The Mistletoe Bet

by Maren Moore

I’m only the “pretty” fat girl. The “you have such a lovely face, but you would be so much prettier if only you were a little thinner” girl.

Before I can even respond, he pulls me to him, sealing his lips over mine and silencing my protest. Parker Grant is kissing me. Parker Grant is kissing me!

“You know what, Quinn?” Parker says, closing the space he just put between us. “I bet you, right here, right now, that if you

give me these seven days you’re home, I can make you fall in love with Christmas all over again.”

“Has anyone ever told you that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble, Quinn?”

“You are fucking perfect, Quinn. You have always been perfect. I love every single goddamn inch of your curves. You hear me?”

“If you only knew how many times I’ve fantasized about this. Fuck, every time I

came as a teenager, it was your name on my lips. This is not new for me, love. I’ve wanted you since we were kids.”

“I want to worship you, Quinn Scott.”

“Goddamnit, love. You look so good taking my cock.”

“Well…I’m not sure if I like Christmas again…or if I just realized I like Christmas with you, Parker Grant.”

“I just know that I want this, Quinn. I want you, and I’m not letting you get on that plane without being mine. Be mine. Fuck, just, I need you to be mine.”