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

by Anthology

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  Other Books by Livia Jamerlan

  Consensual (Consensual Series Book 1)

  Coherent (Consensual Series Book 2)

  Contingent (Consensual Series Book 3)

  The Consensual Series

  Champagne Kisses

  By Eleanor Green

  A prequel to the LoveStruck series, Champagne Kisses begins with best friends, Cooper Sterling and Briley Sheffield, in college.

  ~Briley~

  This rumor being spread across campus is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and all because I didn’t want to be in their stupid sorority.

  The only thing that got me through exams was the promise of a relaxing break, the normalcy of holiday traditions, and ringing in a New Year with my best friend, Coop. But he had to go and screw that up. Or maybe I did.

  ~Cooper~

  A sorority would’ve been good for B, but she’s her own worst enemy, making up stories that dig craters in her already bumpy world.

  The rumor wasn’t life changing, it was mild really. But it hurt her and she acted on it. Did I enjoy the actions she took? Hell, yes. I’ve loved Briley most of my life, so when she got drunk on lemonade punch and threw herself at me, what could I do? The right thing? Yeah, maybe. But c’mon, it’s Briley. My Briley.

  Chapter One

  Briley

  I have just realized dorm life isn’t for me. When two girls from Alpha Chi Omega come around and pull my roommate, Ava, from her twin bed, dragging her out of our dorm in nothing but her minion boxers and matching tank, I also realize I’m not sorority material. It’s like being trapped in a nightmare of monogrammed bows and ridiculous matching sweatshirts that make no sense in the Florida heat. Maybe it’s part of initiation, seeing who can go the longest without passing out while still looking cute.

  As two more girls stalk toward my bed with their Cheshire cat grins, I start to panic.

  Raising my hands in the air, I declare, "You’re too late. Zetas already got me." It’s a bold faced lie, and I hope they don’t have a way of checking. My bras will probably be strung up the flag pole in the morning, but what choice do I have? It was the quickest thing I could come up with at midnight.

  Two things tend to happen when I panic: I lie and I hide.

  As soon as the girls’ giggles have dissipated and I feel the coast is clear, I pack a few things in a duffel, sneak down the concrete hallway, into the stairwell, and toward my champagne Volkswagen Jetta.

  Cooper’s apartment is still lit on the inside, and it sounds like he has a few people over, so I don’t hesitate to impose. I never know what I’m getting myself into when I come to his place. It’s close to campus, and between him and his roommate, Colin, there’s no telling what kind of crowd will be inside. I have my own key, but decide not to use it. I don’t want to be that girl, the one that slips in whenever she pleases. Before knocking, I rest my ear against the grey metal door and hear at least two male voices. I feel sure I’m not going to break up anything romantic.

  Romantic. A silent chuckle shakes my shoulders at the thought of Cooper being romantic. He’s a player for sure, but never romantic. He’s living it up in college. And he should, as long as he’s careful.

  A few taps on the door and I'm still standing there, ignored. Finally I put some power behind my fist and bang harder. Colin swings the door open, looking disappointed when he sees me.

  I’ve only known this dude for a few months, but I feel comfortable enough to give him the eat-shit look he deserves. "Expecting strippers?"

  "No," he chuckles. "Pizza."

  Just when I’m about to roll my eyes at his lack of truth telling skills, the pizza guy pulls up and saves us both from an awkward moment. Maybe I’ve gotten the wrong impression of Colin.

  I step through the door while he pays the pizza guy and see the scene before me. Cooper and two other guys I’ve seen before but don’t remember specifically are sitting around the living room. One of them is on the arm of the couch, holding an acoustic guitar, his wavy blond hair hitting the top of his shoulders. Another is lounging on the floor with a pen and pad of paper. He has dark hair and skin and, if I recall, eyes just as dark. Coop is in his chair—a tattered blue recliner that no longer reclines—with his acoustic. He’s the one that brings light to the room. Everything about him is perfect and flawless and contradictory.

  My best friend is gorgeous and he knows it, but he never tries to be. He’s comfortable in his skin—or the white T-shirt that clings to his muscled chest and a pair of basketball shorts—which I envy. His light brown hair always looks freshly washed and left to dry however the towel scrubbing decides.

