Hot for the Holidays (21 Holiday Short Stories): A Collection of Naughty and Nice Holiday Romances

by Anthology

  Sophie taps my arm and whispers, "Maybe you should have driven."

  "I shouldn’t have let her drive. Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, but she makes me nervous walking down a sidewalk, I don’t know why I thought I’d be comfortable with her on a highway – with all this traffic."

  "Maybe we’ll see the President. He could be in any of these cars right now. We’d never know the difference."

  "You’d notice. He’d have all kinds of security with him. Probably a couple cops, too."

  Just as Sophie finishes her sentence, red and blue lights shine behind us. "Great."

  "Ohmigod, the President!" Cara says, as she pulls to the side of the highway. But the officer has nothing to do with accompanying the President. He’s simply pulling over my sister.

  The officer stands next to Cara’s window, peering inside the car. He can’t be much older than we are. Maybe he has a crazy ass sister who drives him insane and won’t be too hard on Cara.

  "You’re a long way from home," he says, without any hint of an accent. It’s strange how different he sounds compared to us.

  "We’re going to New York City for the New Year. Are you with the President?"

  "President?"

  "You pulled me over to get out of the way, right?"

  "No, I pulled you over because you we’re driving erratically without using your turn signal."

  Cara sucks in a breath. "I’ve never gotten a ticket before. Is this because I didn’t knock on wood?"

  The officer stares at her, "I’ll need your license and registration."

  I open the center console, digging out the paperwork for the Buick. She hands it to him along with her license before he walks away.

  Once he’s out of earshot, she turns around. "Why did you let me drive? I’m a terrible driver. Now I’m in trouble!"

  "He’ll probably give you a warning when he sees you’ve never had a ticket. It’s your first offense."

  But when the officer walks back to the car, his expression doesn’t look forgiving.

  "Are we free to go, Officer?"

  He pats the side of the Buick. "Not in this you aren’t."

  I lean forward so he can see me. "I rented this SUV in Alabama. What’s going on?"

  "I’ll need to see a license from each of you, and all of the rental paperwork."

  I dig my wallet out of the console in the center of the car, handing him my license along with Sophie’s.

  "Officer," Cara says, cautiously, as she hands him the rest of the papers. "Is something wrong with the car?"

  "If you consider driving stolen property a problem, then yes. There’s definitely something wrong with the car."

  "Stolen?" we repeat in unison.

  I speak up before Cara can say anything. "There has to be some mistake. I rented the car yesterday morning without a problem."

  "It won’t be a problem if your papers are legit. Sit tight." The officer walks back to his cruiser while we’re left clueless about what’s going to happen to us, and our only ride.

  "I don’t get how this happened. I’ve rented cars before and never had a problem."

  "Sounds like dumb luck to me," Drew says.

  Before we have any more time to contemplate how this happened, the officer is back at Cara’s window. "I spoke with the manager at the rental office. Your paperwork checks out, and he’s going to reimburse you for the trouble. I have a tow truck on the way, so you need to remove your belongings."

  Cara panics. "What about us? You can’t leave us stranded in the middle of the highway. I’ve watched that wilderness show where they get dropped in the middle of the desert naked. I wouldn’t last ten minutes."

  The officer smiles at Cara. I can’t decide if he thinks she’s hot or if she just amuses him. Either way, he’s enjoying himself. "Cara, it’s your lucky day. You’re neither naked or in the desert, and you’re going to get a ride in my cruiser. You can even sit in the front next to me."

  Her eyes flare as a look of sheer panic consumes her. "Ohmigod. Am I going to jail? I’m too high-maintenance for stripes."

  He chuckles. "Nobody is wearing stripes where you’re going."

  "Orange? It’s orange, isn’t it? That’s even worse. I’m too pale to wear such a bold color. I mean, it’s winter!"

  He shakes his head. "You’re an interesting one, but nobody’s going to jail. I’ll take you to the station. You can get a rental from there and get back on the road."

