Faking Under the Mistletoe

by Ashley Shepherd

I love carbs the way most people love their children. Possibly more.

“I’m surprised you’re alive today,” Francesca laughs. “You can really throw back a drink.” “It was my minor in college.”

“I’m offended that, out of all the Disney characters you could compare me to, you pick Ursula and not Tinker Bell.”

“That look of absolute misery really turns me on. I’m practically falling out of my clothes right now.” “Well, fall back into them,”

“What is it?” I ask. It’s a martini glass filled with something bright red and rimmed with green sugar. “Jingle juice.” I snort. “I really wish I could have been there to hear you order this.”

“Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.” “I imagine it’ll be covered in dirt by then.” “You love to bring the mood down, don’t you?” I laugh. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

“You really went heavy on the onions on that burger,” Asher says. I frown. “I brushed my teeth three times!” “You should have brushed harder.” I don’t get a chance to stomp on his foot.

“I can’t believe this is my life right now,” Asher says. “A romantic sleigh ride with me? Your hot as hell fake girlfriend? You must have been a really good boy this year.” “Do you think if I throw myself in front of the horse, it will trample me?”