Page 2 of Daddy's Naughty List

“Lead the way, Santa.”

He grinned, flashing straight, white teeth as he pulled the door open for me and gestured for me to enter first.

2

HOLLY

The bar was wonderfully heated and dimly lit, with holiday lights strung up around the interior to give everything a pretty, warm glow. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled my ears as I stepped farther inside. The door shut the cold out, and although I wasn't looking at him, I felt Stefan right behind me.

I glanced around, taking in the worn leather booths lining either side of the space and a few tables in the center of the room. The faint scent of whiskey filled the air as I scanned the bar that was straight ahead, most of the seats taken aside from two at the far end.

The feeling of Stefan placing his hand on my lower back sent an instant wave of heat through me. I should have shaken him off, but I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel great to feel him touching me innocently but also intimately.

This wasn’t a place I usually went to, because I probably never would have looked twice, much less entered this hole-in-the-wall bar. But I regretted that, as I absolutely loved the aesthetic and vibe of this place.

He guided me to the bar, keeping that hand at the small of my back. The touch was light, seemingly casual, but there was something in me that said it was a hell of a lot more than that.

He pulled the barstool out for me, and when he was beside me, he braced his elbows on the counter. He cocked his head and glanced at me.

“Whatcha want, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, holding my gaze with his.

I licked my lips and didn’t miss how his focus trailed downward to watch the act. “Vodka and soda,” I said, trying not to overthink how easy it felt to be here with him—a total stranger. Stefan nodded, but I held up a finger, stopping him from ordering. “Top shelf, please. I don’t want to end the night with something that’ll cause a nasty fucking hangover in the morning.”

He tipped his head back and chuckled, and I realized the line of his throat and the scruff that covered the lower half of his face were both hot as hell.

“Tito’s good?”

I nodded. That was my alcohol of choice when I drank.

Stefan signaled to the bartender. “Tito’s and soda for the young lady, and I’ll take a scotch, neat.”

After only a moment, the bartender set our drinks in front of us and left, this comfortable silence filling the space between Stefan and me. He was close, his broad shoulder and thickly muscled arm pressed against my much smaller one. It shouldn't feel so good to have him so close.

It had been ages since I had sex. Too long, if I was being honest. God, I couldn't even remember the last time.

“Saúde,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile while he raised his glass and clinked it against mine.

“Skál,” I murmured, using another word for cheers like he had.

He smiled and shook his head. “You're a trip, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

The first sip warmed me from the inside out, but it wasn’t just the vodka that made me feel this way. It was sitting beside Stefan and sharing a drink with him. We sat quietly for a little as we drank and just enjoyed the comfortable silence between us, the only noise I noticed coming from a jukebox off to the side, the machine glowing from the vibrant lights as the music filled the interior of the bar.

He leaned closer and started speaking to me, telling me a few things about himself. And then my ears zeroed in on the way his voice softened when he asked about my life, my likes, and my dreams. It kind of took me aback, because… no one had ever seemed so genuinely interested in knowing shit about me.

I kept things light during the first drink, but when I was nearly done with my second Tito’s and soda, I opened up more and told him things I hadn’t shared with anyone in years—like how I wanted to travel, because living in the city for so long made me feel stuck in a revolving door of life.

And the whole time, Stefan listened. Likereallylistened. He didn’t interrupt me as I rambled on, my lips loose from the alcoholic beverages. He just let me talk, and his intense gaze never left mine.

I felt like I’d been talking forever and clamped my lips shut around my straw to finish my drink. Now, it was my turn to ask about him. Where to even start?

He leaned back and took on a relaxed stance. “I had to grow up fast,” he began—to my relief, obviously seeing my struggle—his voice quieter now.

I didn't know what that meant exactly, but I assumed he meant he had to take care of himself well before his time. And that made me sad, because I picked up on a bitter note in histone that he tried to hide right away. But I said nothing. I just listened, like he did with me.

“Unfortunately, I had a dad who was a bastard on the best of days. Most of the time, I was the parent and not the child. And because of that, I figured things—likeeverything—out on my own.”

He spoke softly, smoothly, and I hung on to everything he said. But I didn't miss that there was a weight to his words. It was a darkness that someone had because they experienced trauma, that their life wasn’t happy with love and kindness… like my childhood had been.

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