13 comments/ 23961 views/ 15 favorites Angela's Christmas Story By: honey28 An overheard conversation at the office had caused tears to well up in the corners of her eyes, and she had fought valiantly to hold them at bay. Grateful that she had a private office, she had sagged against the closed door and her vision blurred as she lost the battle. Sobs wracked her body, her nose ran, and her breath came in shuddered gasps. After work, she had been so desperate to numb her raw nerves with alcohol that she hadn't realized she was being watched while she sat at the bar, lost in the murky recesses of her mind. Her nostrils were rosy from too many tissues and her eyes were puffy, affording her privacy as she sipped from her glass, oblivious to the fact that the usual advances were hindered by her unbalanced appearance. The liquor eased the burning in her eyes and the pain in her chest, and a quiet calm took over, her mind blissfully empty once she reached a decision. The usual grace of her long limbs was compromised by the Jack Daniels coursing through her veins, and she appeared to wander aimlessly from street to street. In her inebriated state, she was not aware of the man who walked quietly a distance behind her. Long shadows stretched toward her in the moonlight, darkness belying the hour. The chill breeze made the early December evening particularly bitter. Involuntarily, she shivered as she reached her destination, coming to a stop as the bridge crested over the river. She rested her bare hands on the metal railing and peered down at the inky blackness. At this hour, if it had been August, she would have walked here surrounded by happy, chattering people, enjoying a walk after dinner. The crowd would have lifted her from the dark place she had settled into so easily, rambling under stark, bare-branched maples in winter's early dusk. The people that she passed had their faces and hands buried in their coats as they rushed to their destinations, eager to be out of the frigid night air. Trembling from the cold, she focused on the churning water below. *** Craig would never forget the first time he saw her. Most afternoons were spent at the park with his camera. As a free-lance photographer, the income was not always steady, but an inheritance allowed him to live comfortably regardless. He was able to do what he loved without concern for the financial unknown. Capturing a mother's proud smile as she watched her son help a little girl who fell, the expression on a young man's face when he gazed at his lover when she wasn't looking, the joy on a child's face after gliding down the slide, provided a welcome distraction from his own vacant life. Sharing in their happiness temporarily made him feel a little less alone. He could not recall what the lens had been focused on the moment before their meeting because all thoughts fled when he saw her face. She had been strolling along the sidewalk at his back, and stopped suddenly when a tennis ball shot across her path, followed by an enthusiastic pit bull mix. The dog executed an abrupt 90 degree turn to snatch the ball as it landed near the photographer's feet, and the back half of his solidly muscled 80 pound body connected with the back of Craig's left knee, causing him to lose his balance. Having quick reflexes, the woman had stepped up and caught Craig's elbow, helping him to stay upright and avoid damaging his camera. The pet owner apologized, but his words barely registered as Craig looked into the woman's eyes, the green of clear ocean waters. Her smile was warm and genuine. "You okay?" His lips twitched into a small smile as he murmured his thanks, and they stared at each other for the span of several heartbeats before she gave a short nod and went on her way. He felt an eternity pass in that moment: flashes of a first kiss; the soft curves of her body beneath him as they made love; sitting on the couch with her feet in his lap while they read novels; cooking dinner together; saying "I do." A lifetime of possibilities, wrested from his hopeful heart as he watched her walk away, the late summer sun bringing out the coppery highlights in her long auburn hair. He needed to see her again. *** "Angie? Come on, pick up, Ang. I know you're there, probably watching Fringe. Paul just called us because you didn't show and your cell seems to be off. I just want to know if-" With a growl, Angela picked up the phone, and tried not to sound exasperated. "I'm fine, Tiff. Tell him I'm sorry I didn't call, I just..." her words trailed off with a sigh. Tiffany had been her best friend since she was six years old. Without needing to hear Angela say it, she responded, "I'm sorry, honey. I know you just aren't feeling it, and I don't mean to push you into these things, I just want you to enjoy life a little. You're never going to meet anyone if all you do is go to work, go home, or come to our house. I know that my news bothered you-" "Tiff, I'm so happy for you!" she protested, feeling guilty. "I know that, I know, but I also know that this can't be easy." There was a pause. "You deserve to be happy. I don't want you to be alone." "I love you, Tiff. Don't worry about me, okay?" Angela took a deep breath, hoping that she was keeping the sadness from her voice. "Tell him I'm sorry. He doesn't want a wreck like me anyway. Now if you'll excuse me, Joshua Jackson is waiting for me." She heard her friend's laughter. "I promise, unless Rich becomes friends with Joshua, we won't try to hook you up with