Better Not Pout (Mistletoe Falls)

by Maren Moore

I can’t tell if he’s actually hot or if it’s the wine that’s making him hot.

I’m not anti-love or anti-relationship per se. I’m just far more… realistic than my best friend, who perpetually lives with her head in the clouds.

And I know how much of a blessing that is. To never feel like you’re actually working.

I’ve always been the “pretty, fat girl.”

It’s proven. When you put it out into the universe, it’s yours. Manifestation 101.”

“Ditto, beautiful. Oh, and by the way…” I walk off toward the back of the store, turning to look at her one last time and tossing over my shoulder, “You’re hot as fuck when you’re mad. Bothering you might just be my new favorite pastime.”

My grandparents might think they’re the lucky ones, but I’m the one who’s lucky.

If it were at all up to me, then I’d skip over all of it. The decorations, the events, the holiday cheer. Christmas as a whole.

It’s nearly lunchtime, and I’m still thinking about this morning and the word sugar in Wells’ sexy, deep voice over and over.

It truly looks like a Christmas village from a Hallmark movie, and it hits me just how lucky I am to live here. To call a place so beautiful home. I truly can’t imagine myself anywhere else.

My brain tries to wrap around the fact that he’s the literal wish list of that man that I wrote about to Santa… But how?

Oh, and your dick is small. Now that I’ve had him”—she gestures to me, and a wave of pride flares beneath my chest—“I know exactly what I was missing. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. Have a good life in your fake, miserable marriage, and I suggest you learn where the clit is.”

“Keep your hands on the glass.” Wells’ rasped command is firm and so incredibly sexy that my pulse skitters wildly in my veins. “Understand?”

I truly don’t think I’ll ever get over the way this man picks me up and tosses me around as if I weigh nothing. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced and only makes me even more ravenous for him.

God, Rosalie, don’t you freakin’ dare start crying during sex with the hottest man you’ve ever seen.

He’s the man who made me believe that magic does exist. And maybe it’s been here all along.

Turns out… fake holi-dating isn’t just for the Hallmark movies.