Only Santas in the Building (Under the Mistletoe Collection, #5)

by Alexis Daria

I wouldn’t mind at all if he bit me. Not in a vampire way. In a sex way. It’s official. I have it bad for Mr. 4A. Real bad.

Yeah, I’ll just say it: his ass. I stared at his ass. And I couldn’t stop.

I was watching two guys maneuver my overstuffed cream couch up the narrow staircase while trying very hard not to yell Pivot! like Ross in Friends,

My grandmother used to style her hair and wear lipstick every day, no matter what, Because you never know who you’ll run into. If I told her about this, I know exactly what she’d say. You see? ¡Te lo dije!

April, who works as an occupational therapist, has very specific views on my work-life balance, or lack thereof.

Okay not physical therapy but close enough

“Evie, if he doesn’t like you at your worst, he doesn’t deserve you at your best.”

It’s the moment when the girl in the teen rom-com abandons her glasses and ponytail and descends the stairs in all her prom-ready glory. It’s the moment when her high school crush finally sees her for the beautiful twenty-six-year-old actress that she is.

“Oh, no. Did he pass away?” I infuse my voice with an appropriate amount of horror and sympathy, but I mostly want to know whether he died in my apartment. “Nothing like that. He moved to Florida.” Mr. Barnes shudders. “A worse fate I cannot imagine.

jiggles his tool belt, and I hear the sound of sleigh bells. “Cute.” I narrowly refrain from making a joke about his jingle balls, and am immensely proud of my restraint.

elbow him in the arm. “You’re such a computer guy.” “Not entirely. I like to work with my hands too.” “Oh, I’ll just bet you do.” The suggestive comment slips out before I can think better of it.

“Are you sure that’s not just a nice way of saying, You’re weird? Because I’ve heard that one before.” He shakes his head, and his tone is thoughtful. “Nothing wrong with weird.”

“Is this where I make a joke about sitting on Santa’s lap?” It’s out of my mouth before I can think better of it, but he cracks up.

He raises an eyebrow. “Would you be mad if I made a joke about sitting on Santa’s face?”

“You mean because you’re built like the Abominable Snowman and I’m the size of the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

“You feel incredible. God, Evie. Fuck. I . . . Are you okay?” Why, because you’ve stuffed my stocking with your massive candy cane?

“Come on, Princess. You’ve got this. Come all over me . . . Yesss. Good girl.”

The cat sniffs my fingertips thoroughly, probably smelling her owner—Roommate? Servant? Serf?—on them.

“Look, I’ve been told in the past that I need to use my words more. I’m still working on it, but believe me when I say you have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His thumb strokes my cheek. “Not that part. Afterward. When I tried to ask you out.” Shock colors my tone. “You did?” “I started to say, If you want coffee, but you cut me off.” I slap my forehead. “And I said, I only drink tea. Shit! I thought you meant, like, if I wanted a coffee right at that moment. Or maybe you were about to recommend a café in the neighborhood. Not like, did I want a date with you.”

“Coy?” I shake the spool at him. “What about me makes you think I have the fortitude to play coy?”

scoff. “Um, yeah, I was. Dirty hair, no bra, dishes in the sink? Any of that ring a bell?” He ducks his head and rubs his temple, like he’s embarrassed. “I might have noticed that you weren’t wearing a bra, but honestly, the rest didn’t register.

press a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I am going to bake you the best goddamn lemon bars you’ve ever tasted.”

“Anything and everything about you makes me moan.” “Even my dirty dishes?” “I told you, I like cleaning.” Now it’s my turn to moan. “I think that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”