Hunk for X-Mas Read online

  Hunk for X-Mas

  Cheri Wood

  This is a work of fiction and does not in any way claim to be quality literature. It has been produced solely for entertainment purposes. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’d like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Copyright © 2019 Cheri Wood. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover image from Pixabay (Creative Commons – free for commercial use).

  Emily

  My cheeks flare as the well-muscled man in the red silk boxers pumps his hips in my direction as the stereo plays a sexed-up Christmas song. I’m not the guest of honor tonight, so really, it should be Felicia with a front-row seat of the male stripper’s crotch.

  It’s been just about three years since I last had sex, and I honestly thought my libido had gone into hibernation the moment I learned I was pregnant and that my baby’s father had no interest whatsoever in seeing me ever again. But, apparently, all it took was some seriously impressive abs, a handsome face, and a significant bulge to get me in the mood. And maybe a truckload of eggnog, too. It certainly feels like I’m infused with alcohol, warming me up from the inside out.

  I bite my bottom lip to distract myself from the throbbing ache between my legs, and the dashing dancer winks at me before moving over to the next girl, the bride-to-be, and awarding her his Santa hat while rubbing up against her side. Felicia giggles hysterically, covering her eyes a few seconds at a time while scolding our friend Tiffany, who organized the bachelorette party, stripper and all. Tiffany just laughs and raises her glass in a toast, enjoying the show.

  “Did you have a good time?” Tiffany asks as we’re cleaning up. She hosted the party at her place, so the least I can do is help with the dishes.

  “It was…” I pause in drying the dishes, searching for the right word. “Not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “Jorah did great, didn’t he?” she says, winking. “I mean, if I was single…”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Like you’d go out with a stripper.”

  “Sure I would. It’s just a job like any other.”

  I shake my head. “I just think the intimate stuff should be reserved for your partner. Also, can you imagine going grocery shopping with your boyfriend and people recognizing him? That would be humiliating.”

  “Honey, if I had a man who looked like that, I wouldn’t be taking him grocery shopping. Besides, a hookup would be good for you. How long’s it been?”

  My cheeks flare up again. “A while.”

  “Like, give me a ballpark number,” she prods.

  “Three years, give or take?”

  “You’re like a virgin all over again!”

  I scoff. “A virgin with a two-year-old.”

  “You know, the older she gets, the harder it’s going to be for you to date. You’re going to have to go through the whole ‘will he get along with my kid?’ thing. She’s still young enough to not know who you’re banging.”

  “I’m not ‘banging’ anyone!”

  “Exactly my point. Get a few good lays in while you can.”

  I sigh. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

  Tiffany shrugs. “Fine. How’s work? Still the boss’s pet?”

  I cringe. “Unfortunately, yes. I know it’s wrong of me, but I kind of hope he’ll hire someone new to put the moves on so he’ll forget about me.”

  “You have that annual Christmas party to go to, right?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “You should bring a date. Send a message.”

  “Great idea. Except I’m not dating anyone.”

  “Not yet. I can fix you up with someone. Like a blind date.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll handle it. It’s just one night.”

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind,” she says and shrugs.

  I smile. That’ll never happen. I’m happy with my life the way it is. I have Katie, and my friends, a decent-paying job at a law firm, and complete control over the remote. What more could a girl ask for?

  Okay, so maybe one could ask for one’s boss not to creep on you when you’re just trying to do your job. I swear, it’s like Nick thinks I’m getting him coffee every morning because I want to suck up to – or on – him, not because it’s in my job description.

  “Emily?”

  “Yes, Mr. Nichols?” I say as pleasantly as I can muster at six pm in the evening when I was supposed to be home to relieve the sitter an hour ago.

  “Please, it’s Nick, remember?”

  Yes, Nick Nichols, attorney-at-law, and pain-in-ass. Sometimes, I think it’d be easier handling him if he was a middle-aged, overweight, thin-haired, entitled rich asshole. At least then I’d stand a chance at some sympathy for my plight of having to ward off his unwanted advances. But, no, Nick just happens to be tall, dark, and objectively handsome. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s also married and has two kids, I might even be tempted to find out if we’d click outside the office. But knowing what I know, I can’t ever look past the sleezeballness of him.

  “Nick. Did you need anything else before I leave?”

  “Off on a hot date?” he asks, half-jokingly, half-angrily.

  “I need to send the sitter home,” I tell him, even though he’s fully aware of my circumstances already.

  “How is the little bundle of joy?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

  The thought of Katie thaws my heart and I can’t hold back a genuine smile. “Not so little anymore. She’s getting to be a handful.”

  “You should hire a full-time nanny to live with you, get some help around the house.”

  I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, maybe when I win the lottery.”

  Nick stands and walks around his desk to lean against it, his feet casually crossed in front of him. “I could help you, set all that up for you. Maybe you’d like to get a place closer to the city, save time on the commute.”

