by Frankie Love
Let's "Merry Christmas"
Frankie Love
Contents
Copyright
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Preview
Also by Frankie Love
About the Author
Copyright
JOIN FRANKIE LOVE’S
MAILING LIST
AND NEVER MISS A RELEASE!
And find Frankie on FB!
https://www.facebook.com/groups/FrankieLoveBooks/
Edited by Teresa Banschbach
Cover by Dandelion Cover Designs
Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Love
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
About
Let’s “Merry Christmas”
Meeting a woman like CeeCee is the last thing I expect on Christmas Eve.
She’s funny, has a filthy mouth, and is a sexy-as-hell flirt.
Turns out I’m the mountain man she’s been reading about … and dreaming about.
Now we’re both stranded at an airport and I’m determined to make the best of it.
I have a few ideas on how to make time pass with CeeCee ….
It’s time to make her lumberjack fantasies come true.
Dear Reader,
This is a quickie and a classic filthy-sweet read.
Bradley’s our hero — and he’s going to do what it takes to get CeeCee singing more than a Christmas carol.
She’s going to lose her voice screaming his name.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
xo, frankie
**Previously published in the We Wish You a Naughty Christmas anthology.
Chapter 1
CeeCee
With a peppermint mocha in one hand and a rolling carry-on suitcase in the other, I maneuver through this ridiculously crowded airport, full of irritated travelers wanting to get to their destinations before Santa arrives.
I’m just as irritated.
No one wants to hear about some bitter girl who’s all jaded -- who can’t see the joy in Rudolph or Frosty. It’s just this entire month has been a cluster-fuck, and this crowded airport is the icing on my gingerbread man.
The fact that it’s December doesn’t help anything. Of course, I want to be cozy in front of a fireplace reading a new book on my Kindle--I just downloaded Mistletoe Mountain and would much rather be digging into that than fighting to get to the front of a ticket line.
I want to be drinking hot chocolate with the man of my dreams who may or may not be naked. Okay, of course, he would be naked. He would invite me to sit on his lap and I’d willingly oblige.
I am normally a very nice person.
Just not on this Christmas Eve. Right now I need to focus on getting on that plane so I can get to my dad’s house. Being there for Christmas this year is super important. My mom died a year ago, and of course, I don’t want him to be alone for his first Christmas without her.
I’m already running late. It started when my boss, who promised me a Christmas bonus, chose to give me a fruitcake instead.
Which sure made me feel like an invaluable part of the fucking team -- though the main issue with the lack-of-a-bonus was that I’d planned on hitting up H&M after work to get some cute holiday clothes.
But my debit card was looking pitiful without that extra cash, so, instead I had to rush home to do laundry.
Only, my roommate managed to lock me out of the apartment when I was down in the basement getting my clean clothes. Finally packed, I realized I didn’t have time for public transit, so I had to splurge on an Uber yet somehow managed to get a driver who got us lost on the way to the airport.
So.
Peppermint latte. Determined smile. I can do this. I can so do this.
I just need to get on the plane and put the day behind me.
Getting to the counter I see the reader board blinking.
My flight has been canceled.
Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck.
Stepping forward I look at the woman behind the counter, smiling tightly, in an effort to not completely lose my shit.
“It’s not delayed?” I ask, knowing how important this Christmas is at my dad’s house. I should have flipped my a-hole boss the middle finger and not gone to work today. I’m a receptionist at a PR company, which sucks considering I have a PR degree that is doing literally nothing for me.
Whether or not I show up for work is not life or death, especially when a promotion doesn’t exactly seem to be on my horizon.
But showing up at my dad’s tonight is really important.
“Are you sure it’s canceled-canceled?”
She smiles smugly as if she not-so-secretly thinks I’m an idiot. “The flight has been canceled. Which is why it says canceled.”
I tuck a loose strand of my brown hair behind my ears, mustering all my strength -- so I don’t lose my cool with on this woman who has probably had a rougher day than I have --and ask, “Is there another flight I can take? It’s Christmas Eve. I need to get home.”
The woman’s eyes narrow. “Yes. I know it’s Christmas Eve. I know that because I am the one working right now, darling; you are not.”
I widen my eyes in surprise. “Okay,” I say, raising my hands in defeat and look her in the eye. “I get it. You’re the one working on a holiday. I’m sure you have places you want to be, too. I’m really sorry. “
The woman exhales as if no one has acknowledged her all day. She moves her fingers quickly across the keyboard and then surprises me.
“The best I can do is get you on standby for another flight leaving in thirty minutes, it has a layover, but you’ll get to Phoenix before tomorrow. After that, the next flight doesn’t leave for three hours.”
“Three hours?” I shake my head. That means I wouldn’t get to my dad’s place until late into the night. “Thank you,” I tell her, knowing I could’ve been nicer from the get-go. “And Merry Christmas.”
