The Stocking Was Hung(3)

“Fine, I’ll tell you my name, but if you laugh, I’m tossing my beer at you this time,” he warns.

I make an X across my heart, and then hold my hand up, palm out in a silent promise.

“Stocking…Sam Stocking,” he mumbles, letting out another annoyed sigh.

Slowly dropping my arm to my side, my jaw falls right along with it.

“Stocking. As in…”

Sam purses his lips and glares at me. “As in ‘hung by the chimney with care,’ yes. This is an especially fun time of year for me.”

His statement doesn’t match the scowl on his face, and even though I promised, I really, really want to laugh, but not for the reason he might think.

“Go ahead, take back your promise and laugh. I know you want to.”

I have to bite down on my lips to stop the giggle from escaping. With a deep breath, I put the most serious expression on my face I can muster.

“I’m not going to laugh. It’s not funny at all. I honestly pity you right now,” I tell him solemnly.

“I think I’d prefer laughter,” he mutters.

I can’t take the annoyed look on his face any longer and my laughter breaks free. Extending my hand in his direction, I give him a sincere smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam Stocking. The name’s Holiday. Noel Holiday, and this time of year can suck it.”

A smile finally emerges on his grumpy face, lighting up his striking features, and I feel butterflies in my stomach when I catch a glimpse of his dimples again and hear the husky sound of his chuckle. Those damn butterflies start moving like a cyclone in my stomach when his large, warm hand engulfs my small, cold one and gives it a shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Noel Holiday.” Dropping my hand, he picks up his glass and tilts it toward me. “I’ll toast to sucking it.”

He says that last part softly and his eyes move down to my lips. A sudden shot of lust flows through me as I wonder what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine.

What in the actual hell am I doing? I’m supposed to be heart-broken and sad, dreading the moment when I knock on my parent’s door and have to explain my shitty life and how I’ve let them down yet again. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about some stranger I just met at an airport bar and will never see again.

Sam leans in closer and I get a whiff of his cologne. It’s woodsy and light, not overpowering, but just enough to tickle your nose and fill your mind with dirty, dirty thoughts. My body unconsciously moves toward his and I watch his eyes while they stay glued to my lips.

He clinks our glasses together gently and lifts one eyebrow flirtatiously. “To sucking it.”

The playful expression doesn’t leave his face until the glass reaches his lips, and I stare mesmerized at his throat each time he swallows.

“To sucking it,” I whisper, my eyes unblinking as I gulp down my beer.





Chapter 2




Sam




“So what you’re saying is, your family is perfect and always makes the holidays fun. You’re right. Your life really does suck,” I mock the woman next to me with a simpering grin.

She purses her lips in irritation, and when my first thought is how f*cking adorable she looks, I know I need to get laid. Fucking soon. Eighteen months without a woman in my bed is far too long. After I calmed my ass down from having beer thrown all over my crotch, I got a good look at the culprit, then did a double-take and immediately regretted being such an *. With her long, dark red hair, porcelain skin, green eyes and feisty attitude, I almost had to crank one out in the bathroom when I changed into jeans and a t-shirt. I’m not the type of person to sit down and shoot the shit with a stranger, hot woman or not, but I felt obliged to do something to make up for the crappy way I’d reacted to our little accident. Sitting here with Noel, I stare at her full red lips while she talks, trying not to make it obvious that my eyes keep straying to her outstanding cleavage. I realize this might be the best decision I’ve ever made.

“Perfect is a stretch,” Noel replies, waiving the bartender away when she asks if we need another drink. “Annoying, meddling, loud, inappropriate…those are more accurate words to describe them. They mean well, I guess. But nothing I do ever seems good enough.”

I swallow the last of my beer and push the empty glass away without answering. The things I know about families and how they behave are mostly learned from what I’ve seen on TV shows and movies. I have no advice to give Noel about family, crazy or otherwise, but I know men, so at least I can help in that department. Plus, talking drowns out the annoying f*cking Christmas songs being piped through the airport bar sound system. If I have to hear “Dominic the Donkey” one more damn time, I’m going to stab someone.

“It’s not your fault your boyfriend jumped the gun and proposed.” I shrug.

“Tried to propose,” she corrects me. “He only got ‘Will you’ out before I screamed in horror and asked him what the hell he was doing. Then I ran out of our apartment and never went back.”

Even though I’ve just met her and we’ve only been chatting for half an hour or so, I can picture the entire scene in my head, including the panicked look on Noel’s face when her dumbass boyfriend tried to pop the question.

“Still, not your fault. I mean, you said you told him on several occasions that marriage freaked you out, and you weren’t sure if it was ever something you wanted to do,” I reiterate what she’s already told me. “Dude should’ve had a clue that wasn’t the best decision to make.”