Page 63 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Pepsi girl,” I say.
“Really?” he says sarcastically. “Wow, that comes as a big shock to me.”
I hate that I chuckle, because I’m not supposed to be charmed by him, and yet in the coffee shop and here, he’s been able to make me smirk... even chuckle. God, what would Uncle Dwight say if he saw me talking to the enemy? He’d probably be as confused as I am and then disown me.
I take a sip of my drink and watch the people on the gym floor, running around, pulling ingredients from the “pantry,” and going back to their stations. It’s like watchingChoppedbut for baking... in a small-town Christmas competition.
“This gym is big,” I say awkwardly, really unsure of what else to say to fill the silence.
“Yeah, a movie was actually filmed here, and they built an entire home inside the space. It was a big deal.”
“Really? When?”
“Back in the nineties. Some Christmas film. They did the inside stuff here and then filmed around town. Can’t remember the title though. I don’t think it was much of a hit.”
“Oh . . . interesting.”
I purse my lips, looking around, trying to picture a house being built inside this space. My brain can’t compute.
And after a few minutes of tense silence, silence that I can’t take, I ask, “Were you good at this? The fruitcake baking?”
“The first year, when I was helping Cole? No, but last year when I went at it on my own, I learned quickly what the judges liked, so I added pineapple to my fruitcake and used the base recipe that Storee has, and I ended up winning this round. The secret is mashed potatoes, and from the looks of it, no one paid attention last year.”
Mashed potatoes in fruitcake? Uh, that does not sound appetizing.
“Cole was part of the competition?” I ask, shocked. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be a part of such a thing.
“Yeah, out of spite. That’s how he and Storee fell in love.”
“Oh right, Storee mentioned that. Said something about how you were the jolly helper or something.”
“Holly jolly sidekick,” he corrects. “Not all heroes wear capes, and let me tell you, in that tale, I was the hero wearing a pair of dog ears and shorts two sizes too small.”
“Wait? What?” I ask, turning toward him.
Smiling, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and he pulls up his photos. It takes him a second, and then he flashes me a picture of him and Cole, both shirtless. Both dressed up.
Oh.
My.
God.
“We did a scene fromThe Grinchbut then put a spin on it. Cole was the Grinch, and I was, appropriately, Max, his dog. Cole’s lederhosen were my idea.”
And what an idea.
I’ve seen my fair share of male bodies, but oh my God, Atlas is... He’s a giant. Enormous pecs positioned right above a full stack of abs, with such a deep V cut in his hips that I fear the shorts he’s wearing, even though small, might fall off.
And yes, those shorts are small. They’re so small that I can visually see just how big of a—gulp—package he has.
“That’s, uh... um, quite the outfit. I like the ears. Are those felt? Suede? If suede, they could shrink. Did you think about that? Shrinkage?”
I glance up at Atlas, who is beaming as he says, “Shrinkage in cold weather is always a concern, but I think I handled it well.”
“Oh God, I didn’t mean like... that kind of shrinkage.”
He chuckles.
