My Favorite Holidate Read Online Lauren Blakely

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
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“She matches you, tuxedo cat and all. She’s the perfect feline for you.”

He glances down at his suit. “I’m not wearing a tuxedo right now.”

“No, but I bet there’s one in your closet.”

He steps closer and holds my gaze, his eyes gleaming. “Two, Fable. Two.”

He doesn’t look away. I roll my lips together, liking his stare more than I should. I shake off this feeling blooming in my chest—whatever it is—and sweep my arm around the space, indicating his home.

Yes, it’s luxurious, out of nearly everyone’s league. But it’s also lived in and loved. “I like your house. It looks like home,” I say.

Tilting his head, he studies me, his eyes soft, vulnerable. “Thanks. Hardly anyone says that.” A pause. “Actually, no one.”

“Then they’re missing the obvious.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

For a few seconds, the air feels charged. Like we’ve crossed some line, more than we did with our practice kiss. Or maybe the crackle and pop comes from being, well, seen.

Before we leave his room, though, he sets a hand on my arm. His expression serious, he says, “Let’s be the best best man and maid of honor there is. And let’s show Brady that he’s the one who lost.”

He takes my hand, and we walk down the stairs like that—even though no one’s looking.

But I’m looking. And I’m liking this. “You’re holding my hand,” I whisper.

He starts to let go. “I was…practicing.”

“We’re getting good at that. Practicing.”

There’s a slight hitch in his breath, then he grits out, “We are.”

I grab hold tighter on his hand so he can’t stop. “Keep practicing.”

He blinks, and for a few dangerous seconds, I swear I see something real flash in his eyes.

But that can’t be. He’s just very, very good at everything he does, including this game. And soon, it’s showtime.

16

HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE PAYBACK

Wilder

The number of men here in undershirts with smudge on their faces is…well, there are too many. At least that’s better than adults in bunny jammies.

“Grown men in jammies,” I say to Leo. Leaning against the kitchen counter, we watch the guests drink mimosas and discuss their costumes. “Things that should not be allowed in public.”

“Even for a Christmas costume party, jammies are too much. Also, I don’t like the word jammies.”

I laugh. “So don’t use it.”

“That’s it. Done. Never saying it again.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Besides, Ralphie detested the pink bunny pajamas made famous in A Christmas Story. Memorializing the kid’s humiliation, even a fictional kid…?

“That’s just wrong,” I say, nodding to the not one but two guys dressed in pink flannel.

Leo tips his chin toward a man in a Scrooge costume—a nightshirt and a robe. “Another costume that’s an excuse to wear pjs to a party. Wrong too.” He turns to me. “Does that make us scrooges?”

“If we are, I’ll die on Scrooge Hill. You shouldn’t wear slippers, bathrobes, or pajamas out of the house. Or to someone else’s house. It defeats the basic premise and promise of pajamas,” I say, then eye Leo’s getup—John McClane, AKA Bruce WiIlis’s character from Die Hard, in the classic tank top. “But you’re okay.”

Leo gestures to his action hero attire. “It was either this or Elf.”

“And you picked McClane because you don’t look good in tights?” I ask, with a straight face.

He laughs. “Man, I’m not sure anyone does,” he says as my gaze strays again to the door. It’s been doing that often as I await the inevitable.

The arrival of the jackass ex.

As if the alarm system read my mind, the panel by the door buzzes. Leo and I head to the foyer and check the screen. I grit my teeth at the sight of Brady, but I let him in, anyway. He strides inside and—that’s his costume?

Of course that’s his costume, glasses and all. It’s so fitting.

“Leo, my man!” he says. I think I detect a British accent. Or really, Brady’s attempt at a British accent? Guess he’s committed to his character. “Are you counting down the last days of bachelorhood?”

Leo laughs, shaking his head. “More like counting down to the most wonderful day of all.”

“Right, right,” Brady says, all jovial and cousin-y.

It takes every ounce of restraint not to give him a piece of my mind. I know what he did. And he’s scum. He hurt Fable.

There’s also part of me that’s keenly aware that if she hadn’t walked in on him, we might not be faking it. And so far, this fake romance is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

Leo tips his forehead toward the living room. “Better join my sexy Mean Girl,” he says and makes his way toward Charlotte. She’s wearing a short red dress and a Santa cap like, I brilliantly deduce, a character in that movie wore. Or characters, since Josie and Maeve are dressed the same, which would never happen by accident. Everly’s here too, but she’s in a red cape over a black-and-white dress. I don’t recognize her costume either.


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