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

by Alexis Daria

It’s Theo Winters. My upstairs neighbor. And the subject of all my late-night fantasies.

I wouldn’t mind at all if he bit me. Not in a vampire way. In a sex way.

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,

“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. And I say this as someone who was born in Jacksonville.

“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.”

“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.”