Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(46)

Needless to say, it’s not my favorite holiday. But I did get a smidge into the Christmas cheer when it comes to Oakley. Only because it was an opportunity I just couldn’t pass up. Or more, a gift I couldn’t not buy for him.

The only issue now is I’ve been waiting for him to get over to my apartment to give the damn thing to him. He said he’d be over soon, but that was almost an hour— A knock on the door has me bolting from where I was sitting on the couch, my anticipation almost immediately turning into anxiety. Which is new for me.

Ever since I woke up with my arm slung over Oakley’s stomach in our hotel room the morning of our second Cornwall game, I’ve had a lot of anxiety when it comes to him, and that was over a week ago.

Opening the door reveals Oakley on the other side, dressed in a knit beanie and winter coat with bits of snow on the shoulders.

“Hey,” I say, opening the door further for him to come inside. “I didn’t realize it was snowing.”

“Yeah, a storm’s blowing in and the roads are already a mess.” He removes his jacket and hat, pieces of his hair sticking up haphazardly, and the urge to run my fingers through it ignites inside me. “Gonna make for a fun drive over to my parents today. Even if it is just forty minutes.”

The thought is immediately on my tongue; he should just stay here with me. Go tonight or tomorrow morning once the storm passes and the plows go through. Hayes is already gone for the holidays, so we’d have the place to ourselves. Completely uninterrupted.

Except…it’s against the rules.

But maybe with it being the holidays, he might make an exception. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I open my mouth to mention it.

But then he plops down onto the couch and gives me a curious look, cutting the words off before they even form on my tongue.

“What’s up? You said you needed me to come over.”

“Yeah,” I say, crossing the distance to where he is. I drop down beside him and grab his gift off the coffee table, handing it over to him. His brows furrow, and he takes it carefully. Like there might be a live grenade wrapped inside or something.

“What’s this?” he asks, turning the box wrapped in festive Christmas paper over in his hands. Done as a favor by Hayes because I can’t wrap for shit, and weirdly enough, he happens to be a damn professional at it.

I blink at him and cock my head. “Most people would call it a present, Oakley.”

“I understand it’s a present. But what I don’t understand is why you’re giving one to me.”

Sometimes I think he’s the most obtuse person I know. This is one of those moments.

“The decorations and ridiculous amount of terrible music playing since freaking Halloween didn’t give it away?”

“The snark’s not appreciated, de Haas,” he snaps right back, flipping it in his hand once more and setting it across his thighs.

“Neither is your ungratefulness, but you don’t see me—”

He aims a glare my way, one capable of scaring Lucifer shitless, and I shut right up.

“Answer the question, Quinton,” he says in a low tone. “Because I didn’t get you anything, since normally it’s reserved for...dating and shit. Or friends, which we’re barely classified as.”

His analysis of the situation makes me feel paper-thin. Completely transparent, and even a bit vulnerable, splayed out before him.

“I know that. But it’s not a big deal, okay? I just thought of you when I saw—”

A grin takes over his face, erasing all seriousness from moments before. “You thought of me, huh?”

Oh, Jesus. “Yeah, I—”

“Well, in that case…” He trails off, holding the box to his ear and shaking it. “Is it a sex toy? Glow-in-the-dark lube? A silicone cast dildo kit?”

My brows furrow. “A what?”

“You know, the thing where you make a mold of your dick and turn it into a dildo.”

That sounds like the kind of gag gift I’d get someone—especially Oakley—so I can’t even be offended by his assumption.

“No, it’s not sex shit. It’s…” I sigh, shaking my head. “Would you just fucking open it already?”

He rolls his eyes and peels the paper off the box. “Way to spoil the fun of my gift.”

“I’m about tempted to take it back altogether,” I mumble under my breath in indignation, crossing my arms across my chest and digging myself further into the couch cushions. Leave it to him to make a nice gesture into something I regret doing. “Jackass.”

He’s down to the box now, ripping off the lid and clearing the little tissue paper crap out of the way.

“Oh, don’t be like that. I—” he cuts off, clearing his throat and looking up at me. Two big, brown eyes peer straight into my soul when he does, and it gives me an uncomfortable ache in my chest. One I don’t fucking like, making me think maybe this was a really bad idea.

No. Actually, it definitely was a bad idea.

Shit.

“Look, if it’s stupid or whatever, just return them. There’s a receipt in there. I was just trying to be funny.”

He glances back down at the box and whispers, “You got me socks.”

The way he says it, with reverence almost, makes it sound like I got him something far more…meaningful than three pairs of fucking socks. Of course, these aren’t just any socks. They’re the funny, crazy kind he wears under his official uniform.