His Christmas List: – Naughty Stories For Your Stocking
His Christmas List: YOU WISH: Chapter 1

I put my shoes on the conveyor belt.

“Jacket too,” the bored attendant says.

I take off my jacket and put it down beside my bag.

“Different tray for your bag,” the guy calls.

Ugh, I hate airports.

I glance around and see a guy at the other conveyor belt; he has broad shoulders and is obviously fit and buff. He has his back to me, and my eyes linger on his behind in the blue jeans. He has a white T-shirt on that clings to every muscle.

Hmm… not bad.

He turns and glances up. Our eyes lock and the air leaves my lungs.

Holy fuck.

He is gorgeous.

Tall, brown hair, big brown eyes, and olive skin, he’s the whole package.

“Belt too,” the attendant demands.

Jeez. I begin to unbuckle my belt. Why are people in airports so grumpy all the time?

“Oh my god,” the girl beside me says to her friend in a loud whisper. “That’s him.”

“Who?” her friend asks.

“Aaron Hammond.”

“Where?” She looks around, oblivious.

“White T-shirt and blue jeans.”

I pretend not to listen to them, but I’m interested in the tea on him.

“Oh fuck, he is hot.”

I know, right.

“I cannot believe what he did.” The first girl huffs as she rips her shoes off. “Douchebag.”

I take my time undoing my belt. Okay… What did he do?

“What did he do?” the second girl asks, as if reading my mind.

“That’s the one who was with my friend Marcy from university.”

“I think I heard this story before, but I forget,” her friend replies.

“Everything was great, and then he went to a work conference in Geneva and got a better offer and went home and left her.”

“Oh, that’s him.” She eyes him up and down. “No wonder she’s heartbroken. He’s fucking hot. I’d be pissed too.”

“Yep, he just up and left after she paid for everything for two years. He’d promised her the world.”

“Oh, that’s right, she bought him a car and everything, didn’t she?”

“Aha, a Ranger.”

I clench my jaw as I listen. Dickhead.

“Poor Marcy.”

My stomach simmers in anger for her. It’s no wonder I hate men. He walks through the scanner and the three of us stare after him.

“Wonder where he’s going?” the first girl mumbles.

“Probably to his next conference to get a better offer.” She rolls her eyes.

“No doubt.”

“Miss,” the attendant bellows, bringing my attention back to him, “you can go through.”

“Sorry.” Flustered, I scurry through and collect my belongings at the other end of the conveyor belt.

I make my way through the airport, looking for somewhere to sit, and finally decide on a bar near gate eight. I sit at the counter and put my bags on the stool beside me.

“What will it be?” the bartender asks.

Screw it, it’s been a long day.

“Can I have a glass of Chardonnay, please?”

“Sure.” He turns his back to me while he gets to pouring my drink.

“Is this seat taken?” I hear a voice ask.

I glance up and come eye to eye with the white-shirt sleazebag standing behind the stool my bag is on. “Umm…” I glance around. “There are about thirty other empty seats in here.”

“Yes, but I want to sit here.” He pulls the chair out, paying no attention to my reply.

Self-absorbed nob.

“Seriously?” I mutter under my breath. I take my bag off the chair and put it next to me on the other side. He pulls out the stool and sits down.

“What will it be?” the bartender asks him as he passes my glass of wine.

“I’ll have a tap beer, please.” He taps his flat hands on the counter.

I give him the side-eye.

He continues.

“Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?” He keeps tapping his hands.

“Last time I looked, the counter wasn’t a drum.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Is this annoying you?” He keeps doing it.

“Yes.” I sip my wine.

He smirks and keeps doing it. “I like to entertain.”

“Not. Entertaining. What. So. Ever.” I twist my lips.

He breaks into a broad smile. “What do you do to entertain yourself?”

I give him the side-eye again.

“Oh, let me guess, specialized wet blanket.”

The bartender slides his beer across the counter to him. “Thanks.”

I’m with Marcy, this guy is a piece of work.

“For your information, drummer boy, I am not a wet blanket.”

“I call bullshit.” He casually sips his beer.

“Ugh, can you just go away?” I frown.

“Nope.”

“I didn’t ask you to sit with me.”