one of his buddies again." "Deal." Placing the phone in its cradle, Angela took a deep breath. She knew how hard it must have been for her friend to tell her that she was pregnant. Of course, Angela was genuinely thrilled for them to have such a blessing, but she couldn't help being reminded that she would never be so fortunate. Her marriage had not survived after she and her husband found out she was unable to bear children. In the three years since the divorce, she had dated, but wasn't able to have a serious relationship. She did not want to tell someone that she cared for that she would never be able to give him a child, and risk reliving the rejection. She had thought it was easier to be alone, but lately, it hadn't been so easy. *** A week after Craig was nearly taken out by the playful mutt at the park, he was still unable to get that red-head out of his brain. Desperately, he had gone back to the park daily around the same hour, hopeful that a walk was part of her daily routine and he would have a chance to see her again. He didn't know what else to do. She plagued his every thought. He told himself that he would strike up a conversation with her, ask her to dinner, make some kind of attempt at forming a relationship like a normal human being. By the end of the following week, when he was giving up hope of finding her, suddenly, there she was. He focused his camera on the figure standing on the footbridge, hands resting on the stone parapet, her haunted gaze unfocused. Her back was turned to the small waterfall responsible for the park's popularity. Reflexively, he snapped a couple of shots of his unknowing subject, then lowered the lens, watching her. Wanting to know what went on behind those eyes, but lacking the courage to move close enough to find out. Weeks passed, and he would find her on the bridge a couple of times a week, presumably on her lunch break. Joggers, giggling children, dog walkers milled past, their lives passing before him while he remained stuck on her. He lacked confidence around the opposite sex; too many times, his advances had been dismissed with a "You're so cute!" and they went in search of some tall-dark-and-handsome to buy them another drink. It wasn't that he was bad-looking, though of late he had neglected to shave, his goatee turning into a full, scruffy beard, and he was in dire need of a haircut. Craig had inherited his father's money, not his height. He had topped out at barely 5'5" and this had lowered the self-esteem of an already introverted young man. One afternoon, he watched her from a comfortable distance while she sat on a bench, hands folded in her lap, watching children playing in a sandbox. His heart soared when she suddenly laughed at something they had done, and he realized he had never seen her smile since that first day when she caught his arm. The pleasant sensations he felt gave way to a tightness in his chest, wishing that she would smile for him again one day, despairing that she may never be his. As she checked her phone for the time and stood to leave, he found himself getting up from where he had sat, leaning against a tree. He was unable to control a sudden urge to see where she would go. Heart pounding, he tried to appear casual while struggling to keep up with her purposeful stride and at the same time, remain far enough behind to avoid detection. After a brief walk, he watched her enter an office building, confirming his suspicion that she went to the park on her lunch hour. Looking around, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, which promptly fell back across his eyes as soon as his hand fell back to his side. There was a coffee house across the street. As he took a seat at a table next to the large storefront window, his gaze fixed on the office building. He sipped his coffee absently, then cursed softly when it burned his tongue. "What the hell are you doing, man?" he muttered. He had always been a "people watcher," but this was strange, even for him. A chair scraped across the floor, and he glanced over to see a man rise from the table next to his, leaving a newspaper behind. He grabbed the paper to help pass the time, not exactly sure what he was waiting for. *** As the leaves began changing color, enough time had passed that Angela's well-meaning friend began nosing into her romantic life again. Deciding to be pro-active before things progressed to awkward first dates, she enrolled in an art class every other Tuesday evening. Tiffany seemed placated by this new development, hoping that her friend was finally making an effort to meet new people. The instructor's "inspirational theme" this week was, "something that brings you peace." Angela had merely hoped for a nice distraction, but found that she was truly enjoying herself. When she laid brush to canvas, she entered a meditative state, thoughts consumed by brush strokes and color choices instead of pain and regret. In her mind's eye, she could see the little bridge at the park clearly, and her vision took form on the canvas. Soon, there was a large tree in the foreground, its leaves yellow and orange and starting to litter the ground. When it came time to recreate the shallow waters frothing around the rocks below the bridge, she wasn't sure how to begin. Losing her momentum, she raised her gaze, searching the room for the instructor so she could ask for help. As she perused the row behind her, one of the men caught her eye. Had he been looking in her direction? She paused, eyes passing