The Mistletoe Bet

by Maren Moore

“Quinn, that dress is so lovely on you. It really accentuates your curves. You know, you are such a beautiful girl, and if you only lost a few…” Aunt Polly leans in and whispers, not so quietly, on the other side of her hand, “pounds, you would be so breathtaking.” ’Tis the damn season.

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.

I’m here for a week, and my life is not some cliché Hallmark movie where the corporate girl falls for the sweet, small-town guy when she comes home for Christmas to save the family business or some other contrived festive nonsense.

“Sorry, Little Scott, but being the only person around here with real Christmas spirit, you know how important it is to me to follow the holiday traditions. And the mistletoe?” He points above us. “It’s one of the most important ones.”

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.”

“I know you, Quinn Scott, and I know that somewhere in there is the girl that used to wake up with me in the middle of the night just to see if we could catch Santa. I know that your old Christmas spirit is there, and if you give me a week, just the seven days that you’re home, I can make you love those things all over again. Love being home again. And if I can’t, then I’ll take your spot in the Christmas musical your mom has told the entire town you’re performing in.”

“Quinn, I can’t see anything between your ass and the sweater. Gotta give me some direction,” he says. Listen, I’m finding it very hard to concentrate, okay? Sue me.

“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.”

Oh my god, did I just…squirt? On Parker? While his face was buried in my pussy? For the first time ever?

“How did this accidentally happen? Obviously, you didn’t just trip and fall onto his dick.”

How many orgasms can a girl have before she dies? This is a legitimate question that I’m in dire need of an answer to.

No matter how old I get or how far I move, I will always be a girl that needs her mom, and like now, sometimes a girl just needs a hug from her mom.

Parker pulls out onto the highway in the direction of his office, and as we drive, he cranks the music up, singing his own rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Only this time, it’s Jingle Balls, and now I can’t stop thinking about his balls. I mean, honestly, the guy has amazing balls. Not too small, not too large, and I particularly like them when they’re in my mou⁠—

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

“I like you just the way you are, Quinn. All of you. Even the grumpy Christmas version of you. Whatever way I can have you. That’s the way I want you. I love your confidence and your drive. I love that you’re fearless and ambitious. I love your attitude, your sass, your heart, and how kind you are. Whatever version you are or want to be, that’s who I want.”

“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.”

“I’m all yours, Dr. Grant. Now, take me home, and let’s spend our last night together in a way we’ll never forget.”

But it did. We made it. Long distance was nothing when we knew we had each other at the finish line.