Page 3 of Yours to Ho Ho Hold
I hold up my hands in surrender, and she finally lowers her hand—not like she was really stopping me, but I indulge her anyway.
“Can you just watch your stupid movie and leave me alone—”
Her words break off as the plane jolts with turbulence. The next thing I know, she’s lunging toward me, burying her face in the plush, velvety fabric of my Santa suit.
See what I mean? Women just throw themselves at me …
ChapterTwo
Holly
My stomach twistsin knots and I let out a panicked scream for what feels like hours as the plane violently rocks like it’s just been hit by a missile. For all I know it has because I’ve never experienced either of these things.
I’ve always been terrified of flying, but I decided my desperation to get as far away from Christmas as possible outweighed the risk.
Jokes on me, I guess.
Though the irony of being held by a slutty Santa isn’t lost on me. It just makes it even more poetic—especially considering the book I was just reading. Rereading, actually. It’s a long-time favorite and just about the only thing I still love about Christmas.
I bury my face in his voluptuous pecs, dragging my cheek along the soft fabric in an attempt to self soothe. His Santa suit is softer than I imagined, and even though his body is absolutely jacked with corded muscle, he feels surprisingly cozy.
He lays a heavy arm over me, wrapping me tightly against him. “Hey, it’s just a little turbulence. You’re okay,” he says, tracing his fingers over my back as if we weren’t hurling insults at each other only moments ago.
I’m not normally so combative with complete strangers, but it’s been a shitty day, and I guess the Santa suit kind of triggered me. That and the fact he looks as hot as he does, which means there’s an almost-one hundred percent chance he’s a fuck boy. And if there’s one thing I don’t mess with, it’s fuck boys.
“See, it’s almost over now,” he whispers, his breath tickling my neck and making my pulse pound in my ears. What the hell kind of voodoo magic is this guy using that has me actually relaxing just because he said everything was going to be alright? It’s not like he’s the real Santa or even a pilot. I don’t think he’s a pilot. He doesn’t look like one, not that I know what pilots are supposed to look like.
What is wrong with me? Even when my life’s in danger, I can’t keep my brain from rambling. It’s like I’ve never seen a hot guy before.
I sit up in a rush, tearing myself away from him to put as much space between us as possible—which is admittedly not very much.
The flight attendant’s raspy voice comes over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be experiencing a little turbulence, but our pilot says the worst is behind us. We may have a few bumps here and there, but it should be a smoother ride from here on out. We’ll keep the fasten seatbelt light on for the duration of our flight.”
I smooth down my cozy wool sweater and rub my sweaty palms against my jeans. “Sorry about that. I guess my nerves are a little jumpy. It’s my first time flying.”
His face breaks into a cocky grin, making my insides twist with equal parts annoyance and attraction.
I am not the girl who swoons over anyone. In fact, I pride myself on being immune to charming guys with killer smiles and witty one-liners. I learned my lesson a long time ago that there’s a direct correlation between a man’s charm and his potential to break your heart. So why am I getting so flustered just from sitting next to him?
“You couldn’t help yourself.” He tucks his hands under his arms and shrugs. “It happens all the time.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so full of yourself. You could’ve been dressed as a snaggle-toothed tooth fairy, and I would’ve had the same reaction …”
“Is that what does it for you? Because I don’t mind role-playing.” He pinches his suit away from him. “I can be whoever you want me to be, baby doll. Whatever tickles your fancy.”
My lips curl, and I scrunch my nose. “You’re disgusting.” I try my best to scoot away, but I don’t get very far, and it’s more uncomfortable to sit like this, but I’ll never let him know. He can’t win. Not today.
“Oh, come on. You don’t think that. I felt you copping a feel of my man-titty. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t like it. I could practically feel your muscles melting underneath my touch.” He holds up his hand like he’s admiring it. “I’ve been told on several occasions I have a magical touch …”
“Man-titty? Seriously?”
He shrugs, then bounces his pecs like A.C. Slater, and I have to force myself to look away. His body really is immaculate … like straight out of a romance novel hot …
“That’s quite enough.” I cross my arms over my chest with a humph and give him a side eye. “Why don’t you go back to your terrible Christmas movie and leave me to my book.” I reach for my book, but it’s not where I left it. I’m bending to dig around at my feet when he holds it up, dangling it between two fingers in front of me.
“Give me my book—” I reach for it, but he jerks it away, and starts reading from the page I bookmarked.
Seriously? How old are we? I feel like I’m back in grade school dealing with a bully who I’d later be told acted that way because he had a crush on me. I just want to read my book in peace. Is it really so much to ask?
