His Christmas List: – Naughty Stories For Your Stocking
His Christmas List: YOU WISH: Chapter 2

I step to the side and keep searching for the missing wallet. Regardless of the car fiasco, I really do need my wallet. My flight home isn’t until Sunday, and if I don’t have a credit card, how do I pay for a hotel here in Denver? I glance at my watch: 5:10 p.m.

Fuck.

And now all the banks are closed, so I can’t even get cash out.

I’m really beginning to sweat bricks now. I think of the alternative of not replaceing it.

Please, no… I can’t spend an entire weekend in an airport.

I call Kara, my best friend. She’ll know what to do.

“Hi.”

“I’m right in the middle of a fucking disaster,” I blurt out.

“What…?”

“I’m at Denver and my flight to Aspen from here has been canceled, and now I can’t replace my wallet to hire a car, and now the last one just went.”

“Where’s your wallet?”

“I don’t know. I had it at the bar in LAX and now it’s not in my bag.”

“Fuck. Did you cancel your credit cards?”

My eyes widen in horror at the thought of someone spending my every last cent. “No.”

“Cancel them right now. Get off the phone, why are you even calling me?”

“I don’t know,” I cry. I hang up in a panic and check my bag one last time. Nope, not here.

I google my bank’s phone number and dial the number as my heart races in my chest.

It answers, “Welcome to Bank of America. For phone banking, press one.”

Oh god, not the slow, annoying woman’s voice recording machine.

“For home loans, press two.”

I close my eyes as I desperately try to hang on to my sanity. Why can’t a person just answer the fucking phone once in a while?

“For insurance, press three.

“For lost cards, press four.”

I press four so hard, I nearly crack my phone screen. “Four, bitch.”

White Shirt walks past. “Come on.”

“I’m on the phone, canceling my cards,” I whisper through gritted teeth.

“Do it on the way.”

“Way where?” I screw up my face.

“You want a lift to Aspen or not?”

“Oh.” My mouth falls open. “Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t start your negative crap.” He turns and marches off.

“Okay.” I pick up my bag and take off after him.

“Hello, this is stolen cards. How can I help you today?”

“Hi,” I answer as I power walk through the airport. “I’ve lost my wallet and I need to cancel my two cards, please.”

“What was the name?” the woman on the line asks.

“Emma Barret.”

White Shirt turns around and scrunches up his nose as if disgusted. “Emma Barret,” he mouths.

“Why are you so annoying?” I widen my eyes at him. “You’re very rude.”

He shrugs as if agreeing, turns, and keeps walking, and within seconds he’s fifteen feet in front of me. I half run to keep up with him. “What’s the rush?” I call.

“Do you want to get there or not? The weather is closing in.”

I turn my gaze to the windows and the snow that’s coming down outside. Shit, he’s right.

“Has the card been stolen, or did you lose it?” the lady asks down the phone.

“I’m unsure, I just know I had it and now I don’t.” I pant as I struggle to catch my breath. “Sorry for puffing, I’m running through the airport right now.”

“Okay, let me run through some security questions to verify your identity.”

Jeez… How long is this going to take?

“Hurry up,” he calls from in front.

“I’m going to break my damn ankle,” I call back.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that, please?” the lady on the phone replies.

“Sorry, that was to someone else,” I reply.

“If you break an ankle, I’m not taking you to the hospital,” he calls as he strides toward the exit.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I call back. As we walk out through the doors, the bitter cold bites my face.

While I follow him through the parking lot, I go through a million security questions.

“You have been verified, Miss Barret.”

“Thank you.” Finally…

“Now let’s have a look at what’s been going on with this account.”

I hold my breath as I wait for her reply.

Please let nothing be missing.

He stops in front of a car and frowns over at me. “This can’t be it.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Is this even a car?”

“Apparently.”

“Fiat.” He reads the brand logo on the back of it.

“You agreed to this?” I frown.

“I see that the last transaction was in Chuckies Bar in LAX Airport,” the lady on the phone replies.

“Yes, that’s it,” I cry in relief. “Nothing has been taken.”

“When she said it was a Fiat, I thought it was a big car.” He puts his hands on his hips as he looks it over.

“It’s tiny.” I shrug. “Does it even have snow chains?”

“Can you repeat that, please?” the lady replies.

“Not you, I’m sorry. I’m having multiple conversations. Please put a hold on that card immediately until I contact you again.”

