Tic-Tac-Mistletoe (Hartbridge Christmas, #1)

by N.R. Walker

Frazzled and trying not to cry— Yes, cry. A thirty-one-year-old man can cry; shove your toxic masculinity in your cakehole and stop judging me.

“What the hell kind of name is Beartrap Road?” I asked, horrified. “And what should I be more terrified of? The bear or the trap? And pray tell, who the hell is trapping bears? Just leave the fluffy killing machines alone.”

“Could-haves and should-haves are the hardest parts of hindsight.”

And I hardly think it’s fair that Santa is the only one who gets to come tonight.”

I was covered in sticky come, my underpants were around my thighs, my softening dick was doing a great impression of Grover’s nose, and I still had my socks on. Exactly like him, except his dick was more of a Snuffleupagus than a Grover. I took his hand and started for the door. “Come on, Snuffy. Shower time.” “Snuffy?” “My favourite Muppet from Sesame Street.” I gestured to his dick.