over his youthful, clean-shaven face and dark, disheveled hair. She thought she had imagined the turn of his head when she had turned to face him, but then he raised his eyes, looking right at her. Before he nervously redirected his attention to his own work, she had a vague sense of deja-vu, like she had seen him before. "This is very nice." The voice of Anna, the instructor, pulled her back, and she quickly dismissed her strange feeling. With some tips from Anna, she continued her painting, and soon it was time to go. As she walked home, she was mildly surprised to see some storefronts lit up with strands of lights. It was the week before Thanksgiving and, as usual, she was feeling apathetic. She knew that within a couple of weeks her indifference would turn into grinchiness with the approach of Christmas. Her father had left her mother when she was very young, and she never remarried. Angela was an only child, very close to her mother, so when she passed away unexpectedly two years ago, she felt like she was burying her entire family. Since her divorce, Tiffany had welcomed Angela and her mother to join her family on Thanksgiving and Christmas, but now Angela felt like an outsider at holiday meals without her mom. Being around her friend's parents and siblings made her not only miss her mother, but miss the large, extended family that she lost when Eddie left her. By the time she returned to her empty apartment, she had forgotten all about the man from her class. As she crawled under the cool sheets, wishing that she had a warm body to curl up against, she saw the stranger's deep brown eyes as her lids closed, wondering his name before she drifted into a fitful sleep. *** On her way to the supply closet for printer paper, Angela passed by the main reception desk, where an old friend, Joel, had stopped to speak to Agnes. Everyone jokingly called her Grandma, not just because she was near retirement age but because of her maternal, doting nature and the fact that she always brought in home-made baked goods. Angela did not speak with Joel often anymore. He was a close friend of Eddie's, and in past years, she had often accompanied the two of them to the bar for a drink after work. Eddie had applied for a transfer before the divorce was final, which solved the awkward problem of them sharing a workplace. As she drew closer, she couldn't help but overhear Joel, who had his back to her. "I was talking to Eddie the other night." Angela felt her heart flutter, and her step faltered before she continued on her path to the supply closet. "Oh, it's been ages, how is he doing?" Agnes gushed. "He and his wife are expecting a baby in May." She felt like someone slammed a medicine ball into her chest. She couldn't breathe. She didn't even know how her legs carried her past the desk to her destination. Once she was over the inital shock of the news, she forced back the tears threatening to give her away, managing to bite back the sobs until after she was shielded behind the door to her office. The weight of everything that had plagued her for the past few years came crashing down, and she knew she wasn't strong enough. She missed her husband, her mother, mourned for the child that would never grow within her, felt abandonment and heartache knowing that her only friend was starting a family and leaving her behind. She realized that what she wanted more than anything in the world was for a man to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright. She hadn't been intimate with a man in over a year, maybe even two, and it had been even longer since she had felt loved. Sitting on the carpet in her quiet office, watching the colors of the sky changing as the sun set, she had never felt more alone. *** Craig sat at his usual table in the coffee shop, arriving at about quarter to six, waiting patiently for his obsession to descend the concrete steps across the street. He idly rubbed the sandpaper stubble on his jaw, thinking about the last time she had seen him. When her head turned, his heart had started pounding, and he thought for sure the woman standing next to him could hear the frantic drum beating in his chest. He had immediately directed his gaze to his painting, little more than a few lines on paper due to his lack of concentration. He couldn't keep his eyes from sneaking a peek in her direction, just as he couldn't resist watching her throughout her day. He felt like a boat caught in an eddy, drawn inexorably by a force of nature. He knew what he was doing was not right, but he felt like he had no control where she was concerned. When their eyes met, he felt connected to her. He wanted to be close to her, to touch her hair, taste her lips, hear her moan his name. He could have smiled at her, let her know that yes, he had been watching her, and he was interested in getting to know her. He should have approached her after class and asked her to get a cup of coffee. Instead, he panicked, turned away, and never returned to the art class. He wondered if she had recognized him, thinking that it was unlikely since he had started shaving on a regular basis, foolishly thinking he would have the guts to actually speak with her and not wanting to look like some crazy homeless person. He straightened in his chair when he saw a familiar form exit the building opposite the cafe. She turned towards home, and he dropped his half-full paper cup into the trash bin before striding out the door. She shocked him by ducking into a bar a couple