  I shrug. “Maybe someday. I really should get moving—”

  “Emily.”

  I freeze in the doorway at his curt command. I take a deep breath and slowly turn around.

  “You’re coming to the party this Friday, correct? We should talk more then.”

  I swallow and nod, backing away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My heart is beating in my throat as I ride down in the elevator. This is getting out of hand. Any day now, Nick’s going to give me an ultimatum and I’m going to have to find a new job or risk everything to fight him in court.

  My hands are shaking as I dig out my car keys and I have to sit in my car for a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive. Before I start the car, though, I text Tiffany.

  I need a date for the office party

  Before I’m even buckled in, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

  Done

  Jordan

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  My brother walks in without knocking, as per usual, and I ignore his rude interruption. As per usual.

  “So… how’s work?” he says, flopping down in an armchair off to the side of my desk. I know that tone. That’s his ‘I want something from you’ tone. I know damn well he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about my work. Just as I prefer not knowing squat about his.


  “Thrilling,” I mutter, just because I know I have to say something, or he’ll start singing or – heaven forbid – dancing, just to annoy me.

  “Got any plans this weekend?”

  I sigh and push back my chair so it rolls halfway across the room to where I keep my espresso maker. I have a feeling I’m going to need coffee for this.

  “What’s up?” I say as I get a cup off the small stack beside the machine.

  “Well, I have this date—”

  I hold my hand up to cut him off. “Paid or voluntary?”

  Jorah huffs and stretches his arms above his head to show off his muscled arms. Dude needs to chill on the weightlifting. I tell him as much and he just scoffs.

  “Chicks dig big muscles,” he says, winking.

  “Well, just remember that the bigger the rest of you get, the smaller your dick is gonna look. So there’s that,” I say with a shrug, knowing that’ll get under his skin.

  Just as predicted, Jorah frowns and glances down at his crotch. “For real?”

  “Yeah, dude. Now, can you just spit out whatever it was you came here to ask me to do? I’m not cleaning up your side of the house, I hope you know that.”

  Jorah rolls his eyes at me. I swear, if I didn’t know his exact age, I would have thought he was a teenager.

  “It’s a favor for this chick I did a show for. Her friend needs a date to some office party. It’s a breeze.”

  “Okay?”

  “But the thing is, one of my regulars booked me through the agency on the same night, and that job pays a lot more.”

  “So?”

  “So… I was thinking…”

  “No.” I take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes against the headache that’s sure to appear any second now.

  “You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.”

  “I already know what you were going to say. Call it a twin-thing, if you must. I see right through you, brother. And I’m not playing escort to earn you an extra buck. I have a job of my own.”

  “When was the last time you went out?”

  “This morning. I got the paper and put the trash out.”

  Jorah groans, as I knew he would. He can’t understand how I can be such a homebody when he’s the exact opposite. I figure he hogged all the party-nutrients in the womb.

  “Bro, you’re twenty-eight years old. It’s a little early to be ordering your walker, wouldn’t you say so?”

  “And aren’t you a bit old to be dancing around naked and having sex for money?” I shoot back.

  Jorah tips his chin up. “I offer companionship to those who don’t have the time to find it for themselves.”

  I scoff. “Providing they can afford it.”

  “Come on, man, just this once? You get a free date with zero expectations and some poor lonely girl won’t have to be stood up. I’ll even give you the cash from the job.”

  “Keep your cash. I’m not for sale,” I mutter.

  Jorah sighs heavily and heaves himself out of the armchair. “You know, this girl I’m doing the favor for, her husband has a couple of companies that could use some help with their websites. I could hook you up…”

  “You want to tell this woman that your twin brother will be filling in for you and he’s really an awesome web designer, so if her friend is happy with their date, he could get some work from her husband?”

  “Dude, when did you start referring to yourself in the third person?” Jorah says, frowning.

  I smack my palm against my forehead. “Fine. I’ll go on a date with this poor, innocent woman and let her know that I’m not an escort.”

  “No, no, no,” Jorah says, his eyes wide. “You can’t tell her that.”

  “What the hell?”

  “She doesn’t know her friend’s hired me to take her out. She thinks it’s a blind date.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Come on, I think I know who this girl is. She was at the bachelorette party I did. She was cute and easily embarrassed. You won’t have to worry about her pawing at you, or anything.”

  “She’ll be humiliated if she finds out.”

  “Which is why you’re the perfect guy to do it. No way is she going to think you’re being paid to take her out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jorah tilts his head. “You’re not exactly Mr. Smooth.”

  “Asshole,” I grumble, but okay, he’s probably right. I don’t date much. Or at all. It’s been a few years since I last went out with someone. College, probably? I’m not like weird or anything, but I’m a bit of a loner. Bars are too loud. As are parties. Which is where you usually meet people.

