Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 72(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 72(@200wpm)___ 58(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” While the answer was clear, given how he was dressed, my tongue was sharp tonight, because I was in a foul mood.
He cocked a dark eyebrow, his Santa hat lopsided and showing short, dark hair that was disheveled underneath. I wondered if he had a crazy night like me.
“I guess I wasn’t obvious enough.” He gave me a cocky smirk. “I’m Santa, baby,” he said, now fully grinning like he knew exactly how ridiculous this situation was. He offered me a hand, his tattoos peeking out from the edge of his sleeve. “Or at least I was five minutes ago. Right now, I’m just Stefan Huntington dressed like an asshole.”
He wiggled his fingers, reminding me he was still holding his hand out, his grin still in place. I ignored his hand and struggled to my feet, brushing dirty slush off my ruined tights and cursing as I trailed the tip of my finger along the run that snaked up my thigh. “I’m fine, but thanks. Just having the best day of my life, obviously.”
“Yeah. That's clear,” he replied, smirking as he tucked his hand in the pocket of his red jacket and took a step back, giving me room to stand up straight.
“Need a ride somewhere? My truck’s just around the corner.”
I cocked an eyebrow and pursed my lips. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I mean, I’m not a killer or anything.”
I snorted and brushed my knees off once more. “Pretty sure that’s a line every serial killer says.” The last thing I needed was to end up on the news because I took a ride from some hot Santa Claus with tattoos.
“True enough.” He grinned, a teasing note in his voice. “How about I buy you a drink inside?” He tipped his chin toward the front door of the bar we were right in front of.
I didn't have to think too hard or long on his offer. I’d planned on heading inside anyway, so if Stefan wanted to foot the bill for a couple of them, I wasn’t going to turn that down.
“Lead the way, Santa.”
He grinned, flashing straight, white teeth as he pulled the door open for me and gestured for me to enter first.
2
HOLLY
The bar was wonderfully heated and dimly lit, with holiday lights strung up around the interior to give everything a pretty, warm glow. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled my ears as I stepped farther inside. The door shut the cold out, and although I wasn't looking at him, I felt Stefan right behind me.
I glanced around, taking in the worn leather booths lining either side of the space and a few tables in the center of the room. The faint scent of whiskey filled the air as I scanned the bar that was straight ahead, most of the seats taken aside from two at the far end.
The feeling of Stefan placing his hand on my lower back sent an instant wave of heat through me. I should have shaken him off, but I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel great to feel him touching me innocently but also intimately.
This wasn’t a place I usually went to, because I probably never would have looked twice, much less entered this hole-in-the-wall bar. But I regretted that, as I absolutely loved the aesthetic and vibe of this place.
He guided me to the bar, keeping that hand at the small of my back. The touch was light, seemingly casual, but there was something in me that said it was a hell of a lot more than that.
He pulled the barstool out for me, and when he was beside me, he braced his elbows on the counter. He cocked his head and glanced at me.
“Whatcha want, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, holding my gaze with his.
I licked my lips and didn’t miss how his focus trailed downward to watch the act. “Vodka and soda,” I said, trying not to overthink how easy it felt to be here with him—a total stranger. Stefan nodded, but I held up a finger, stopping him from ordering. “Top shelf, please. I don’t want to end the night with something that’ll cause a nasty fucking hangover in the morning.”
He tipped his head back and chuckled, and I realized the line of his throat and the scruff that covered the lower half of his face were both hot as hell.
“Tito’s good?”
I nodded. That was my alcohol of choice when I drank.
Stefan signaled to the bartender. “Tito’s and soda for the young lady, and I’ll take a scotch, neat.”
After only a moment, the bartender set our drinks in front of us and left, this comfortable silence filling the space between Stefan and me. He was close, his broad shoulder and thickly muscled arm pressed against my much smaller one. It shouldn't feel so good to have him so close.