  While Cara’s thrilled her wardrobe won’t be compromised, all I can think about it the hours we’ll be tacking on to this trip. I wanted everything to be perfect for Sophie, and now, all we have is another set-back.

  "Kipton."

  I turn toward Sophie. She’s standing next to the trunk, watching me pull the suitcases out of the back. "Yeah?"

  She nudges me with her hip, playfully. "Don’t look so upset. We’re going to get there." Her teeth chatter as she tries to stay optimistic. Neither of us are used to a winter this cold.

  "Your first time in New York shouldn’t be a hassle."

  "Kipton, look at me. Do I look upset?"

  Once I really look at her, past all the stress of the last day, some of the tension I’ve been carrying melts away. She isn’t disappointed. Other than being cold, she looks a little turned on if I’m being honest. "What are you thinking?"

  "That I feel like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to see the presents Santa left. The same way I felt all those years ago – before we stopped celebrating as a family. Kipton, don’t you see? You’ve given Christmas back to me."

  I rub my hands up and down her arms, seeing her perspective for the first time. She’s not focused on the rest stops, the chipped teeth, the long ride, or being pulled over. She’s focused on making new memories– exactly as she should be. "I’ll get you there – soon. I promise."

  "I know you will. Just think, we’re only one police station away from the magic."

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie

  "What did the rental office say?" Kipton asks, as I walk out of the office, and into the lobby. He was still a little discouraged once we got to the station, so I offered to handle the call.

  "They’ll have the car here to meet us in two days. We’re good to go."

  "Two days? That’s when we’re leaving."

  I smile, hoping he’s okay with the plans I’ve made. "I know. We’re taking the train into the city. The car will be waiting for us here at the station when we need it."

  "The train?"

  "It’s a short trip, and Officer Decker recommended it. Most people don’t drive into the city. Apparently, they get as close as they can, and then use public transportation. If we’re going to get a real New York experience, I thought it might be fun."

  "You’re sure?"

  "I’ve never been on a train, let alone a train in a major city. It seems fun."

  "Okay, where’s the train station from here?"

  "Two blocks away. We can walk."

  Finally, Kipton smiles. "Then we have a train to catch, come on."

  I look around for Cara and Drew, but there’s no sign of them. "Where’d they go?"

  I’m about to check the bathroom when they walk around the corner, hand in hand. Cara’s hair is sticking up, Drew’s shirt is untucked, and his fly is down. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they were doing.

  "Really, Cara? Where were you?" I ask her.

  "Outside."

  "Well, grab your bags, we have a train to catch."

  I roll my suitcase by her, anxious to get this trip back on track.

  "A train?" she yells, down the hallway. "Like Amtrak?"

  The walk to the station is short, but cold. Luckily, we only have to wait ten minutes for the next train into the city. When it pulls up, the brakes screech loud enough to wake the dead. The metal doors part, and we step inside to a what looks like a mobile daycare. Being so close to the holiday, it’s full of families. Little kids are clogging up the aisle, some screaming, others
crying, and one or two actually sleeping through the chaos. We move around them, careful not to step on any tiny toes.

  "Nervous?" Kipton asks, as he sits down next to me.

  I nod my head. "I’ve never done this before. How fast does it go?"

  "Fast enough."

  The doors close with a rush of air, locking out winter and any straggling passengers. The parents wrangle up their children once we start moving, and one little girl toddles her way back to her mom, stopping next to Kipton with her dirty tissue first. "Icky," she says, as she drops it in his lap.

  Kipton’s a deer in headlights, staring at the disgusting tissue in his lap. The little dad scoops up his daughter, reaches for the tissue, and is back in his seat before the train reaches five miles per hour. They’ve obviously done this a time or two.

  "He touched my junk," Kipton whispers, just as the train rocks to the side, and then back again.

  I clutch onto Kipton’s knee. "Shit. Is it supposed to do that?"

  "Yeah, beautiful, don’t worry. You’re safe." He rests his arm on the back of my seat, and I angle my body toward his, fitting into my safety net, perfectly.