“Last time I looked, you don’t own the stools.” He raises his eyebrow.

“Maybe I do.”

“Again with the bullshit.” He sips his beer.

“Listen…” I sip my wine. “I know your tight blue jeans and your white T-shirt may hypnotize the masses, but I can assure you they don’t hypnotize me.”

“You’re just a compulsive liar now.”

“Oh.” My mouth falls open. “Don’t you dare call me a liar.”

“Well.” He sips his beer. “If the shoe fits.”

I can feel myself begin to fume as I sip my wine.

“I’m Aaron, by the way.”

I fake a smile and then drop it immediately. “Go and sit somewhere else, Aaron By The Way.”

“No. I think I’ll sit with you for a bit longer.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Your grumpiness is kind of hot.”

My stomach flutters and I clench my jaw. Don’t even think about it, hormones.

We are done with players, remember?

Stick to the program.

“Fine.” I pick up my wine and my bags. “I’ll move.”

“How sad.” He smiles as he waves to me with his fingertips. “Have fun over there by yourself.”

“I will, don’t worry.” I walk over to a table and sit down.

That’s better.

An hour later, I’m sipping my third glass of wine as contempt drips from my every pore.

I’ve watched Aaron By The Way talk to every single person in the bar. He’s all happy and jovial and overly friendly to strangers. His laugh is loud and infectious… ugh, so annoying.

Marcy dodged a bullet with this one, he may as well have “I’m a player” tattooed on his forehead.

Jerkoff.

It’s nearly time to board, so I collect my things, and with one last look to my new archenemy, I make my way to my gate.

Boarding call for flight 212 from LAX to Denver.

I stand in line and shuffle forward as the line moves when I hear the unmistakable husky chuckle.

I turn to see Aaron By The Way standing in the line a few people behind me. He sees me looking at him and he waves. “Hey, there she is. Grumpy cat.”

I roll my eyes and turn back to the front.

I am not grumpy.

“Excuse me. Excuse me,” he says to the people in the line behind me, “just want to stand with my friend.” He pushes his way through until he’s standing beside me. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just wanted to stand with you.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you don’t beat up any old ladies with your purse.” He looks around at the crowd around us. “Good Samaritan and all that.”

I bite the side of my cheek to stop my face moving. “You’re not funny.”

“So why are you smiling?” He raises his eyebrow.

“I’m not.”

“Good.” He widens his eyes. “Don’t bother bothering me on the plane.”

“I won’t be.”

“Because I’m going to Aspen, and I don’t want to be grumpified before I get there.”

“Grumpified isn’t a word.” I move forward in the line. “And I’m going to Aspen. Stop following me.”

“Oh, you’re going to Aspen too.” He leans up on his toes. “How serendipitous of us.”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that I can feel myself wanting to break into a smile.

“Hardly.” I huff as I tighten my grip on my bag. “I’m guessing you’re going for a work conference?”

“Are you a clairvoyant?” His face lights up. “I am.”

“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath.

“Are you going to the same conference?”

“No.”

“What are you doing in Aspen?”

“Avoiding you.”

“Obviously.” His eyes dance with mischief. “That’s half the fun, though, isn’t it?”

“Not for me.” I step forward and hand my ticket to the stewardess.

“Good afternoon.” She smiles. “You may go through.”

I stomp down the ramp to the plane. Okay, I need to get away from this player… He’s getting cuter by the minute.

I board the plane and fall into my seat that’s by the aisle. I take out my book and organize my things, and from my peripheral vision I can see the white T-shirt coming down the aisle toward me.

I pretend to read.

“Dodged a bullet,” Blue Jeans says as he stops by my chair. I glance up. “We’re not sitting together.”

“Thank god,” I mutter.

“Not for you, for me.”

“You dodged a bullet because you’re not sitting next to me?” I whisper, affronted.

“I don’t need your negativity ruining my trip.”

I fake a smile and then drop it cold as I turn the page; he keeps walking past me down to the back.

I hear him fussing and then talking, then I hear people laughing. What is he doing back there? I pretend to casually stretch so that I can turn to see who he’s talking to.

Give me a break.