  “Hey, one night. Call it an experiment.”

  “To prove what? That I’m still as socially awkward as I was before? I’m a web designer, not a scientist, J.”

  “You’re also darn good-looking, if I say so myself. Granted, you could do with some more muscles, but other than that, it’s like looking in a mirror.”

  I resist the urge to slap him upside the head and remind him that we are, in fact, identical twins. Looks-wise, at least. Personality-wise, we might as well have been born on opposite ends of the earth.

  “You’re going to owe me big-time for this,” I say, pointing my finger at his ugly mug.

  Jorah just grins and saunters off. “If you want to borrow some clothes, you know where my closet is.”

  I throw a stress ball at his head. And miss. Damn it.

  Emily

  I take yet another look in the mirror to make sure my lips aren’t too glossy, but not without color, either. My black lace dress feels too tight across my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t wear a padded bra with it? Katie only stopped breastfeeding a few months ago, and I’m not back down to my smaller cup size yet. The dress is modest enough, with a black slip under the lace covering most of my thighs and chest, leaving see-through lace to cover the arms.

  “You look really pretty, Emily,” the sitter says from just behind me and I startle. How did I not see her coming?

  “Thanks, Carly,” I say, turning to smile at her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “Take your time. Enjoy yourself. I have plenty of words to put down on paper tonight.”

  Carly is a grad student at the local university, working on her doctorate. I’m lucky she’s able to pick Katie up from daycare every afternoon and stay until I get home. And that she’s happy to sit for me on the odd occasion I need to leave the house at night. Between the bachelorette party last weekend and the Christmas party tonight, it’s the most I’ve been away from Katie since she was born.

  “Hey,” Carly says softly and strokes my arm. “She’ll be just fine. Try to enjoy yourself tonight. And, if you were to decide to prolong your mystery date, just send me a text and I’ll make myself scarce – or stay the night – if you prefer.”

  I snort with laughter. “Not likely to happen, Carly. But I’ll have my phone with me at all times. If Katie needs me for whatever reason, just call. Okay?”

  “I will,” Carly says, ushering me towards the front door. “Now, I think I heard a car pull up a moment ago, so you’d best get ready.”

  “He’s here?”

  Panic sets in, sucker-punching me in the gut. What am I doing? I don’t know how to date anymore.

  “I can’t do this,” I half-whisper to Carly seconds before the doorbell rings. The fear of waking Katie after finally putting her to sleep has me forgetting all the nerves and throwing the door open.

  “Can’t you read?” I snap, then take a step back. “You—”

  The man on my doorstep looks contrite and peers at the small handwritten note by my door. Please knock, baby sleeping.

  “I’m very sorry—” he starts, and Carly whispers something about checking on Katie while I just stand there, gawking. Tiffany set me up with the stripper from the bachelorette party!

  “I—” I’m at a loss for words. It’s not this poor guy’s fau
lt that my friend has a twisted sense of humor. Or that I was foolish and desperate enough to allow her to set me up. A crying Katie saves me from trying to formulate a full sentence, and I hurry over to pick her out of Carly’s arms.

  “There you go, Sweetie. You’re all right,” I coo, stroking her back. “Mommy’s here.”

  I glance over at the six-foot-tall exotic male dancer decked out in a dark suit with a red handkerchief in his jacket pocket and a red tie against his black shirt. His hair looks freshly washed, yet his jaw has a shadow as if he hasn’t shaved since this morning.

  But none of his physical attributes compare to the warm, deep-blue eyes looking not at me, but at Katie.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake her,” he says softly, as if not wanting to intrude. “I didn’t see the sign.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. Isn’t it, Sweetie?” I mumble into Katie’s soft, downy hair. She’s mostly settled already.

  “Let me take her,” Carly offers, and I gingerly maneuver Katie into her arms.

  “Thank you,” I say, stroking my baby girl’s soft hand as Carly carries her off, mouthing, ‘go get him’ or something to that effect.

  “Again, I’m—” he starts as he holds the door open for me.

  “Sorry,” I cut him off. “So you said. Thank you.”

  “I’m— Jorah,” he says after a moment’s delay, as if I don’t remember his name from last weekend. As if I’m one of those horny housewives that only care about the man-candy, not what it’s called.

  “Emily,” I say, figuring I’m easily forgettable given the number of women he must meet in his line of work.

  “Nice to meet you. Officially, I mean,” he adds when I shoot him a puzzled look.

  “Same,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I feel like we got off to a bad start. I didn’t mean to be so… well, rude.”

  “You were worried about your kid. No need to apologize.”

  “Do you have children?” I ask as he holds his car door open for me.

  “Not that I know of,” he quips. My thoughts must be showing on my face, because his smile drops. “Sorry, bad joke. No, I don’t have any kids.”