      MARY PAIGE OPENED the door to her duplex in midtown and smelled something burning. Simon must have made himself dinner because her place always smelled like this when Simon cooked. She also knew the dirty dishes would be in the sink and he’d be gone. Wonderful houseguest, he ain’t.

      “Simon?”

      His head poked out of the kitchen. “Oh, you’re home early.”

      A giggle from the kitchen proved she’d been off base about what Simon had been doing in the kitchen.

      “I took the day off,” Mary Paige said, zipping her purse and setting it on the table in the narrow foyer and trying to gauge whether she should leave or blaze into the kitchen and kick her goat of an ex-boyfriend out of her life for good.

      “Uh, Mary Paige, I kinda have a friend here,” Simon said, jerking his head toward the depths of her tiny kitchen.

      “I heard, but I need a drink,” she said, heading toward the fridge where, hopefully, she’d still find her dime-store bottle of Zinfandel.

      “Stop,” Simon said, flinging out a hand. “We’re not exactly decent.”

      Mary Paige almost skidded into the sofa table she stopped so fast. Oh, heck to the no. He better not be naked with some floozy in her kitchen.

      Disgusting.

      “Simon, please tell me you’re not—”

      “We’re doing some experimental art. That’s all,” he said with the shrug of a thin naked shoulder.

      “Fun experimental art,” someone of the female persuasion called out with a slight giggle.

      “Okay, fine. I’ll go to my room for a moment while you two get decent and clear out of my place. Both of you. Clear out.” Mary Paige hurried toward her room because though she’d seen Simon without clothes, she never planned on doing so again. Letting him crash here had been a favor…one that had long ago proven a huge mistake.

      Because she couldn’t get him off her couch or—obviously—out of her kitchen.

      But she’d reached the end of her charity.

      “Okay, we’re good,” Simon called after Mary Paige studied the wonder of her new cherry sleigh bed covered by a cream batiste spread. She’d looked hard at it, making sure Simon and whoever was posing for his experimental art—aka sex in the kitchen—hadn’t tried to use her new bed.

      She stalked out to find Simon slouching on her couch wearing a pair of sweatpants and tank top. His bare feet were propped on her new Glamour magazine, and the bimbo—Mary Paige recognized her as the girl who sold her fancy cookies at a bakery down the street—perched on the corner of the couch. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a sort of dirty-looking dreadlock do that wasn’t flattering and hadn’t been in style for ten years.

      “What’s up, M.P.?” Simon said, folding his arms behind his head and giving her a quasi-smile.

      “What is up is your time,” Mary Paige said, nudging his bare feet off her table with her knee. “You said you only needed to crash here for a few days, and it’s turned into almost a month. This little escapade was the last straw. You need to pack your stuff and leave.”

      “Come on, M.P. As soon as Rick gives me that commission, I’ll get a place.”

      “No. My couch hasn’t been my own for too long and I miss it. Go stay with her.” Mary Paige pointed to the cookie girl, who made a funny face.

      “He can’t stay with me. I live with my boyfriend.”

      Right. Of course she did.

      “Babe, if you’d let me sleep with you, I wouldn’t be out here on this couch.” Simon spread his hands and tried to give her his little-lost-boy smile, the one she’d fallen for over a year ago—before she knew that her highly artistic, creative boyfriend was a slug in disguise. He’d milked her checking account while bleeding her heart dry. And she found out she wasn’t so into a carefree, bohemian lifestyle when he asked if she was up for a three-way.

      She’d ended the relationship last spring and hadn’t seen him until almost a month ago when he’d shown up at her front door with a hangdog expression and a pretty good reason why he’d cheated on her before—he had a large sexual appetite she couldn’t handle, which meant he’d actually been doing her a favor, right? Mary Paige had been caught so off guard by his tale of woe regarding some scheme a gallery owner had pulled on him, she’d agreed to let him sleep on her couch for a few days.

      Yeah, she was a dumb-ass that way.

      Not only that, but she owned all those Dead Sea salt scrubs and lotions sold in kiosks in the mall.

      Giant sucker.

      But not today.

      “Get СКАЧАТЬ