Stocking Full of Coal

An Excerpt From: STOCKING FULL OF COAL
Copyright © AMANDA FERAL, 2010
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
A row of Christmas trees split the center aisle at Henri Bendel in two, silver and pink foil numbers with coordinating mercury glass globes dangling from their branches. The spaces on either side were flooded with holiday shoppers wielding squared-off bags like butterfly knives, their saucer-eyes targeting sale bins.
I had to jump into the fray. Had to.
Black Friday is certainly the best shopping day to incur accidental contusions, but during a busy holiday season, you never know when an opportunity will pop up.
I was about halfway down the aisle, cosmetics case in my sights, when I caught a spot of slick wax. After some monumentally ridiculous flailing and pinwheeling, I threw myself into one of the trees, accidentally—the first time in years. Ornaments shattered and I connected with the thick wire trunk at my clavicle, riding the rail down to the floor, scraping my cheek and stripping the makeup clean off that side of my face. The entire thing toppled with a loud crash that silenced the waller of shoppers. It blocked the aisle like a twelve-car pileup on the road to disco Santaland.
“Let me help you up,” a nearby voice said, deep and resonant.
A man.
A moment later a tan hand slipped between the branches, scooped me out effortlessly and settled me on my feet.
“Are you hurt any?”
From the looks of my arms and legs, I wasn’t any worse for wear. A few slight scratches. The ornaments turned out to be plastic and merely stuck to me like childhood stickers.
A complete rip-off.
Real accidents never produce the kind of bruising I yearn for, and sadly, this holiday disaster was no different. It was probably for the best, what with the lottery later. I could get lucky, after all, and not have to worry where my next bruise is coming from.
“Well, you look okay.”
I glanced up at the man, intent on thanking him, but when I finally took in the sight of him, I couldn’t find the words.
His nametag read, Nathan Winters, Store Manager.
But it could have read, Nathan Winters—Do Me. Do Me Now.
It was one of those moments that lingers and time slows to a crawl, the kind where your inner-monologue goes into overdrive.
And won’t shut up.
He’s too ruggedly handsome to be stuffed into that suit. Is he sizing me up? Is he interested? Does he think I fell into that tree on purpose? Does he know?
Does he know?
Nathan Winters had the kind of sandy blond hair that can barely be tamed into a sleek business style. It wanted to be free. It needed mountain air and a Stetson and a girl with a bruise fetish to run her fingers through it. His face belonged on the covers of magazines, but not GQ or Maxim, some rag that profiled working men, mechanics with grease on their cheeks and big, long wrenches hanging out of their pants pockets.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” My eyes darted toward the mangled tree. “But your decorations have definitely seen sparklier days.”
He laughed, a wholly unselfconscious guffaw. “Forget about that. I’m just glad you’re alive. The big man upstairs would have had me killed if a customer bit it on my watch.”
My heart sank. “Are you talking about God?”
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Christians, but if they’re not going to openly accept gay marriage they’re probably not going to open their arms to bruisers like me.
“No. No. Upper-management.” Nathan chuckled again. “You’re funny.”
I nodded, relieved, then it registered the man had paid me an actual compliment. Do not blush, I told myself as I fumbled for something witty to say and ended up with, “Nope. Just awkward.”
He leaned in close and whispered, “Do you want to grab some coffee sometime?”
“Uhh…” His words circled my ear like water around a drain. “Yeah. I mean, well…yeah.” Smart. I sounded like that skateboarding kid outside, after his inevitable traumatic brain injury.
“Good. I get off at ten. We could go to Swan’s, maybe?”
I’d nearly forgotten about the lottery.
“Oh crap. Sorry. I can’t tonight.” I paused, scrambling for an excuse. “I’ve got a thing.”
His smile faded.
“No!” I exclaimed, possibly too loudly. “I do have a commitment. Can we do it like on Friday?”
Nathan nodded and reached for his wallet and I dug in my purse for a business card, scribbled my cell phone number on the back. We exchanged them, our fingers touched for the briefest electrified second and for a moment, I was floating.
As I left Bendel’s, I realized how ridiculous I must have seemed.
He thinks you’re a freak.
He knows it.