  My insides instantly warm when I see him, but not in a sexual way. He’s my comfort, my home, my constant.

  "Hey, B." Cooper grins and pats the arm of his broken recliner for me to take a seat. "Hungry?"

  He doesn’t ask me if I’m okay, or why I’ve come over at this late hour, because this is normal for us. I never have to ask to come crash on the couch if I need to get away from dorm life or have a quiet place to study when the guys are out. Colin hasn’t complained yet, or at least I’m not aware of it if he has. Cooper has either threatened to kick his ass, or he doesn’t mind because I always clean the place before I leave. These dudes are nasty, leaving their dishes un-rinsed in the sink for days, so they’re getting the better end of the deal for sure.

  "Nah. Just tired," I tell him, a yawn taking over my lungs and limbs."Can I crash here tonight?"

  "Sure. What’s up?" Coop stands, pulls a slice of pizza from the box, and stalks toward me.

  "Pledge week." My upper lip pulls upward in a snarl. "The bows are out kidnapping people in their sleep tonight."

  Coop shoves half the slice in his mouth, wipes the pepperoni grease from his chin with the back of his hand, talking while he chews. "I thought you were gonna give it a try?"

  My head shakes as I answer, a confirmation that I’m standing firm on my decision, and my nose wrinkles up. "I don’t think it’s for me. I just can’t wrap my head around the idea. Can you imagine me in ruffled shorts and a bow bigger than my head?" My pulse kicks up just thinking about all the things they’re making those poor conformists do. "And the first time someone tells me to do something ‘or else’ . . ." My shoulders suddenly tense at the thought, and I have to roll my neck to relieve the stress building there. "Can you even, Coop? Wear this, do this, match us, be like us—"

  "Whoa!" Cooper grips my shoulders and gives them a squeeze. His clear green eyes stare down at me, unblinking like I’ve just said something outrageous. "You’re going to shoot right through the ceiling. Where do you get these crazy ideas?"

  I feel like an idiot when I say it aloud. "Legally Blonde?" I present my answer in question form, dragging the title out in shame.

  When Cooper snorts, I don’t feel any better. I slap my hand on the light switch in his bedroom a little harder than necessary. "I know, I know," I confess, dropping my bag on the floor. "I panicked and it gets worse."

  "How?" He’s still laughing while he chews the last bite of pizza.

  Before I answer, I tie my dark brown hair into a messy bun and secure it with two pony tail holders. It’s almost to my waist, but too hot to wear it down most days. "They were about to take me . . ." My face muscles twitch, knowing I’m going to get the best-friend-that-acts-like-a-big-brother lecture. "So I told them I was already spoken for . . . by Delta Zeta." I narrow one eye as I remember. "Actually, I couldn’t remember the Delta part, so I just said Zeta. Think they’ll check?" I tug anxiously on the tattered Foo Fighters T-shirt I slipped on before I ran out the door.

  Cooper huffs out a long breath and shakes his head. He’s smirking but I can’t tell if he thinks I’m ridiculous for coming up with such a lame lie or if he believes it was really great and thinks I’m super cute. I go with the latter and bite my bottom lip to play the part
.

  "There’s only one Zeta, B, whether you say the Delta or not." The right side of his mouth pulls up, deepening that damn smirk on his face. "Pretty sure if they wanna know, they will." He cocks his head to the side, driving the point home. You’re an airhead.

  "Shit, shit, shit." My thumbnail is already chewed off, but I attempt to bite anyway.

  "They could give a shit, B. Nothing to worry about." He gives me a light shove to the arm, but it’s enough to knock me off balance and make me stumble. "That’s why you’re hiding out here?" The way he’s laughing, nearly doubled over and shoulders shaking, has me on the edge of wanting to join him and wanting to bull right into him. I settle for a gut punch that doesn’t faze him.

  "We’re going to be up late, practicing." Cooper takes a pillow off the bed. "I’ll take the couch so I don’t wake you." There’s a weird look on his face that I can’t unveil. He hesitates at the door, a pensive expression as he rubs the back of his neck. We’ve slept in the same bed a gazillion times, why is tonight different? I wonder if he planned to have a girl over later and I’m wrecking his plan.