  That’s the thing with Kipton. There’s never been a day I haven’t felt safe in his arms. Even when I was fighting him, trying my best to push him away so he wouldn’t have to live inside my warped world, he never stopped fighting for us.

  Back then, my life was headed in a much darker direction, and a life like the one I’m living now, was still a dream. Only it was a dream I wasn’t sure could ever be a reality for a girl like me.

  Last New Year’s was different – I was still a nonbeliever.

  The house is colder than usual, but not because we didn’t pay the electric bill. My father has had people streaming in and out of the house for the last two hours. I couldn’t tell you where they all came from - but my guess is, the bar.

  Mom’s twirling around the living room, dancing to the eclectic music selection. Her martini sloshes over the side of the glass, dotting the carpet with tiny vodka droplets. If she wasn’t already wasted, she’d be on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a paper towel. But that’s the one good thing about Mom drinking – she’s actually happy for a change. The rest of the time, she’s usually crying or sleeping.

  The same can’t be said for Dad. He’s an angry drunk. He makes poor decisions without worrying about consequences – just like a teenager. In fact, he hasn’t acted like a grown man since I was little.

  Responsibilities are inconveniences, and since I’m one of his responsibilities, it too makes me an inconvenience.

  Even though tonight is New Year’s Eve, it’s not much different than a typical Saturday night for my dad. He doesn’t need an excuse to party - ever. I don’t even think Mom realizes he has at least three different women here for him. He’s kissed one in the kitchen, another in the back yard, and I’m sure one or two will sneak into his bed at some point. He’s a pathetic excuse of a husband and an even worse father.

  I’m the teenager of the house, the one who should be experimenting with alcohol, testing boundaries, and not worrying about limits. But right now, I’m concerned about the amount of liquor my parents are consuming, already dreading the morning hangovers I’ll have to deal with. That’s if they even bother to roll out of bed before noon. Sometimes, it’s easier to leave. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Now, as the clock inches closer to midnight, I open my bedroom window, desperate to seek out the stars. I find the one that shines the brightest before I recite my favorite nursery rhyme. The one my mom used to say with me each night before I closed my eyes - back when my world was whole, and there was no need to worry about tomorrow. Not when I had everything I needed today.

  "Star light, start bright.

  First star I see tonight.

  I wish I may, I wish I might.

  Have this wish I wish tonight."

  Tonight, I wish for clarity.

  I need it as much as I need my next breath. I want to be able to understand why I’m trapped in hell each day of my life. I want to know why my dad doesn’t love my mom anymore. And most of all, I want to be loved – to be something other than a burden to the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally.

  "What are you thinking about, beautiful?"

  "Wishes."

  "What kind of wishes?"

  "The one I made last New Year’s Eve. I make wishes every night, but that particular night, I remember wishing for clarity."

  "Did you get what you were looking for?"

  I turn my head so I can look Kipton in the eye when I say, "Yes, I got you. You’ve taught me more since I’ve known you than I learned in a lifetime."

  "That goes both ways, Sophie. You’ve changed my world, too."

  "Thank you for saying that. Sometimes I don’t feel like I do enough. You’ve always been my rock, and I want to be the same for you."

  "Trust me, beautiful. You give me more than I ever thought I needed – every single day."

  I nod my head, accepting his words for the truth they are.

  "Do you think you’ll make a wish tonight?"

  "I’m not sure yet. I guess I need to think about it first."

  He shrugs his shoulders. "Your last one came true, maybe this one will, too."

  "What about you, Kipton? What’s your favorite memory from the year?"

  He doesn’t hesitate for even a second before saying, "Meeting you."

  "Yeah?"

  "Sophie, I swear to you, it’s never been like this with any other girl."

  "Not even your ex? You were together a long time."

  "Not even her. I got over her. I’d never get over you."

  "Kipton, you can’t mean that. Everyone’s replaceable."

  "This isn’t Dance Moms, Soph."

  I laugh, as I smack him in the chest. "I never thought you’d use my reality TV addiction against me."

