Good Elf Gone Wrong (Wynter Brothers, #1)

by Alina Jacobs

To anyone who's ever consumed an entire bottle of wine and a gingerbread house in one sitting…this one’s for you.

“I can’t do that,” I said quietly as I pulled my Advent cheese calendar out of the fridge. I opened the paper door for tomorrow’s cheese. “There, see? I’m living on the edge,” I said as I shared the wedge of cheddar with Pugnog. “Girl …”

Stealing your fiancé is one thing. Honestly? James kind of sucked, and I never liked him. Kelly did you a favor. But destroy a hundred-plus-year-old dress? That bitch needs to be cunt punted into next Christmas.”

“I can complete the mission. I’m committed.” “I don’t want you to give me a hand job in a bus,” he snapped. “I just wanted to see what I was working with. Besides, you look like you give terrible hand jobs.” “You’re so rude.” I smiled at him. “When can you start?”

In an ill-fated attempt to lose the pounds accumulated in the post-being-cheated-on fog of sadness and self-loathing, I had tried to be vegan. It had lasted all of two weeks and had ended when my sister had posted photos of herself in a thong bikini on the beach with James, her engagement ring front and center. A woman needed a cheeseburger and a bourbon milkshake after a social media post like that.

“I heard the lesser grandma”—meaning my father’s mother—“talking smack about you, saying that she would be surprised if you were even going to show your face this Christmas. You need to get a real home run of a man, shut them all up.” “It doesn’t hurt my feelings,” I promised Granny Murray. “I’m an adult. I can take it. And I don’t need a man to be happy. That’s what you said when you threw that divorce party last year, remember?” “I’m not telling you to get married. I’m telling you to find a hot piece of tail, fuck him in the back seat of a Camaro, parade him around, and shut up that gossipy old woman.” “It will have to wait until I’ve gone to the store.”

Time to pack up the family trauma and rediscover your inner Frosty the Snowman.” “Never.”

“Shock and awe.” I nodded and straightened. “I can’t hear you,” he said, voice softly mocking. “Shock and awe.” “Good girl.”

“Mom, this is a crisis,” Bethany said to her mother. “Why, because my granddaughter finally has a piece of ass worth writing home about?” Granny Murray demanded.

Not me. I did not like bad boys. I wanted a grown man with a dad bod and a 401(k). I didn’t do adventurous sex, and I didn’t do relationship drama.

“Are you going to collapse on me?” I asked her. “No.” “Good girl. Now get decorating. We want done, not perfect.”

“Who was that?” I asked Hudson, pointing. “He’s just … he’s—” Hudson worked his jaw. “I thought you were going to get laid. Er … wait. Is that your uh, lay?” I asked weakly. My mouth was dry. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, I’m not sorry. That’s great. He seems nice. And handsome. You two are cute together.” There was a slow grin on Hudson’s bruised face. “Sugarplum, all I can think about is putting my mouth on your sweet, juicy cunt, but I’m glad to see you’re an ally.” I gulped. “Let me take you home. I need to put some ice on your face.” “I think that’s my line.”

“Can no one close a door?” My mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “You took my door,” I shrieked. “So I can’t shut it. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

“He dumped her?” came the murmurs from the crowd. “Praise god!” Grandma Astelle declared. “Screw you, you old bat. Hudson was a catch,” Granny Murray insisted. “He was a bad influence,” Grandma Astelle said, staring down her nose. “Gracie gets that from your side of the family.” “If you mean her ability to get top-tier dick, then yes, she does, and I’m proud of it,” Granny Murray hollered. “And it skipped a generation, because my daughter married a complete loser with a small penis.”

Granny Murray whooped, carting in a box of wine and a large steaming box of pizza. “This is not enough for the whole family,” Dakota said, taking the box. “That’s why I have this.” Granny Murray pulled out her Taser.

“Bitch,” James muttered. “Cheating stupid asshole.” “Language! What happened to my sweet little girl?” my dad cried. “She is sick of incompetent men being given all the credit and all the benefit of the doubt. New Year’s resolution—I am not making myself small so that rude pompous men can feel better about themselves. Put up or get out.”

“I want a board seat, 25 percent ownership, and final say on all hiring.” “How about fifteen percent and a car?” “How about you stop thinking I’m some brain-dead little girl you can buy off with toys? We’re negotiating here. Man up or stop wasting my time.”