Read Online The Love Letters: A Novella by Ashley Pullo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ashley Pullo
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me the photo you sent doesn’t include that image!” Natalie exclaims.
Shaking my head I reply, “Nah, the picture is a snapshot of my new tattoo.”
“What tattoo? My mouth has been all over your body the past few days and I didn’t see a new tattoo.”
“It’s under my arm.”
“Lemme see!”
“Now? It’s under my arm – I’d have to take off my sweater.”
“If you were stupid enough to get a tattoo in your armpit, then I’m going to need to see it. Now.”
“Jesus, Nat. It’s not in my armpit.”
I glance around the packed restaurant but decide to just go for it. Pulling the navy sweater over my head and placing it in my lap, I watch as Natalie’s eyes expand in delight.
“Why Lieutenant Parker, what big guns you have.” Natalie runs her hand over my chest and smiles. “And your T-shirt is so tight and clingy!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling with my crooked grin, I lift my arm and rest my wrist on my head. I study Nat’s reaction as her sexy smile turns to genuine surprise.
Her index finger moves to my arm like E.T. phoning home – it’s as if she’s scared to touch it.
I let out a sigh as her finger slowly makes contact with the cluster of stars – pink, yellow, and blue . . .
“Je ne regrette rien,” she whispers, reading the quote.
Lowering my arm, I squeeze Natalie into a hug and kiss her forehead.
“Je ne regrette rien.”
1400 hours
“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.
“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”
I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.
“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat suggests with big, child-like eyes.
“Perfect. Macy’s?”
“No, at the fucking North Pole.”
We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam.
When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.
“Ho, ho, ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he quips.
I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.
She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.
“Ho, ha, ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”
I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.
“All right, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.
“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”
I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.
“What next?” I ask.
“Ice skating!”
“Ah, shit. Really?”
“I know you played
Shaking my head I reply, “Nah, the picture is a snapshot of my new tattoo.”
“What tattoo? My mouth has been all over your body the past few days and I didn’t see a new tattoo.”
“It’s under my arm.”
“Lemme see!”
“Now? It’s under my arm – I’d have to take off my sweater.”
“If you were stupid enough to get a tattoo in your armpit, then I’m going to need to see it. Now.”
“Jesus, Nat. It’s not in my armpit.”
I glance around the packed restaurant but decide to just go for it. Pulling the navy sweater over my head and placing it in my lap, I watch as Natalie’s eyes expand in delight.
“Why Lieutenant Parker, what big guns you have.” Natalie runs her hand over my chest and smiles. “And your T-shirt is so tight and clingy!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling with my crooked grin, I lift my arm and rest my wrist on my head. I study Nat’s reaction as her sexy smile turns to genuine surprise.
Her index finger moves to my arm like E.T. phoning home – it’s as if she’s scared to touch it.
I let out a sigh as her finger slowly makes contact with the cluster of stars – pink, yellow, and blue . . .
“Je ne regrette rien,” she whispers, reading the quote.
Lowering my arm, I squeeze Natalie into a hug and kiss her forehead.
“Je ne regrette rien.”
1400 hours
“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.
“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”
I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.
“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat suggests with big, child-like eyes.
“Perfect. Macy’s?”
“No, at the fucking North Pole.”
We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam.
When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.
“Ho, ho, ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he quips.
I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.
“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.
She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.
“Ho, ha, ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”
I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.
“All right, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.
“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”
I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.
“What next?” I ask.
“Ice skating!”
“Ah, shit. Really?”
“I know you played
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