Not So Silent Night

It took at least a minute to struggle to my feet, sweat breaking out on my brow as I jammed my crutches under my armpits. It took another minute to navigate my way out of the living room and into the hallway. In that time the doorbell had rung another five times. If it was carol singers, I was going to lose my shit. Was it a criminal offense to threaten children with a crutch? I guessed it probably was. I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold back enough to care.

It wasn’t carol singers. However, the sight that met me was equally as unpalatable, particularly considering the way the man on my doorstep was grinning at me. I was in pain, and sweaty from the physical effort it had taken to get to the door. Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t been expecting visitors, so I was only dressed in an old bathrobe. I wasn’t in the mood for whatever he was selling, and with a cocky grin like that, he had to be selling something. I was halfway to shutting the door when he stopped it with his foot. “Whoa! Xander, right?”

The fact he knew my name didn’t mean anything, except that he’d taken his time to do his research. They probably taught that in Sales 101. Know your target. Smile and address them by name. Well, he was two for two at the moment. I shoved at the door, but it didn’t budge. “I’m not interested.”

His head tipped to one side, one eyebrow arching in a quizzical fashion. “Not interested in what?”

“Whatever you’re selling, or whatever charity it is that you work for.” There was nothing in his hands, but there was a rucksack on his shoulder, so whatever it was, was probably in there. I scanned his chest, searching for ID while definitely not noticing how toned it was through the shirt he wore. No ID. That figured. He probably thought he was above having to wear it. I made another attempt to close the door, but with his foot still wedged in it, it was a pointless exercise. Discomfort gave the rising irritation even sharper edges. “Don’t make me call the police.”

“The police!”

He looked completely taken aback. Obviously, the hard sell usually garnered a better result. Luckily, the fact that I’d been reading Miles’s message meant I’d slipped my phone into the pocket of my bathrobe. I leaned more heavily on my right crutch, fishing it out and brandishing it in front of me. I paused, giving him a chance to retract his foot. When he didn’t, I began to dial, deciding a running commentary was in order, just in case he was too stupid to realize what I was doing. “That’s the first nine that I’ve just pressed. I’m now going for the second one, which I will follow with the—”

“Miles sent me.”

I froze, lifting my head to stare at him.

“Your brother.”

“I know who Miles is. I’ve known him for twenty-five years. I just don’t know who the hell you are.”

The man nodded. “We should probably start again. I’m Ferris.”

I cleared the 9’s from my phone screen in case my thumb inadvertently slipped and I dialed another one accidentally. I had enough to deal with without the police tracing a silent call. “Like the wheel?”

His grin slid back into place. “Like Ferris Bueller actually, if you must know. My mum was a huge fan. Not so much of a fan of me avoiding school though, when I tried to live up to my namesake. Although”—he waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive fashion—“I have been known to give a hell of a ride.”

He was flirting with me. What kind of weirdo flirted with sweaty men in bathrobes who’d threatened to call the police on them? Was that what did it for him? Or was he just one of those people who did it as easily as breathing? That was probably it. I bet if I put a cabbage on the doorstep, he’d flirt with that as well.