Page 65 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Yes, but I grew up in Fort Collins, where we don’t get as much snow as you get here up in the mountains. Do you ever leave Kringletown, or are you permanently fixed here, looking to break into innocent people’s cottages?”
My expression falls. Through a clenched jaw, I say, “I was not breaking in. I was merely taking a gander.”
“With a crowbar.”
Steadily, I reply, “Because of the murderous bears. How many times am I going to have to say that?”
“For life,” she answers. “For life.”
“Seems like a harsh punishment for a misunderstanding.”
“That was not a misunderstanding. That was you being a creep.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a creep,” I reply, exasperated.
“Uh-huh, and what if I was naked when you were peeking in?”
“You weren’t.”
“But what if I was?” she asks, turning toward me.
Rolling my eyes, because what-ifs never pan out well, I say, “I would’ve enjoyed the show,” before I can stop myself.
Her expression morphs into disgust. “Excuse me?”
Oh shit.
“Umm . . . what?” I ask, blinking.
“You said you would have enjoyed the show.”
Time to backpedal.
“What show?”
“The naked show.”
“Not sure what naked show you’re talking about,” I say, playing dumb.
“My naked show.”
“Are you inviting me to watch a naked show you’re putting on? Isn’t that a little brazen?”
Her brow contorts. “What? No. I wouldn’t want you seeing me naked.”
“Then why are you inviting me to see your show? And for the record, I wouldn’t want to see it either.”
Now she frowns, because that was an insult.
Uh . . . time to backpedal some more.
“I mean... I would want to see you naked, but only if you were offering to let me see you naked. I wouldn’t want to see it ifyou didn’t want me to see it. But if you were showing me out of free will, like you wanted me to see everything, I’d look.”
“You would look?” she asks.
“Yeah, I would look. Up and down. Take it all in. Every last inch.” My mouth goes dry. “But because you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to.”