I toss my empty latte in the trash and resolve to be a little bit nicer during whatever is left of this holiday.
And then I run to security.
Chapter 2
Bradley
What a fucking zoo.
Standing at the gate, I run my hands over my beard, really wishing I had just told my mom that coming to her place for the holidays was too much.
The grand opening for my bar is New Year’s Eve and I have a shit-ton of work to do before then, but she insisted I could come for a day and be back in twenty-four hours.
She doesn’t realize I’m working twenty-four-seven to get this place off the ground. Sure, I can handle the interior, getting the place to look the right kind of lumberjack-cool to appeal to Seattle hipsters -- the issue is promoting the opening.
It would be a hell of a lot easier if I’d forked over the cash to that PR firm months ago.
Of course, I thought I could do it all. Turns out, opening a bar and getting the buzz out about it are two very different beasts.
I just gotta get to my mom’s place. I may be a man, but I have a soft spot for my mother, especially on Christmas morning. She loves the holiday, and my brother is coming with his girlfriend, so I’d be an ass not to show.
But with the last flight canceled, and everyone at this gate hoping for standby, I know I am going to have to work my charm if I want that ticket.
I look at the flig
ht attendant, her knee-length black skirt, the run in her pantyhose, her frazzled hair -- clearly she’s as done with this place as I am.
I sidle up to her and smile. “Hey, Santa’s Helper, any word on the standby?”
She raises an eyebrow and laughs. “You think you can sweet talk your way onto this flight?”
“I thought I’d try, and it looks like you could use some holiday cheer.” I hand her a miniature candy cane that a bell ringer gave me when I dropped a twenty in his bucket on my way to the gate. My eyes graze her, and I can’t help but think about her licking my candy cane.
She must like my eyes on her because she takes the peppermint stick and says, “I think we’ve got one ticket left, you ready to fight for it?”
Before I can answer, a tiny mouse of a girl with long hair, big brown eyes and an upturned nose appears. She’s swinging her arms, trying to get the attention of the attendant I’m speaking with.
“I’ll fight for it,” she says, apparently overhearing my conversation. “I need to get on the plane.”
A voice over a loudspeaker calls. “Final boarding for flight 1932 to Phoenix boarding now. All passengers on standby please wait as we finish filling the plane.”
The mousy girl and I lock eyes. Her pink-lipped mouth is set in a firm line. She means business.
“You said there’s one seat left?” I ask.
The frazzled-hair woman nods. “Think so. I’m gonna go check.” She smiles, raising her shoulders slightly. “I’ll let you know.”
I turn to the girl. “I need the ticket.”
She smirks. “Me too.”
“I know you are probably thinking I’ll just hand it over, to be a gentleman and all, but it’s Christmas and I need to get home.”
She nods, her lips pursed. “Well, like the lady said, you’ll have to fight me for it.” She drops her tote bag and raises her fists, moving her right foot back in a fighting stance. “Come on Mr. Bah-Humbug, let’s do this.” Her eyebrows raise and I know she is playing with me, but this day has been way too long.
“So you’re a southpaw?” I ask, crossing my arms, assessing her.
“That’s it?” she asks, fake jabbing me. “I need that ticket. My dad is counting on me. He told me he hung up a stocking and everything. He’s baking a ham. I can’t let him down.”
“You should have gotten here earlier, Rhonda Rousey.”
She drops her arms and picks up her bag. “Let me have the ticket.”
“No way,” I tell her. “You may be ready for a fight, but that flight attendant has a sweet spot for me.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “Oh, give me a break. Let me guess, you gave the poor woman who’s been on her feet for twelve hours some pickup line about sitting on your figurative Santa’s lap.”
I smile. “Listen, I gotta do what I gotta do. If she wants to suck my candy cane, I’ll let her. It’s not personal. It’s Christmas.”
She looks at me with disgust, and I’ll admit, maybe I went a tad overboard with that comment, but this girl is unnerving as fuck.
“Right. Which is why I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.” She grins, and starts hollering, “This man is harassing me!”
My mouth drops, she is playing dirty. “Stop it,” I tell her. “That’s so not cool.”
She stops yelling, as people stare at me uncertain of how to respond to her claim.
She crosses her arms. “I’m not standing around waiting. I’m getting that ticket.” She moves past me toward the ticket counter. “Excuse me?” she asks the attendant I was flirting with. “Is there a standby seat left? My dad’s dying in the hospital as we speak.”
Her eyes go wide, “Oh sweetie, let me check.” And she rapidly begins typing on a keyboard. “Yes, yes, we do. We have one seat left.”
“You told me he was baking a ham.”
She instantly gets red in the face. “Well, I mean. Figuratively.”