of blocks away. He had never seen her do this before. He paused, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark wool peacoat, then hurried across the street at the next crosswalk. The place was busy with happy hour patrons. He immediately spotted her red ponytail where she sat perched on a bar stool, staring down into her glass. He crossed the room and took a seat at the bar around the corner from where she was, so he had a clear view of her. As he had approached the counter, he thought he may just stay here and lose himself in a bottle, knowing this night would be like every other, and he wasn't going to speak to her. He had waited so long, that he was afraid he had built things up too much in his mind, and the reality of the situation would pale in comparison to who he fancied her to be. He thought that it might be better to love her from afar, where no one would get hurt. The hundreds of hours that he had spent waiting and watching these past few months had given him too much time to think. And over-analyze. "I'm my own worst enemy," he muttered under his breath before taking a long swallow of his beer, planning to make this the first of many. For the first time that evening, he took a close look at her face. When he was near her in the art studio, he had noticed that her face was much thinner than it had been when he met her in August. He could see that her jacket seemed ill-fitting, loose around her hunched shoulders, like she had dropped a couple of dress sizes. He could tell she had been crying, and his gut wrenched. He felt genuine concern for this woman, and he didn't even know her. After she had a couple of refills, she paid her tab and stood on unsteady legs. Worried about her walking the remaining few blocks home, in the dark, senses compromised, he paid for the single beer he had nursed the entire hour and followed her out a minute later. He made a left out of the bar but she wasn't there, so he turned around, and spied her going in the opposite direction. "What the hell," he murmured, following. She made several turns, and he couldn't figure out where she was headed. When she crossed a street, she barely glanced to check traffic and would have been hit if the driver hadn't hit his brakes. His heart was hammering in its cage. He became even more confused when the bridge came in sight and she kept going, then stopped to look over the side. She slowly turned her head to glance at a car passing behind her. He continued his slow approach until he saw her raise a foot to climb the railing. His feet pounded into the pavement as he sprinted towards her, and he felt like time slowed to a crawl. He saw her foot slip, slowing her progress, giving him precious extra seconds to catch up to her. He had a ridiculous thought, thanking God that she was wearing pumps. Not designed for traction on metal bars. Angela gasped when she felt arms cinch around her waist and yank her away from the side, the force throwing both of them backwards onto the ground. She heard a grunt as Craig's tailbone hit pavement, and she fell back onto him, his arms still holding her tight. "What the fuck are you doing," he panted. He had thought that he was the crazy one. He felt tremors through her small body, and thought she was laughing. When she laid her head back against his shoulder, he could see the tears streaming down her face, and realized that she was sobbing. Angela's Christmas Story He rubbed a hand up and down her arm reassuringly. "Shh, it's going to be okay." He couldn't believe she was actually in his arms, and it felt so natural to hold her, comfort her. After several minutes, Angela began to regain her senses. She became aware of the strong arms folded around her torso, the hard, warm body supporting her limp form, the soothing, deep tone of the half-whispered words of encouragement. It had been so long since someone had held her, and it felt amazing. "Why are you here?" she whispered hoarsely. She listened to the river rushing beneath them and the sound of a distant car. "I don't know." Her breath hitched in her throat. She spoke so low he could barely make out the words. "I'm glad that you are." Coming down from the rush of adrenaline, Craig had a panicked thought. What if she recognized him from the class? Would she think it was a coincidence? She probably didn't even remember him. No one ever did. "Can I help you get somewhere?" He felt her pull away from him, starting to sit up, and felt a disheartening sense of loss when he let his arms fall away so that she could stand. As he rose to his feet, an SUV flew past them, horn blaring. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and was surprised when she barked out a laugh. She covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, your face... I'm in a very weird place right now. I don't feel real." She wiped the wetness from her cheeks. "Would you walk me home?" "Sure." He turned back towards town, but she didn't move. "What is it?" "You look familiar." His stomach flip-flopped. "I have one of those faces." "Hm." They walked in silence. He was acutely aware of how close she was, her arm brushing against his every few steps. She surprised him again, linking her arm in his after they had gone a couple of blocks. "It's so cold tonight," she murmured. In truth, she had wanted to touch him again as soon as she left the warmth of his embrace on the bridge. The world still had a surreal feel to it. It was eerily quiet, and they only passed a handful of people on