  I just shake my head, too tired to discuss it. While I’m digging in my bag for my toothbrush, I end with, "Whatever works. You won’t wake me. I’m coma-tired."

  * * *

  The week takes it sweet time passing and thankfully there’s no drama over my sorority tale. My roommate, Ava, is officially an Alpha Chi Omega, and although she’s super bummed I didn’t join her, she’s quickly making new friends and loving that scene. I’m constantly trying to bite my tongue and hold my opinion of that world, but when she stands in front of our full length mirror taking selfies while sporting her ΑΧΩ sweatshirt, I lose it.

  "It’s freaking ninety-seven degrees outside!"

  She grins at me through the reflection of the mirror, her lips smacking while she chews a piece of gum. "It’s December, Briley. It’s like seventy-four."

  Seventy-four is not cold and she knows it. "How can you stand it?" I ask, my tone harsher than I planned. "I don’t mean any disrespect, truly, but do they make you all wear the matching stuff, or do you really like it?"

  "Both." Her blasé attitude lets me off the hook for being too harsh, so I shove my ear buds in and get lost in the haunting tunes of Massive Attack.

  * * *

  As soon as you relax, that’s when the bitch slap comes. At least that’s what I learn on Thursday.

  It’s an average day, mild weather and a cloudless sky. My first stop is The Frothy Monkey for my tropical protein smoothie. I leave enough time to walk to my nine-thirty Literature class while sipping my breakfast and enjoying the feel of the sun warming my bare shoulders. I can’t imagine a sweatshirt, even in this cooler season.

  The University is large, but I always tend to see the same people on the way to class. As I pass Caroline Wells, she gives me a strange look, and then Nikki Tapp does the same. Ookay. No big deal, I guess. But by the time I sit down in Lit class and notice Bethany Lemmon raising an eyebrow in my direction, I pick up my things and move to sit next to her to get the scoop.

  "It’s none of my business who you date, Briley, but how drunk were you?" Bethany then proceeds to tell me everything I apparently did, with a guy I barely know, in the most ridiculous place.

  Say what now?

  "Roxanna told you this?" I ask, stunned and slightly horrified. Bethany nods, sucking in her lower lip. "And you believed her?" I don’t wait for her response before picking up my things and leaving. The professor gives me a disapproving glance, and I’m sure the entire class is staring, but I have to get out of there.

  Roxanna Talbot is a bitch. A filthy, lying bitch.

  I make it back to my dorm in record time, not caring that I’m missing the review that’ll give us most of the answers for Friday’s test. I have to get away from everyone, think about something more than the one word on repeat in my head: bitch, bitch, bitch!

  Tossing my backpack on the floor next to the desk, I fall back onto my bed, the crappy mattress too old and stubborn to give and accept my body. Everything around me here suddenly reminds me of home—framed pictures of family, my Hello Kitty doll, a tattered copy of Wuthering Heights—and I desperately want to run into the arms of my mother. She would hold me until I cry it out, then make me a cup of tea and put on a Vince Vaughn movie. He always makes me laugh.

  But I can’t run home. The semester is almost over, and I have finals. Plus, I refuse to bury my head into my silver and black striped pillowcase because I know what’s beneath the fabric—the down feathers of my childhood, the same ones that have captured most of my tears—and it’s right here, willing to take more, eager to comfort me. Not yet. I want to stay in this pissed off zone a little longer, letting the rage consume me so I don’t break down.

  Not yet.

  Instead I call Cooper. He needs to know the truth before he goes off the deep end. But most importantly, he’s my personal pocket comedian and I know he’ll make it all better. He tells the dumbest jokes, but that’s what makes them so funny. "Know the difference between a women’s cross country team and African pygmies? African pygmies are cunning runts." Gets me every single time. Full on belly laugh even after the one hundred and seventeenth time hearing it.