But the attendant isn’t having any of it. “You’re lying about your father?”
“Umm. Sorta. But he,” she says pointing her finger at me, “told me he planned on having you lick his candy cane during the flight.”
Holy shit, this girl is fighter, a liar, and knows how to play dirty.
Now it’s my turn to get red-faced and backpedal. “I didn’t say that. Exactly.”
The mouse-girl responds, but I can’t even hear her, because the attendant is scowling, clearly disgusted with our antics, and is asking a man behind us to come forward.
Then she gives him the last standby ticket.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say to no one and anyone willing to listen, but the only person to hear me is the girl with a smart mouth. Everyone else has either boarded the plane or cleared out of the gate.
“Fuck me now,” mousey girl says, huffing as she pulls her rolling suitcase, glaring at me the whole time, before leaving the gate.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” I think, before making a beeline to the bar with three hours to kill.
Chapter 3
CeeCee
During my three hours of sitting around the Seattle airport, I manage to update my LinkedIn account – mostly because I need a new job ASAP. I can’t answer phones forever when what I really want to be doing is helping people promote their businesses.
After that, I sit in an airport bar nursing a Chardonnay and reading a Christmas romance on my Kindle. It may not be the most glamorous way to spend Christmas Eve, but at least I’ve had a little fun getting tipsy and fantasizing about a mountain man who is unable to keep his hands off of me.
Eventually, I slide off the barstool and head towards the gate. It’s a relief to find that the earlier hustle and bustle at the airport has dissipated. At this point, everyone left is just tired.
No one is fighting -- not even the sexy guy who was an asshole about the standby seat earlier. We all just get in line to board the plane while staring at our smartphones, jealous of the Facebook feeds that mention marshmallows and hot cocoa and cute kids in matching Christmas pajamas.
Maybe next Christmas will be different. Maybe next Christmas I’ll have someone who cares about me, who wants to share a life with me. Maybe next Christmas I will have a life that I am excited about.
This is not how I expected my life to be just a few years out of college.
After boarding the plane, I stow my carry-on overhead and find my seat by the window. Before tucking my purse at my feet, I pull out my Kindle once again and begin where I left off.
Snowflakes. Kissing. Mistletoe.
Sigh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I look up and see the sexy-yet-argumentative-man from earlier looking at his boarding pass and then the seat numbers. Then he shakes his head and sits down in the aisle seat, leaving one seat between us.
Of course, that’s my luck.
I smile -- very tightly -- and look back at my screen. Determined not to say anything to this guy.
Yes, he may have a beard that reminds me of the mountain man I’m reading about, and he is wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing scrolling tattoos across his forearms. Which do turn me on; and yes, does make me all fluttery in my belly. Against all better judgment, I have the urge to press my face against his chest and inhale. Wanting to know if he smells like fresh air and pine trees and firewood.
Which is ridiculous.
He is not a mountain man carrying an axe that I’m reading about. He’s just a guy, carrying a grudge.
Against me.
He must have the same ignore-me idea because he doesn’t even give me a second glance. He sits down, pulls out a paperback novel. A classic.
He’s reading A Christmas Carol.
Which, okay. That’s pretty damn sexy to be reading that on Christmas Eve.
But he is not sexy. He wanted some flight attendant to suck his candy cane.
His words, not mine.
Just when I think the plane has finished boarding, a mom and her screaming kid
s walk on.
“Sorry. Timmy, get back here. Walk, please. No running.” The woman shakes her head, carrying an infant in her arms and has a five-year-old barreling down the aisle.
I feel bad for her and am reminded that I am pretty much the ultimate self-centered bitch.
All day I’ve been thinking about myself and how hard it is to be traveling on Christmas Eve. And here’s this woman with her two kids, all alone.
The mystery lumberjack must have the same thoughts because our eyes meet and we exchange soft smiles, as if both realizing we have nothing to complain about.
The woman shakes her head, looking at the empty seat, as she catches up with Timmy.
“Excuse me,” the woman grimaces. “Is there any way you could scoot over so my son could sit on the aisle? I’m just gonna be right here on the other side. He’s never flown before.”
“Of course, no worries.” The man picks up his backpack and moves it under the seat next to mine. He smiles at the woman, who looks slightly relieved and who is now helping her son get buckled up before finding her own seat.
A while later, the plane is in the air, and my elbow keeps knocking against the guy’s.
“Fuck. Sorry,” I tell him. “It’s just tight quarters.”
“Still wanting to fight, is that it?” He’s joking though, because a smile spreads across his face and he earmarks his page in the book before looking at me.
“I’m done fighting.” I exhale, shaking my head, running my hands through my hair. “It’s just been a long day. I get that I was pretty fucking nasty back there.”