“For sure.” I hear her typing.

He pops the trunk and peers inside. “Yeah, it’s got chains. I’ll put them on when we get out of the city.”

My eyes roam over the skinny wheels. “This does not look safe.”

“I’ve put a hold on the cards for you, Miss Barret.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else⁠—”

I cut her off before she can finish the sentence, “Nope, thank you. Have a good day.” I hang up in a rush. “No money is missing from my card.”

“Great.” He picks up my bag and puts it on the backseat and throws his in too, and we climb into the car.

“I’m not sure about this car.” I look around the inside of it.

“Let me get this straight, you’re with an unlicensed stranger who could be a serial killer who is about to drive you down a deserted road in the middle of nowhere and you are worried about the car.” He pulls out of the parking lot.

“What are you saying?” I glance over to him. “And I know you have a license, or they wouldn’t have given you this car.”

“I’m saying you should be more careful with who you get into cars with. You don’t know me from a bar of soap.” We pull out into the traffic. The snow is falling down, and the wipers go on. “I could be a serial killer who’s about to play tennis with your eyeballs.”

“Nobody plays tennis with eyeballs.” I roll my eyes. “They wouldn’t bounce.” I cross my arms, annoyed.

Idiot.

“I’m pretty sure they would bounce if hit with force with a tennis racket,” he fires back.

“Nope, they’d splat, and I’m pretty sure no serial killers are dreaming about hitting aces with eyeballs. I know you better than you think.”

“Please,” he mutters dryly, “do tell, oh wise one. ”

“I’m guessing you’re a…”

“This is going to be good,” he mutters.

I pause while I try to think of a profession that goes on a lot of work conferences. “A medical sales rep.”

He grips the steering wheel as he listens. “Is that so?”

“Aha.” I google the number of the bar at the airport and call them.

“Hello, Chuckies bar.”

“Hello, I think I left my purse there earlier today.”

“What was your name please?”

“Emma Barret.”

“One moment please. I’ll go and check.”

“Thank you.”

“Go on.” He says.

“What?” I glance over to him.

“I’m a medical sales rep and …?” He widens his eyes as he waits for my answer.

“And you go on all these conferences under the guise of bettering your career when really you are only there for the booty calls.”

“Booty call.” He glances over at me as he drives. “What are you, eighty? Who says booty call?”

“I do.” I scoff. “That’s what it is, having sex with someone for the hell of it is a booty call.”

“Hello Miss Barret, we have your purse here.”

“Thank you so much.” I smile, “I’ll pick it up on Sunday when I come back through.”

“We will put it in the safe for you until you get here.”

“That’s great, thank you so much.” I hang up feeling relieved.

“I prefer to call it a love liaison,” he continues wistfully as he drives onto the freeway.

“A love liaison?” I roll my eyes. “Give me a break, that’s code for fuckboy.” The snow really begins to come down.

“I’d rather be a fuckboy than a bitter, unfriendly, negative Nancy.”

“I am not a Negative Nancy, and for your information, I am very fucking friendly.”

“To whom?”

“People,” I yell. “You know what, just shut up and drive. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to talk to you.”

I stare through the windscreen with my arms crossed.

“And I’ll have you know I am not bitter and unfriendly.” I huff.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I don’t.”

“So why do you keep talking?”

“Because you’re infuriating.”

“I’m infuriating.” He scoffs. “How the fuck am I infuriating? I was just being friendly in the bar, but you being the typical narcissistic female assume that any man who wants to strike up a conversation is only interested in sex. Men can’t win; if we don’t talk to you, we’re gutless, and if we dare do, we’re sleazebags. And for your information, I did not have to offer you a lift, but I did, and now I’m stuck in this car with you, being judged like a felon when I have done absolutely nothing wrong.”

My eyes flick over to him.

“So do me a favor.” He holds his hand up. “Do not say a single fucking word until I drop you off at your hotel in Aspen, and then we will never have to see each other ever again.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

We drive in silence for what seems like hours, and darkness falls. The snow begins to really come down.

This is so dangerous… Crap.

“You didn’t put the snow chains on,” I stammer.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Why didn’t you remind me?”

“Because you’re the driver, and you are supposed to be in charge of these things.”

“Go back to not talking. I like you better that way.”

“Well, are you going to pull over?” I demand. “This is heavy snow, we need them on. Especially in this tin can you rented.”

“It’s better than the car you got us. When I replace somewhere safe to pull over, we will pull over.”