  "It’s me and you, beautiful - forever."

  Chapter Eight

  Sophie

  "Slow down, Sophie. I can’t keep up with you in these shoes," Cara yells, as I walk down the steps of Penn Station.

  "Do you see this, Cara? Look at all the people! And the buildings are so tall!" I tilt my head back as far as it can go, spinning around for a full three hundred and sixty degree view of the city. "It’s magic."

  Cara stands next to me, taking in the view, too. She tips her head back, but she doesn’t laugh the way I am. She curses – loudly. "I think I just got hit with a hotdog!"

  "What?"

  "Look at my coat! There’s mustard on me!"

  "It’s good luck." It’s a line of crap, but whoever was aiming for the trashcan in a hurry, clearly missed.

  "In what country?" she asks, while I grab a couple napkins off the hot dog cart next to us.

  "I don’t know. This one. I was told it means good fortune. Here, use these."

  She doesn’t take them. Instead, she shoves her shoulder at me. "Just get it off. I’m so grossed out."

  "Fine." I’m almost finished cleaning it off, when she squeals.

  "Look, Sophie! You were right! Good fortune!"

  Like the last couple minutes never happened, her mood is instantly turned around. She’s off and running to a vendor selling knock off purses at the corner of the street. "Don’t spend all your money in the first ten minutes, Cara," I yell at her back. She waves her hand in the air that she heard me, but it’s no use, she’s already in handbag heaven.

  When I turn around, Kipton’s at the curb hailing a cab like he’s done it a million times before. I’d rather walk to the hotel, but with the luggage, we don’t have much choice. The sidewalks are too full to be dragging heavy bags behind us.

  Finally, a cab that isn’t full, stops. Cara’s going to get yelled at if she doesn’t hurry, so I run over to her, grabbing her wrist before she can sling any more purses over her shoulder. "Cara, come on. Kipton has a cab waiting."

  "I just have to pay for them."

  "You
’re getting all of those?"

  "Of course I am. They’re so realistic, nobody will ever know the difference back home."

  "Whatever you say." I don’t bother to tell her they spelled Gucci wrong, or that the design on the Louis Vuitton is noticeably different.

  She takes her change from the vendor, and we’re running back to the cab, laughing as the chill in the air makes it harder to run.

  "It’s freakin’ cold, Sophie."

  "Just hurry, Cara."

  The four of us cram into the cab, and before the door is even fully closed, the driver is already pulling into a line of traffic, not bothering to wait his turn. Then again, taking turns doesn’t seem to be the norm in this business.

  "Where to?" the driver asks.

  "Park Avenue," Drew tells him, from the passenger seat.

  I can tell Kipton’s trying to hide his smile. I’ve never been to New York City before, but even I know what’s on Park Avenue. "Are you serious?"

  He taps the tip of my nose with his finger. "Only the best for my girl."

  The driver hits the break hard, and I slam against Kipton’s body, but I’m too deliriously happy to care that he’s a worse driver than Cara. When he’s not honking the horn, he’s hanging his head out the window, verbally assaulting the other cabbies. "This is seriously awesome, Kipton."

  "We have to take long way. Streets closed everywhere," the driver tells us, after we turn onto a new street. There’s not as much excitement, but still plenty to check out.

  This is life in a big city.

  "New York kind of smells like rotten eggs," Cara adds, and I have to agree with her.

  "Maybe it’s garbage day."

  Kipton gags, "That’s not the city. That’s your boyfriend. Shit, Drew. What did you eat?"

  Drew just shrugs his shoulders like it couldn’t be helped. "Sorry, the sausage is killing me. I hope we’re almost there."

  The driver waves his finger in front of Drew’s face. In his best broken English, he says. "I charge extra for stinking up cab. I can’t make living with smelly car."

  I turn my head into Kipton’s shoulder, muffling my laughter the best I can. Drew simply smiles at the driver, seemingly proud of his scent. "Certainly you’ve experienced a similar need before, Sir. I mean no disrespect to you or your beautiful cab."