Of course he’s sitting next to two pretty girls. They’re being all animated and joking around at something being said.

Ugh…

The plane takes off, and as we fly through the air, I can hear his husky laugh. I angrily flick the page. The biggest flirt in all of history, he’s back there organizing his ménage à trois for tonight, no doubt.

Work conference, my ass.

Two hours later, I walk through the gates into Denver Airport. The flight was smooth and uneventful. Now one more flight to Aspen and I’m there.

I walk over to the windows to see the snow falling down outside, and I smile to myself. No matter how many times I see it, something always feels so magical about white sprinkles falling out of the sky.

My phone beeps a text.

What?

Oh no, don’t tell me…

I am not in the mood to wait around the airport for hours today.

Fuck it.

I make my way to the service desk to replace a huge crowd of people, and I see white Shirt is waiting in the line too.

This just gets worse by the minute.

I get to the back of the line and wait my turn. I wait and wait… and wait…

For god’s sake, what is taking so long?

The people at the front are arguing, and I can’t hear what they are saying, but then the attendant calls out to everyone waiting in line, “If you are in the line about flight 209 to Aspen that has been cancelled, due to bad weather, there will be no other flights to Aspen for the next twenty-four hours.”

Everyone moans.

“Contact the help line to organize a refund. This is out of our hands, people.”

White Shirt turns and marches off. I stare after him as he storms through the airport at speed. Where is he going in such a rush? I frown as I think.

Rental car.

Shit… He’s going to rent a car before they all go.

Oh no, you don’t…

I take off after him, and when I see the rental car place, I start to run.

“What are you doing?” he calls as I run past him.

“Getting the last car.”

“I’m getting the last car.” He runs after me, so I run faster.

I’m panting and puffing and struggling with my overnight bag as I run to the rental car desk. “Hi,” I pant.

“Hello,” the man replies calmly.

“I’d like to rent a car, please.”

White Shirt arrives behind me.

“You’re in luck. We have one car left,” the man replies.

“Don’t even,” White Shirt moans. “I was here first.”

“If you were here first, why am I in front of you in the line, huh?”

He glares at me and I glare right back.

Don’t mess with me today, fucker, I am not in the mood.

“Do you want that car, miss?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll need your license and a credit card.”

“Sure thing.” I unzip my handbag and go to get my wallet and it’s not in there.

Strange…

I look in the other pocket and then the other pocket… no sign of my wallet.

What the hell, where is it?

I begin to panic and I search my handbag frantically.

Wait…

Did I put it in my hand luggage?

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to replace my wallet,” I stammer in a panic. I begin to look through all of my pockets. When did I have it last?

The bar in LA.

Wait, did I leave it in the bar?

Fuck.

Oh my god, I updated my phone last week and haven’t put any of my cards onto Apple Pay or anything. If I don’t replace it, I have literally not a cent on me.

FUCK.

I begin to sweat.

“Do you have another way to pay, miss?” the man asks.

“Just a moment, I’ll replace it.” I keep searching. “I’m so sorry.”

I hear a deep exhale from behind me. “Hurry up,” White Shirt mutters under his breath.

“Do you mind?” I whisper angrily.

“Do you?”

“I’m sorry, miss, I can’t hold up the line for much longer. Do you have a credit card available?”

“But there’s only one car left,” I reply. “You can’t give it to someone else.”

“We can’t give you the car unless you can pay for it.”

“Oh my god.” The line begins to build behind me and I feel myself going red with embarrassment. I keep searching my pockets, praying for a miracle.

Where is this fucking wallet?

“Can I do an internet banking transfer?” I ask.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We need a credit card to secure the booking.”

“But if I pay for it, then what’s the difference?”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to step aside so I can serve the person behind you.”

“Please don’t.” I drag my hands through my hair. “It’s really important that I get to Aspen today, and my hotel there is already paid for. The airline cancelled my flight, and I don’t have a card to pay for accommodation in Denver, and I can’t sleep here all weekend. I need to get to Aspen.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t help you. Step aside.”

Damn it.

White Shirt steps forward and gives me the side-eye. He pulls his credit card out and puts it on the desk beside me. “I’d like to hire a car, please.”

Fucker!