Eventually, we get to a clearing, and he pulls over the car. “I’ll need you to shine your phone flashlight on while I do it.”

“Okay.”

We both climb out, and he gets the chains out of the trunk and I shine the flashlight on the wheel like he told me. He holds the first chain up and we both frown as we stare at it. “This isn’t going to fit.”

He stretches it over the wheel and it’s way too big for the tiny tires. “What is this fucking shit?” he yells. As he puts the chain on the wheel, it slides straight off. “This is the wrong fucking size.”

“Stop swearing,” I reply.

“We are in the middle of a fucking blizzard with no chains in an oversized go-cart. If ever there was a time to swear, this is fucking it!”

“Probably.” I keep holding the light over the tire. The snow really comes down, and I stare up at the sky. “How far is Aspen from here?”

“At least another two hours.”

“We can’t drive two more hours at night with all this ice on the road.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he cries.

“Yelling at me isn’t going to fix this situation.”

“Yes, but it makes me feel better.” He struggles with the chains some more.

I get the giggles.

“There is nothing funny about this. . .” He stops himself from saying the next thing.

“You forgot my name, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What’s my name, then?”

“Pain In My Ass, that’s what your name is.”

“Emma, my name is Emma,” I remind him.

“I knew that.”

“Good.” I keep holding the light. “What was your name again?”

He looks up at me deadpan, and something about him on his hands and knees covered in snow tickles my fancy, and I laugh.

“Again with the inappropriate laughing,” he mutters under his breath.

“Look, these chains aren’t going to work. Let’s just go to the next town and try and get some new ones.”

“Where are we going to get chains at this time of night?”

“If we can’t, we get a couple of hotel rooms and we’ll go to Aspen first thing in the morning.”

“You don’t have any money, and I am not sleeping in a bed with you. This isn’t a fucking Hallmark movie.”

I giggle again. He’s kind of funny when he’s angry. “I’ll transfer you money via internet banking. Actually, I’ll even pay for both rooms as a thank you for giving me a lift.”

His eyes flick up to me and then return to the tire. “Why are you suddenly being nice, are you going to murder me and bury me in the woods now?”

“Not yet, but that could change.” I hold the light up. “And for the last two hours I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you may have a point. I have been overly bitchy and mean. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I’m nervous, and I took it out on you.”

“I wasn’t coming onto you.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not even my type,” he continues.

“Okay, you can shut up now. That’s going too far.”

He stands with the chains in his hands.

“Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing out here,” I tell him.

“Fine.” He throws the chains back into the trunk and we pull back out onto the road.

The wipers are going at full speed, and we are both now damp from the snow. We drive for a while.

“What are you nervous about?” he eventually asks.

I shrug, not really wanting to elaborate.

“Well?”

“Fine… I am going to cold call on my biological mother tomorrow.”

He glances over in question. “Cold call… She doesn’t know you’re coming?”

“Nope.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I want to see her face when I tell her who I am, and the only way I can do that is to”—I shrug—“just turn up.”

“So you’re adopted?”

“Yes.”

“Have you always wanted to replace your biological parents?”

“Well, I didn’t even know I was adopted until twelve months ago.”

His eyes come over to me again. “Your parents didn’t tell you?”

“They still haven’t told me. I found out from my aunt after my mother died suddenly.”

“Oh.” He frowns as if processing what I’m telling him. “What about your father?”

“He ran off with his karate teacher ten years ago and now lives in Bali with his new family. He gives me a token call twice a year. Birthday and Christmas.”

“Oh.” He keeps his eyes on the road this time.

“So, yeah, that’s my fucked-up story.”

“What made you come now?”

“I found out that the woman I’m going to see tomorrow has sold her house, and if I didn’t go this weekend, she might move away somewhere, and I probably won’t be able to replace her again.”

He twists his lips as if wanting to say something

“What?”

“I don’t know if cold calling is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“What if she’s married with a family and they don’t know.”

“Well, that’s tough shit for her,” I huff. “You know what, I don’t care who replaces out about this or how much it upsets her.”

“You seem angry.”

“I’m not angry, I’m just over it, and I have little empathy for a woman who gave me away like I was a puppy in a litter.”

“You don’t want a relationship with her?”

“Nope.”

“So why are you here?”

“I need closure. I found out my entire life has been a lie and I’m stuck in some torturous limbo of not knowing who I am, and I really just need it to end.”

