Page 8 of A Man for the Holidays

“God, look at my hair. It’s all wrinkly and frail. No wonder they have to keep it together with tape.”

“Are you sure you want to spend your winter holidays shoveling snow? I mean, wouldn’t you be better off modelling men’s clothing or something?”

“I’ve spent years modelling clothes and showing parts of my body to complete strangers outside Fifth Avenue. I don’t want to spend what limited time I have as a human doing the same thing when there is a whole world out there to be explored.”

“I totally get that. And I’ve heard that there isn’t a lot to modelling, really, other than being beautiful and able to pose extremely well. Oh, and of course, looking hot in whatever outfit they put on you. No… I take that back; I think there’s more to it than I first realized.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” he asks.

“Um, well, there’s… ” my words fail me, and I can’t help but stare at the man as he stands before me. “Let’s go and check out your room, huh?” I say awkwardly, as I grab his suitcase.

I quickly make my way out of the living room and across the foyer to the spare bedroom and turn on the light. I hear Quinn follow behind me and then I hear him say, “Ah, shit. I’m so used to my clothes being pinned on me.”

I turn around to see that his pants have slid down to his ankles, revealing him to be wearing nothing but a pair of short boxer briefs. He steps out of the pants, then brushes past me and heads inside the bedroom. A huge grin curls my mouth and when he turns around to face me, I clear my throat, grab his pants from the floor, then step inside the bedroom.

“It’s not much but––”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect. I’m not used to having so much space all to myself. Much less a bed to lie in.”

He wanders around the room then sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a smooth palm across the duvet. Then he places his hands behind his head and looks up at the ceiling, before turning his head toward me, offering me a wide smile. I take a few steps closer to him, put the suitcase on the floor beside the bed, then carefully place his pants on the edge of the bed.

“Is there anything you need before I go back to bed?” I ask.

“No, thank you. You’ve done more than enough.”

“You’re welcome. Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yes.”

“Good night.” I say.

“Good night.” he replies.

I turn around and make for the door, then stop and turn around to look back at Quinn. He’s adjusted himself so that he’s now lying on his side, giving me a spectacular view of his ass. With a huge smile on my face, I close the door and head back to my room.

“Good morning, Spencer; Quinn has been busy in the kitchen this morning. He made breakfast,” I hear Paige tell Spencer.

“Good morning. What? He did? Quinn, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know but I wanted to. It’s my way of saying thank you for letting me stay here for the holidays,” I reply, looking over my shoulder at him.

“Well, you’re very welcome,” he says, taking a seat at the table next to Paige.

I’ve spent the last half hour really getting to know Paige. She seems like such a fascinating woman who is also very attractive. Tall, slender, long legs, a decent set of boobs, piercing brown eyes and fiery red hair. I turn the heat off on the stove, then scoop up the breakfast into three bowls, and take the first one over to Spencer, and place it on the table in front of him.

“Who would have thought that you’d enjoy sleep so much, I mean all you do is lie there.”

“Tomato soup,” Spencer says, looking down at his bowl.

“Yes, sorry. I haven’t had any experience in this area as this is my first-time cooking. You know being a—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer cuts in. “I’ll make some coffee.”

“Coffee? Is that something that you eat?” I ask.

Spencer gets to his feet then wanders over to the kitchen and stands beside the stove I’ve been cooking over for the past twenty minutes. I take a plate of soup over to Paige and place it on the table, then make my way back to Spencer, who grabs a cup and places it under a square looking box thing with numbers and dials all over it. He presses a few buttons, and the machine makes a quiet buzzing noise, and I look at where he has the mug situated and see a brown-like liquid pour into the mug, kind of like a waterfall. He removes the mug from the square box, then heads back over to the kitchen table and takes a seat.

“Spencer; you look… different, this morning,” Paige says.

---