the walk to her apartment. She hadn't come to terms with the events of the evening. She shuddered, and this time it had nothing to do with the low temperature. Had she really been about to jump? Would she have stopped if this man hadn't grabbed her? Why did she feel so comfortable with him? Was this just because he had saved her from making a fatal mistake? Nothing was making any sense at all. In the morning, she would be past the shock of what she had almost done, and more than likely be horrified. But right now, the thought that kept pressing to the forefront was that she wanted nothing more than to be close to this stranger, walking silently beside her in the chill night air. Snowflakes began to fall, adding to the quiet, dream-like feeling of the evening. They came to a stop at the doorstep of her building. "This is me." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Of course, he knew that already. "I don't even know your name, stranger." "Craig." "I'm Angela." Naturally, he had known that, too. He had seen which mailbox she opened and checked it the next day to see who the envelopes were addressed to. He felt like a total creep, and felt his cheeks get hot despite the wintry air. She reached out to grasp the arm of his coat, not wanting him to leave her. She looked up into his eyes. They were so familiar. "I can't stand the thought of being alone tonight," she murmured, averting her gaze, yet tightening her grip on his arm. What the hell am I doing, she screamed at herself. She was practically throwing herself at him, and she didn't know who this woman was, begging a stranger to come up to her apartment. But the thought of him leaving brought a tightness to her chest that felt too close to what she had been feeling when she collapsed against the door to her office about four hours ago. The afternoon felt like it had been years away, until that ache returned to her chest at the thought of this man disappearing into the night. Craig felt goosebumps along his arms, and heard a wooshing sound between his ears, blood racing through his veins. Was this really happening? He couldn't find his voice, and he didn't even know how to respond. He had never wanted her so badly, now that he was so close. Doubt shadowed his mind. Would she have propositioned him if he hadn't just saved her life? He didn't want to take advantage. Angela had never before truly appreciated her tenuous grip on mortality. In her drunken, unstable condition, she would have made a tragic decision if not for this man. For too many years, she had been afraid to take a chance on someone new. Take a chance on herself. Suddenly, she grabbed Craig's collar and pulled his face to hers, crushing her lips against his mouth, feeling like there was an electric current passing between them. She felt, more than heard, his low moan as she coaxed his lips open with her probing tongue. After what felt, to him, like a lifetime of pleasure, Angela broke away. "Please," she whispered, breathless. All he could do was nod. Mutely, he followed her up to her apartment. As he waited for her to unlock the door with trembling hands, he ran his fingers through his hair which was damp from melted snowflakes. He stepped inside behind her, and she closed the door, quickly turning the deadbolt before turning back to him. The apartment was dimly lit by moonlight coming between the slats of the blinds. He stared at her face intently, gaze unwavering, finding it difficult not to let his eyes wander over the rest of her body as she unbuttoned and peeled off her jacket, dropping it to the floor. As her fingers unbuttoned her top, the fabric parted to expose some of her bra as her hands worked lower, popping the buttons down to her waist. He watched, transfixed, as she bent to remove her pumps and rolled down her trouser socks before unzipping her black dress pants and letting them slide off her hips, exposing her black thong panties. Craig gave in to his urges, eyes passing over her exposed skin hungrily. Angela finished unbuttoning her top and let it fall from her shoulders, fully revealing the black bra beneath. He felt like he couldn't breathe, taking shallow, ineffectual breaths that made him feel slightly light-headed. Angela stepped forward, unbuttoning his peacoat and pushing it off of his shoulders. She ran her hands down his chest and slid her fingers under the hem of his long-sleeved cotton tee, her touch cool against his hot skin. He shivered, and she looked into his dark eyes as she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. Her hands warmed as they caressed his chest, grazing lightly across his nipples, then coming up to wrap around his neck. She pressed her body into his, every inch of her from mouth to groin in contact with his own. Their kiss quickly deepened into a passionate frenzy, and he felt her hands fumbling at his zipper, her touch, even through his jeans, making him strain against the fabric. Groaning, he grabbed her hands, halting their progress. "We shouldn't," he began, pulling his lips from hers. "Do you want me?" she asked, her voice husky with want. His eyes looked pained, conflicted. "Yes," he said weakly. "And I want you. That's all that matters for tonight." For the first time, he initiated the kiss, devouring her whimpers and moans. He clutched at her back, marveling at her soft skin as his hands slid down to cup her ass. With a low growl, he lifted her easily, and she hitched her legs around his hips while she wrapped her lips around his