The Stocking Was Hung(6)

It’s not like I could do any worse than having a hot-as-f*ck woman beg me to come home with her. Even though I hate Christmas and everything to do with it, I know it will be worth it to be in this woman’s company for a little bit longer. And maybe if I’m lucky there will be some nakedness involved at some point.

“Okay.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them or think this through a little more.

Noel looks just as shocked by my reply as I am that I said it.

“Okay. Wow, that was easy.” She laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the direction of baggage claim. “Um, there’s just one thing I’m going to need you to do.”





Chapter 3




Noel


“You’re sure you remember everything I told you?” I ask Sam nervously as our cab pulls up in front of my parent’s house.

I can’t believe this is happening right now. Clearly all of the stress has gone to my head and I’ve lost my mind. I invited a stranger I shared a few drinks with at an airport bar to come home and meet my family. And pretend like he’s someone else.

“Logan Masters, thirty-six, investment banker from Seattle, dumb shit who proposed to you knowing full well how much you never want to get married,” Sam replies in a monotone voice when the car comes to a stop, rattling off the facts about my ex I gave him on the ride from the airport.

“Minus the dumb shit part, I think you’ve got it.”

Sam shrugs as I lean forward to pay the driver.

“He’s still a dumb shit. Which now makes me a dumb shit since I have to pretend to be the guy,” he complains with a roll of his eyes.

“Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes…” I remind him. “Eye on the prize, man. Eye on the prize.”

Sam licks his lips when I mention the food he’ll be stuffed with in the coming days, and it suddenly feels like we’re in the middle of the tropics instead of the frozen tundra of Ohio. My skin is hot and sweaty, and my scalp tingles underneath the heavy weight of my hair as I sit here staring at the hot guy next to me. The hot stranger I just convinced to come home with me for Christmas and pretend to be my boyfriend so I can avoid telling my family the truth until after the holidays.

Yep, I’ve lost my f*cking mind.

“Can we renegotiate? If I’m willing to do this, I think my prize should be you, naked and screaming my name,” he informs me with a wink as I blindly reach for my change the driver hands through the center window.

“Oh, sure. In my parent’s house, with my father sleepwalking in the middle of the night wearing just his bathrobe and black socks. Please, tell me more,” I deadpan, trying to stop the fluttering of my heart when he mentions me screaming his name.

Getting out of the back seat, I hold the door open for him as he slides out behind me.

“Fine, no screaming. How about panting and moaning? Softly, of course.” He smirks before turning to grab our bags from inside the cab.

“Stop distracting me,” I complain, huffing in faux irritation when I try to grab my suitcase from him and he yanks it out of my reach to carry it himself.

With his hands full, he uses his elbow to close the door of the car and finally turns to face the house behind me.

“Jesus, is this another airport?” he asks in astonishment.

With a sigh, I turn and stare at the house with him.

“My dad gets a little crazy with the lights,” I explain as we stand out in the snow on the sidewalk, taking in all the blinking lights, animated figurines, and decorations that adorn every square inch of the house and yard. Big, soft, fluffy snowflakes had begun to fall when we were a few miles away, and with the quietness of the neighborhood and the glowing monstrosity in front of me, regardless of them being so bright it hurts my eyes, it really is kind of pretty.

“Is your father planning to land shuttles from NASA on his front lawn?” Sam questions in shock as we start making our way up the front walk.

Every year my dad enters a countywide Christmas lighting display contest. He’s won the last five years in a row, and judging by the way it looks like the North Pole took a shit all over the place, he’s going for year number six.

“Just follow my lead. If you forget something, cough and I’ll take over,” I tell him as we get up to the front porch and I reach for the door knob.

Before my hand reaches it, the door flies open and we’re greeted by a very tall, sixty-two-year-old woman with her red hair piled up on top of her head in a 1960’s beehive style and a martini glass in her hand.

“LEON!” she shouts with a big smile on her overly made-up face. “Everyone, Leon’s home!”

“Leon?” Sam whispers in my ear as the door is held open wider for us to enter.

“I’ll explain later,” I mumble back, stepping inside the home of my childhood while pretending the feel of his hot breath floating over my ear didn’t just give my lady bits a jolt.

“And she brought a hunk of a man with her!” she exclaims, her hand not holding the martini glass flying out and grabbing onto Sam’s crotch before I can warn him. “And her hunk of a man brought a HUGE package with him!”

The pounding of footsteps moving towards us from the kitchen down the hall cover up my loud, irritated sigh.

“Can you please tell your mother to let go of my dick?” Sam begs in a high-pitched voice.