  I think I understand why Roxanna Talbot spread the rumor about me. Because I lied about the sorority and didn’t let her little clan pull me into their ring. She’s a bitch, that’s how she rolls. Whatever. But why she connected me with Kyle Greer is beyond me. I didn’t think anyone could possibly believe it. But she sure-as-shit did it, and apparently they all sure-as-shit believe it. If anyone on this godforsaken campus would just use the brains that got them here, they’d see how foolish the rumor is. First of all, Kyle Greer is a pothead asshole. Okay, I’m assuming he smokes pot by the way he dresses, but he’s for sure an asshole and disrespects every girl in his path. Totally not my type. Second, and most important, is the way I apparently got with this loser. On the front lawn. Of the Kappa Alpha house. Seriously? That’s how it went down? I can barely play it out in my head.

  Am I so desperate to get it on with this dude whom I’ve never talked to outside of Music Appreciation class that I would fling my clothes into the bushes, drop down on the itchy grass—after kicking the empty beer cans out of the way—and beg him to take me? Gah! I’m so pissed off, I don’t know whether to kick Roxanna’s ass or Kyle’s for making this imaginary night of sex so cheap and itchy.

  My trashcan sails through the air after I give it a kick, wadded tissue and a few Tootsie Pop wrappers scattering across the room before it hits and settles in front of the dorm door.

  Ava comes in and nearly trips over the can. Her blond hair is pulled up high on her head in a tight ponytail. I wonder if I’ve missed the memo that Madonna’s iconic hairstyle is back in.

  "Whoa, what happened?" She braces herself with one hand against the door frame and steps over the trash pile.

  My eyes roll so hard, I think I’ve seen what my ass looks like in these shorts. Suddenly her face changes from unknowing to realization. "I heard." Her nose crinkles and shoulders slump for an instant before she sits on the edge of her bed, facing me. "I don’t see what the big deal is. My first time was in the back of my boyfriend’s car. Actually, it was his dad’s car. What could be worse than that?"

  "Seriously?" My head does a shiver-shake like I’ve got a twitch from an old stroke. "It didn’t happen. At all. Not on the front lawn, not anywhere." I know my expression is ridiculous, I can feel every muscle contract and distort to convey my shock and disappointment. "One, what makes you think I’m a virgin?" No way in hell she knows. "And two, Kyle Greer?" I drag out his last name. "Seriously?"

  "He’s not that terrible, Briley." She flops back onto her bed, pulling her arms behind her head for support. "Eccentric, maybe. He’ll probably be one of those billionaires that we’ll see on TV and you’ll wish you had given it to him."

  It takes me a minute to realize we’re not talking about the same Kyle. With a sh
rug of the shoulder, I huff out a humorless laugh. "No, not Kyle from the fourth floor. Kyle Greer, the douche that tries to dry hump anything with legs."

  She shoots up into sitting position and covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are wide like she’s about to call out BINGO for the prize. Yup, that Kyle. Now you get why I’m freaked. "Oh God, seriously?"

  I nod, thankful she’s caught on. "You’re missing the real problem, here, though," I sigh, the worry furrowing my brows.

  "What’s that?"

  "Cooper," I practically moan. "I haven’t been able to reach him." My mind races as I pace the room. I hope he’s at the dentist or somewhere that would warrant his cell phone going straight to voicemail. He always answers my calls immediately, no matter where he is. I recall the last time he answered my call and should have let it go to voicemail. "Can I call you back, I’m in the bathroom." Such a dude.

  "So what?" She makes a face. "He’s not your brother or your keeper." Suddenly, her brows stand at attention. "You like him, don’t you? I mean, like-like him." She bobs her head from side to side.

  I frown. Liking Cooper? How ridiculous. "No. I don’t like-like him." I can’t help mocking her head bob. "We’ve been friends forever. Since we were in diapers. But he’s super overprotective. Like, Liam Neeson in Taken protective. I have to get to him before he gets to Kyle or he may never hold a joint again." It was too easy for me to picture Kyle’s broken body on the front lawn of the frat house, Cooper standing over him shaking off his sore fist. Kyle has no idea why Coop just beat the shit out of him.

  I’ve formed a rhythm for the past twenty minutes, tapping my phone’s recent call list, clicking Cooper’s name, and repeating that process as soon as I hear the beginning of his "If you want me, tell me" message. My finger is hovering over the end button when a fist slams into our thin door three times. Ava and I both jump up and stare at the door instead of answering it.