Page 3 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
I laugh, but oblige. Frankly, the bobby pins were digging into my scalp. I shake out my black hair, hoping that the time in the bun gave it some waves.
“There we go,” she says as the bell rings for the dates to move. “Now go have some fun.”
“I will,” I say with a smile. When she stands up, I think about her words. She might barely know me, but she’s right. I should have fun. I work a lot. I’ve been working my ass off. I’ve been in Nashville for more than a year now, and in that time, I haven’t gone out on a single date. I’ve been so focused on Logan, GameTech, and now my own business, that I forgot the Kat side of me existed.
Maybe tonight’s the night to soft-launch her back into existence. I mean, it’s speed dating with men who are verified users of a successful dating app. What could go wrong?
So before the next date sits down, I quickly lean into my purse and grab the red lipstick that I always have, just in case.
And then I immediately regret it.
The first speed date is Harrison. When I asked him if he had a twin brother here as well, because my first date of the night looked exactly like him, he tried to gaslight me by claiming he doesn’t have a brother. When I pointed across the room to his brother, Garrison, he told me I was nuts.
And I took my hair down for this?
More of the same comes through. There’s Chad, the finance bro. Greg, the man who was trying to be coy about his job in country music, which probably means he has a low-level job but likes to pretend he’s one step away from the stars. David the dermatologist was nice, and we had a lovely conversation, but then he said he likes to hike.
Hard pass. Again, I’m outside-y. Not outdoorsy.
When the bell rings for David to move, I realize I only have one date left. I’m slightly disappointed that nothing has panned out—this is what I get for letting Hazel’s words of wisdom make me think the glass was slightly half-full—when all of a sudden, a wave of cologne hits my nostrils.
Yes, it’s potent, but not in a bad way. No, in fact, it smells…fucking sexy. I don’t know if they actually make colognes for winter and Christmas, but the scent is giving me that vibe. Tobacco, vanilla, and some sort of spice. A little fruit? I don’t know, but suddenly I want to find a cabin and curl up next to a fire with whomever is wearing this delicious scent.
Which might be the most outdoorsy thing I’ve ever thought.
I slowly look up, hoping that the wonderful smell is accompanied by an equally handsome face.
Oh, now I’m very glad I took my hair down.
I feel my jaw dropping, and I force myself to put it back into place. Because holy-about-to-be-born baby Jesus, this man is hot as hell.
“Happy last date,” he says with a disarming smile. “I’m Grayson.”
I try to swallow, because my mouth is horribly dry. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kat.”
“Like the animal?”
“No. With a K.”
I should be rolling my eyes, and yes laughing, at his lame joke, but that’s when I realize that I just told him my name was Kat.
Not Katherine.
Yes, I might’ve had the hair down, and the red lip on, but I was still Katherine on the last five speed dates. I just couldn’t make myself say the name I use when I want to have fun. When I want to forget my responsibilities.
Except apparently when I want a bearded man who smells like Christmas and sin to take me away from here.
I don’t know if I’ve had a thought like this since I moved from Los Angeles to Nashville. Actually, I know I haven’t. Because I haven’t stumbled across a man like Grayson before.
Some women go for the tall, dark, and handsome. Not me. I mean, sure, I’m not going to kick Henry Cavill out of bed for eating crackers, but he’d have to be literally Superman to get into bed in the first place. But this man across from me? No, this is more my type.
Reddish-blonde hair that’s short enough to not be long, but long enough for him to sweep it to the back, styling it just perfectly. His beard is closely trimmed; again, short enough to not be raggedy, but long enough that I know I’d feel it if I ever had the chance to kiss him.
There’s a little hint of mischief in his hazel eyes, but also warmth. The smile he’s giving me is knocking me on my ass. And his build? It’s absolutely filling out the ridiculous Christmas sweater he decided to wear.
Holy shit, Hazel…you might’ve been right…
“I like your sweater.”