“Okay.” He nods as if understanding. “Do you want to run over her letterbox when we get there?”

“Maybe.” I smirk.

“Throw dog crap at her door?”

“Probably.” I smile over at him. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all. “What was your name again?”

“Aaron.”

“Hi, Aaron.” I hold out my hand as if we just met. “We didn’t formally meet yet, I’m Emma.”

He reaches over and shakes my hand as he drives. “Just to be clear that if you plan on murdering anyone this weekend, I am not going to be your accomplice.”

“Deal.” I smirk. “Unless it’s you, of course… but then that would make you the victim and not the accomplice.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not, actually.”

His unimpressed eyes come over to me, and I laugh and hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

Twenty minutes later, we pull into the town of Vale. The snow is coming down, and we park at a service station while we try and replace somewhere to stay on the booking websites.

Dates not available.

Dates not available.

Dates not available.

“Ugh, why is everything booked out?” I moan.

“It’s Vale.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a ski town, and we just happen to be here during the biggest snow dump of the season. We’ll replace somewhere, just keep looking.”

“I hate skiers.”

“I ski.”

“Of course you do.” I roll my eyes. “Reason two hundred why I should have murdered you in the woods.”

“Okay, here’s a room.” He reads it out, “Queen room with balcony.”

“That will do, just get two rooms.”

He pushes on it. “Only one room available.”

“Just grab it and we will replace another for me somewhere else.”

“Yeah, okay.” He goes through the booking and locks it in.

We look and look and look. The car windows are fogging up, and we are cramped and damp.

“Oh my god, why are there no rooms?” I snap in frustration. “This place is fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m starving, let’s just go check into the hotel and we can keep looking for another room for you while we get dinner at a restaurant.”

“Yeah, okay.” I sigh. “I’m pretty hungry too.”

Ten minutes later, we pull into the hotel and make our way to reception. “Hello, I have a booking under the name of Aaron Hammond.”

“Hello, Mr. Hammond,” the hotel attendant says. “Just for one night?”

“Yes. You don’t happen to have a second room, do you?”

“No, but there are a lot of people who haven’t checked in yet and may not be able to get here due to the snow- storm. I’m about to contact them to confirm their bookings. It will be another hour or so before I know if I have anything, though.”

“That would be great.”

The attendant passes over the key. “Take the elevator to level two.”

“Thanks.” Aaron glances over to me. “Let’s put your bag in my room and you can get it when we get back.”

“Yeah, okay.”

We make our way up to the room. It’s big and nice with modern amenities, and I look around. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, pretty nice.” He unzips his bag. “I’m all wet, I’m going to have a quick shower and change before dinner.”

“I would love a shower too.” I agree.

“Okay.” He grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom and closes the door. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I take it out to see thirty-two missed calls.

Fuck, I forgot to call Kara back. I dial her number.

“Where the hell are you?” she answers. “I’ve been going out of my mind thinking you’ve been murdered.”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you so dramatic?”

“You call me and tell me you are at an airport with no wallet and then go missing for three hours?”

“Sorry. I’m at Vale. I met a guy and he drove me here and now we have a hotel room.”

“Wait, what? You met a guy, what guy?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that. He’s a player from hell, but he’s helped me. I think he’s a nice guy as long as you aren’t sleeping with him. He’s paying for the hotel on his card and I’m transferring him the money.”

“Is he hot?”

“Smoking.” I hear the shower turn off and my eyes rise to the door. “I’ve got to go, he’s getting out of the shower.”

“What the fuck, he’s in the shower? And he’s smoking hot? Get in there, you idiot.”

“Goodbye, Kara.”

“Oh my god, call me back. I need updates and⁠—”

I hang up on her midsentence.

I rustle through my bag. Damn it, why did I only bring dresses to wear out at night? Because I had a stupid fantasy of going out to dinner and meeting some suave Aspen millionaire, that’s why.

I pick out a black dress. This will have to do.

The bathroom door opens and Aaron walks out, wearing black jeans and a white button-up shirt. He smells of soap and some kind of delicious aftershave, and jeez…

He looks up and our eyes meet. As if he’s reading my mind, a trace of a smile crosses his face.

Bastard knows he’s hot, too.

“You look average,” I lie as I walk past him into the bathroom

He chuckles as if surprised. “Yeah, well, I had to bring my average down to match my date.”

“This isn’t a date,” I call as I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Fuck.