Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“What’s with this song? I hear it every time I come in the store.”
Katie, one of Moody’s sales assistants, chuckled as she tore open a box of merchandise I’d carried in from storage. “Moody loves it.”
Yes, hanging out at Moody’s Marvelous Bah Humbug Bookshop had become a daily habit. It happened organically. Sort of.
I’d start my day bright and early on the ranch, watering and feeding animals, meeting the staff, and generally getting the lay of the land. By early afternoon, I’d run out of ways to be useful. Sure, I would have been welcome anywhere on the ranch if I jumped in to help, but something pulled me into town…to Moody.
What had begun with a friendly check-in to make sure he was feeling well after his illness had become an afternoon ritual that usually ended with me doing some manual labor. The toilet got clogged; I volunteered to fix it. The boxes in the alley needed to be broken down; I was the man for the job. The Ghastly Grinchy Holiday display was a mess? No worries, I didn’t mind diverting kids while Moody and his elves cleaned up.
Everyone knew we were friends, and they might have even suspected there was something more between us, but neither of us paid attention. We were at that blissful phase where a budding friendship collided with amazing sex. I wanted to kiss him, blow him, fuck him…and yeah, I wanted to know what made him tick.
Funny enough, I knew he felt the same about me. I caught his clandestine stares and noticed his blush when I waltzed into his shop. His hand trembled when I brushed our pinkies and offered to help. And when he was ready to close for the day, he let me walk him home…no squawking about not needing an escort.
Why would he? The second he clicked the lock, we were all over each other, tearing off clothing in a rabid effort to get to skin. Honestly, I loved that we’d mutually reached the same conclusion that there was no reason to overanalyze our attraction. It existed. That was enough.
I was addicted to Moody—the curve of his spine as he rode my cock, the sharp jut of his pelvic bone as he picked up the pace, the rise and fall of his chest as he chased his orgasm, and that sweet, whimpery sound he made as he shot his load…yeah, sign me up.
It was more difficult to explain why his smile made my heart skip a beat and why his curious list of eccentricities seemed like clues I shouldn’t ignore.
Like this damn song.
“You have to admit that this song is on heavy rotation and—”
“That’s because I’m exceedingly fond of it.” Moody popped his head around a bookshelf, pausing to give me a thorough once-over.
I flashed a knowing grin that made him blush and damn it, I wanted him again. I pushed my porny thoughts aside and tried to remember what the hell we were talking about.
“Moody loves sad holiday songs,” Katie chimed in. “He’s like a reverse romantic during the holidays.”
“Hmph. I like it, it stays,” Moody scowled. “Feel free to vamoose now if you want, Katie. It’s almost five o’clock anyway.”
“Oh! Thank you. I need to stop at the market for confectioners’ sugar before it’s sold out. I’ll grab you some too,” she said, squeezing his arm as she passed by.
“I don’t require sugar.”
“Actually, you do. Vicki put your name on the gingerbread house sign-up sheet and I think you forgot to cross it out like you usually do, so…you better get baking! See you tomorrow, Moody.”
I frowned. “Gingerbread house sign-up?”
Moody shook his head in resigned exasperation. “It’s a yearly contest in town that I won’t be partaking in.”
“Why not? If I recall correctly, you mentioned you were a decent baker.”
“I’m excellent,” he huffed indignantly.
“But…” I prompted.
“It’s…” His glasses slipped as he wrinkled his brow, the way he always did when his brain and mouth were out of sync. “…messy. You have to bake the gingerbread from scratch, no prepackaged designs. And then you have to assemble it and decorate with aplomb.”
“Hmm. Sounds like fun. I’ll sign up.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Do you bake?”
“No, but it can’t be that hard, and you can help me.” I trailed a finger along his forearm, loving the flustered flare of desire he couldn’t quite mask.
“I know what you’re doing. This is more trickeration.”
“Trickeration?” I repeated with a laugh. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s gingerbread.”
“Baking is a science. Not difficult, necessarily, but it requires patience and…and…you have no idea how cutthroat this competition gets. This isn’t Christmas Town’s version of The Great British Baking Show. This is war.”
I snorted derisively. “Really?”
He fiddled with his glasses again. “Well, not war, but…a very serious contest that requires a team of bakers. Katie partners with her mom, Vicki signs me up on Team Vixen, knowing full well that I’ll politely bow out, and—”