tongue. He brought her to the large sectional, laying her down, though she still clung to him with her arms and strong legs, her hungry mouth sucking on his neck, her pussy grinding into his crotch. She released him and reached for his fly once more. "Not yet, baby." He kissed her neck and collarbone, then sucked at her nipples through her bra, loving the way she arched up to him. Her fingers ran through his tousled hair, her grip tightening as he licked her belly button, and moved his tongue lower, tracing the edges of her panties. "Ohh, God," she groaned. "I need to feel you." He pulled her panties down her legs and dove in. She squealed and squeezed her thighs over his ears as he thrust his tongue inside of her, tickling her clit with his nose. He had always imagined taking his time with Angela, making love to her. But that wasn't what either of them needed that night. She was so wet, and he couldn't get enough of her sweet nectar. He sucked at her sensitive button, plunging two fingers inside of her and curling them, massaging her. As her cries rose in intensity, he brought his mouth back down to the source of her flowing juices and rubbed his thumb rapidly across her clit, rewarded with a flood as she came in his mouth. She gasped for air, thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly. Slowly, she relaxed, chest heaving, and he kissed her thighs and stomach. Angela sat up. "Take them off," she ordered, eyes dark with lust. He pushed his shoes off his feet and removed his pants in record time, and she attacked him like a bitch in heat. She crawled over his body until she straddled his hips, and brought her breasts close to his face. As she rubbed her wet slit across his cock, she used the head to massage her clit. "Fuck," he gasped. He reached around to unclasp her bra and teased her nipples with his fingers, then tongue. Angela shifted and suddenly he was embedded in her hot flesh, and they both cried out. She remained leaning over him as he suckled on her hard peaks, and he rocked his hips forward to thrust in and out of her until she sat upright, pressing herself down onto him so he bottomed out, filling her completely. With a low moan, she gyrated her hips, arching her back in pleasure. "You feel amazing, Ang, but-" "I know," she said, lifting herself off of him. She rolled onto all fours, presenting the fine curve of her ass. "Please don't make me wait," she begged. He pressed his cock between her swollen lips, and she pushed back onto him with an ecstatic cry. Losing control, he pounded into her, spurred on by her whimpered gasps of pleasure. Slowing down, he leaned forward to kiss her back and caress the soft mounds beneath her, tweaking and tugging at her nipples. "Oh, God, I'm so close," she panted. "Harder, please fuck me harder." Craig straightened his back, thrusting more vigorously, then reached to stroke and squeeze her little nub while his cock stroked her sweet spot. He felt himself getting close, and urged her with soft words. "Come on, baby, I want to hear you scream one more time." As if on cue, he felt her muscles clench around him, milking him, and he pumped in and out a few more times before burying himself inside of her, his face contorting with pleasure as he filled her. Craig collapsed on the couch next to her, and she laid an arm across his chest and covered one of his legs with her own, kissing his shoulder and murmuring a very sleepy "thank you" before they both passed out from exhaustion. *** Angela slowly became aware of her body as she woke late the next morning. Her feet were freezing, but the rest of her body felt warm, and as she opened her eyes she remembered why there was a warm body beneath her. Her face flushed. She had a panicked moment when she saw the clock on her cable box, then she remembered that it was Saturday. Her gaze wandered over the painting leaning against the wall by her door because she hadn't hung it yet. She had been really pleased with how her bridge had turned out. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she focused on the peaceful face beneath her. "Oh," she said, surprised by recognition. Craig's eyes fluttered open and he smiled. "Hi." She couldn't help smiling back. "I know you. From that class." His smile faded. She was going to figure out his dirty little secret and never want to see him again. "Why did you act like you didn't recognize me? Am I that forgettable?" she pouted, teasing. He opened his mouth, but again, she had him speechless. "What a strange coincidence, that you were there last night," she mused, becoming quiet. "I'm really sorry that you saw me like that." "I'm sorry." "For what? Do you regret last night?" The hurt on her face nearly broke his heart. "Last night was wonderful." Her facial expression changed quickly. Happiness flashed across her pretty green eyes, then her brow wrinkled with concern, and she sat up, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around herself. "Why did you dismiss me when I said you looked familiar. You looked right at me that day. You should have at least had the same vague feeling as I did." He sat up, feeling as emotionally exposed as his nude, physical form. "Why were you there last night?" she whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Please, don't be scared. I didn't mean for this to happen. You have to believe me." The anguish on his face seemed genuine, and she thought back to the evening before. Twice, he had tried to stop her advances. Had it been an act? Was