Chapter Eleven
“Dude, our moms are gonna kill us,” Julie said as she screeched the SUV to a stop in front of the high school gym. She flung off her seat belt and catapulted herself out the door, the buzz of activity surrounding the front door cranking up the volume on the alarm bells clanging through her head.
“Wait, the keys.” Gavin reached across the vehicle and removed them from the ignition.
D’oh! Stress amplified every emotion, and all of Julie’s were currently crashing into one another. Their mothers had left very precise instructions, but they’d lost track of time, and now they were a good thirty minutes late. The long line of people waiting by the door highlighted just how late. “They’re going to execute us in front of the entire town.”
“Don’t be silly,” Gavin said as he rushed around the hood of the vehicle. “They’ll wait until tonight when we get back to the house to do it.”
Despite her fraying nerves, Julie laughed. Then they hustled their way inside, ducking behind large families and weaving around booths in the unlikely case no one had noticed their tardiness yet.
“Even as I’m telling myself that I’m an adult who shouldn’t be so scared of being late to a Holiday Bazaar, my sense of daughterly duty and town propriety is screaming louder.”
“That’s because of the lecture we got our senior year, about how it took a lot of generous, selfless people to run a bazaar, and this was how the town gave children who couldn’t afford a big Christmas, an extra night of joy. Which was why they weren’t mad…”
“Just disappointed,” Julie finished along with Gavin. “And they thought they’d taught us better than to think only of ourselves.”
That was the kicker, the one that’d made her pleaser side shrivel up in shame. Honestly, she enjoyed working the bazaar. She just didn’t always enjoy what the parents signed them up for. Or the way they pulled at their puppet strings and expected them to comply.
“There it is.” Julie grabbed hold of Gavin’s hand and sprinted toward the toy booth.
A harried woman with a tight gray bun stood behind the long folding table that’d been set up, and Julie skidded to a stop, fast enough her shoes squeaked against the shiny wooden floor. It was the closest to sounding like an athlete she ever had—and most likely ever would—come.
“Hi. Gavin and Julie reporting for duty.”
The woman turned, and Julie instinctively went board straight. Did their parents secretly have it out for them? Or had they honestly forgotten how much their former history teacher hated them? To be fair, they’d been immature pains in the ass in her class.
In their defense, Mrs. Trombone—okay, technically it was Trabanino—had the most monotone voice ever, and she’d had it out for them from day one. As a rowdy boy, Gavin got into plenty of trouble in school. While he excelled on the field, Julie shined in the classroom. To have a teacher dislike her had been new. Since Gavin knew it bothered her, he constantly made jokes and distracted her from that fact during Mrs. Trombone’s class. Which naturally made her dislike both of them more.
“You’re late,” the woman who personified the schoolmarm stereotype said.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” To her dismay, Julie’s voice trembled. “We lost track of time and—”
“Here are your costumes.” Mrs. Trombone lifted two garment bags from the decorated table at the front of the booth.
Gavin frowned at the bag their former teacher extended toward him instead of taking it. “Costumes? No one said anything about costumes.”
“You have eight minutes to change and get back here. I suggest you stop complaining and get going.”
If the woman wouldn’t take it the wrong way, Julie would give a 100 percent genuine salute. But Gavin had to be difficult by unzipping his bag. “This looks super small. Do you have a bigger size?”
“I did,” Mrs. Trombone said, and Julie swore red rolled over her irises. “You should’ve been on time if you wanted to be choosy.”
Before they ended up having to dodge fiery darts, Julie clamped on to Gavin’s wrist and tugged him toward the restrooms in the far corner. “I can’t believe our parents didn’t remember we have history with that woman.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Get it. History—because that’s what she taught.”
Gavin shook his head but couldn’t stifle his snort. “I think we’re gonna flunk out, same way I almost did last time I was around that woman.”
Julie clucked her tongue. “All we have to do is survive the next few hours. Seriously, how bad can it be?”
…
In life, there are certain questions that should never be asked. How bad can it be was one of them.
It was one thing to have to dress up in an elf costume. It was another thing to look like he was auditioning for Christmas with the Chippendales.
After expelling a long breath, Gavin opened the door to the men’s bathroom and stepped out into the gym. He didn’t see Julie anywhere. He should’ve asked if she were going to meet him outside of the bathroom or back by the booth.
A quick glance at his watch showed he was one minute past the amount of time Mrs. Trombone had given them. Answer enough, he supposed. No matter how complicated Julie’s outfit was, she would’ve slipped into it in enough time. Once a teacher’s pet, always a teacher’s pet.
Damn, had the gym gotten bigger since he’d been in it last? Funny how packing it with line after line of booths made it seem larger instead of smaller. Since there was nothing else to be done, Gavin ducked his head and rushed toward the booth with the toys.
A smile spread across his face as he caught sight of Julie. Like him, she’d been given an elf costume, and like his, it was on the snug side.
The difference was that she somehow pulled it off, managing to look adorable and sexy at the same time. The green top hugged her curves and flared out to the puffiest red and green skirt he’d ever seen. If she didn’t have tights on, every time she bent over, there’d be a whole lot of skin on display.
Problem was, the red and green striped tights—as fucking ridiculous as they were—also showed off the shape of her legs. Thoughts of stripping them off flashed through his head, a dirty Christmas reel that would definitely land him on Santa’s naughty list.
Although he’d like to point out—at least in his head—that he’d been right about the whole elf siren metaphor the other night. And yet here he was, ready to perk up his ears and listen to her song anyway.
The bell on the tip of her mini pointed hat jingled as she turned, as did the pointy shoes on her feet, complete with—you guessed it—more tiny gold bells. Her gaze landed on him, and then a laugh burst out of her, confirming he looked as absurd as he felt.