she falling for it again? When she didn't run and lock herself in her bedroom, he felt an iota of relief, and continued. "I did know you from the class. I wanted to talk to you, but I was too nervous. I-" He swallowed thickly. "I watched you, sometimes. I kept hoping I would get a chance to speak with you, but it never seemed right. I'm not going to lie, I followed you into the bar last night. I was feeling like such a schmuck, I was going to just drink myself stupid and go home and give up trying to get the courage to ask you out. But then I saw your face, and I was worried about you. I wanted to know who had hurt you, and I wanted to make it better. When I saw how tipsy you were when you stood to leave, I was afraid you wouldn't make it home safe. I swear, all I was going to do was follow you home to make sure you got here okay." She stared at him in silence, her expression unreadable, and he averted his gaze, ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Angela." He flinched when he felt her hand on his shoulder, and his head whipped up to look at her. Tears glistened on her cheeks. "If you hadn't been there," she said, voice tremulous, "I'm not sure that I would have stopped myself. You were watching me when no one else was there. When I needed someone the most." She swiped at her cheeks, smiling. "I can't forgive you, Craig, because I think you saved my life." He watched in awe as her face drew near and her soft lips brushed against his, tenderly. "I don't know why I feel like I can trust you. I felt it last night, too. Thank you for being here for me. I don't expect you to stay. I'm a fucking train wreck. Believe me, you can do better," she sniffled, smiling. God, how he had yearned to see that smile again. "What if I want to stay? People love a good wreck. They can't look away." The silly grin faded from his face. "I'd like a chance to get to know you." "I would like that. Stalker-boy." He ripped the blanket from her body and tickled her mercilessly. As he held himself above her giggling form, he felt her hand snake down between their bodies. "I think I'd like to get better aquainted with him. Feels like he agrees." *** Christmas was drawing near, and for the first time in several years, Angela had felt inspired to decorate a tree. It was only 4 feet tall, and artificial, but it did the job. As she had done many nights since she put up her tree, she sat in her living room in the dark admiring the twinkling fiberoptics, and she was excited to realize that Christmas was only a few days away. She hadn't been excited about Christmas in a long time. The smile fell from her face as she thought again about the date. It was the 22nd. Usually, her cycle was ended by now, but she hadn't started yet. When Craig had pointed out, abashed, that he hadn't worn a condom that first night, it had broken her heart to tell him that there was no risk of getting her pregnant, and not because of a pill. She saw no reason to lie. But as she sat there in her living room, she tried to suppress the hope bubbling up inside. She had heard that some women who are told they can't conceive end up having children after all. It just seemed like too much to hope for, though. She knew that she wouldn't be able to rest until she knew for sure. She ran to the convenience store for a test, and while she was there, her phone rang. "I'm at your place. Grabbed us some Chinese. Where are you?" "You mean you don't already know?" She knew that it was probably really strange that she was dating a man that had "stalked" her, but it had kind of become an inside joke for them. She promised him she'd never tell anyone about it, and he promised he'd never tell anyone the truth about their first night together. They both had their weaknesses. They were helping each other through it. "I'll be home in two minutes," she said, hanging up. She felt a twinge of disappointment that the tests would have to wait. When she got home, she stashed the bag under the bathroom sink, and Craig didn't question her, figuring it was an intimate item he didn't really need to know about. He busied himself pulling out cartons of food and they ate dinner while watching "A Christmas Story." Chinese food always made her thirsty, so she had downed nearly two bottles of water while she ate, and soon she really needed to go. She paused before pulling down her pants, the little pink and white box hiding in the cabinet niggling at her mind. Why wait? It's probably negative anyway, then you can go back to your evening without being distracted. About ten minutes later, she screamed. She pulled the cardboard out of the trash bin and checked the expiration date on the side, which was about two years in the future. "What happened, Ang?" Craig called from the other side of the door. She pulled it open, unable to stop grinning. He smiled, but his eyes remained puzzled until he looked past her to the countertop. He knew what that plastic stick was. And he knew that if she screamed, it must say, "Pregnant." "No." "I'm going to take a dozen more tests and make a doctor's appointment, but I think that if you get a postive result, it's usually true. I think false readings are usually negative." "How?" She threw her arms around his neck. "It's a fucking Christmas miracle," she laughed, tears streaming down her face. ~~~~~~~~~~~~Note from the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This story is an entry in the 2011 Winter Holiday Story Contest, so please remember to vote! Thanks :) honey28