Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

What in all honesty could I do to Kelly?

I was her unpaid wedding planner; therefore, I knew all the vendors had already been booked, decorations ordered, catering menu approved, and cake deposit paid. There wasn’t much left to sabotage.

“Just face it,” I told myself angrily. “You’re not going to do anything. You never do anything. You’re going to eat the rest of the cheese in this Advent calendar, then you’re going to go home and hide in the kitchen while your family talks shit about you losing yet another boyfriend to your sister, and then come the New Year, you’ll be back at your desk doing everyone’s work for them.”

It wasn’t fair that my sister could ruin my life over and over and everyone still loved her and catered to her and gave Kelly everything she wanted.

I blinked back tears. A long-haul bus trip was bad enough without being the crying girl.

Just my luck, it was a full bus. I wasn’t even going to get a row to myself.

“Watch it!” a woman snapped at me as I pushed my way to the back of the bus, looking for an empty seat.

There was only one open seat in the back.

An angry-looking man in a worn leather jacket and heavy boots was manspreading in an aisle seat, arms crossed, reading a book. He ignored me when I stopped in front of him.

I cleared my throat.

“Excuse me.”

Pugnog barked, though since he was a pug, it was more of a wheeze.

The man acted like he didn’t even hear me.

“Excuse me,” I said, louder this time. “Is this seat taken?”

The man, wearing a black skullcap, looked up at me, annoyed.

I shivered as his pale-gray, almost-silver eyes met mine. There was a scar on his forehead and another under his jaw.

Dakota’s right. You need to grow a backbone.

“Could you scoot over so I can sit?” I asked firmly.

The man sighed in annoyance and made a big show of closing his book and standing up. He didn’t even offer to put my bag up above on the rack and instead stood there, arms crossed, and watched me struggle with it.

What a dick, I thought as I wedged myself into the window seat.

The man sat down beside me and resumed his reading and manspreading.

I hugged the window as the bus rumbled to life and we turned out of the bus depot.

My seat neighbor read, I stewed, and Pugnog snored loudly and drooled as the bus drove at a snail’s pace north from New York City to Rhode Island.

I bet James was halfway there already, driving the company car, because, of course, my father was going to side with my ex-fiancé over me, his firstborn child.

I didn’t even get paid enough to take the train. Whenever I had asked my dad for a raise, he hemmed and hawed and say that it would mean he’d have to take money from someone else in the family. Like that was some great loss. Shoot, Kelly was on the payroll, and she barely did anything besides sleep with my fiancé. Now she’d gone and torn up that dress.

Even though I knew it was going to make me cry, I opened my phone and stared at the photo of my great-grandmother in the handmade lace wedding dress, her hair piled high on her head in an Edwardian pouf.

Dakota was right; my sister needed to pay. I’d suffered because of Kelly for the last twenty-five years. A woman had to take a stand. Lines needed to be drawn.

A plan, a plan, Gracie, you need a plan.

I fished out my Advent calendar, bumping Mr. Leather-Jacket with my elbow.

He gave me a dirty look.

“You can stay on your side of the armrest then,” I muttered under my breath.

See? Growing a backbone.

I pulled out the calendar and opened another door. This one had Muenster cheese.

It wasn’t fair, I thought as I angrily chewed the cheese. James wasn’t even Kelly’s type. I stuffed some of the cheese in Pugnog’s stunted jaw, and he chewed noisily, snorting like a piglet and drooling.

I could feel the anger radiating off of my seat neighbor.

Kelly liked bad boys, guys like, well, like Mr. Manspreader over there, whose knee was practically halfway over my seat. I scrunched closer to the window, which only served to allow his legs to splay even more.

Was it too late to book a vacation? Christmas in my hometown of Maplewood Falls was my favorite time of year, but instead of being a newlywed with a baby on the way, I was going to watch my sister marry my ex while all my nosy aunts asked me when I was going to start dating again.

Tears dripped down my nose.

I ripped open another door on the Advent calendar, much to Pugnog’s delight and Mr. Leather Jacket’s annoyance. I took a bite of the sharp Manchego. This time next year, Kelly was going to be pregnant. I’d have to listen to everyone make comments about how they always thought I would be the one to give my parents their first grandchild because I was the one who liked to bake, sew, take care of people, and decorate. My mom would declare Kelly her favorite daughter ever, and I’d have to listen to my sister be insufferably smug about motherhood.

Bet she steals my baby name, too, and butchers the spelling, just like she did that vintage dress.

I straight up ripped off three more doors and stuffed a fistful of cheese in my mouth.

Pugnog slobbered and whined then fell backward onto the lap of Mr. Doesn’t-Respect-Other-People’s-Personal-Space.

“Can you control your mutant dog?” he snarled in a deep voice, deeper than I was used to after dealing with James and all the Manhattan suits all day long.

“Can you control the location of your knees?” I shrieked, cheese flying out of my mouth.

Pugnog ran for it, leaking slobber everywhere.

“This is disgusting.” My seatmate’s mouth twisted into a snarl.

“Take the train next time,” I snapped at him.

It was very unlike me. Usually I tried to be nice to everyone, but today had been a very bad day.

Focus on your revenge.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the type of person who dreamed up elaborate revenge plots. Instead, I planned my dream house—a historic Victorian with a garden and a big fancy kitchen and lots of children.

Now all of that was going to my sister. Ten years from now, I would still be sitting on the bus with a selfish, egotistical seat neighbor while my sister waltzed through life, stomping all over my dreams and ruining my Christmas.

I cannot deal with her being pregnant next year, I decided. It’s going to trigger a mental breakdown, and who knows what I might do? I have to break up their relationship. I’m not doing it for me. I’m doing it for the world. I must find a way to stop that Christmas wedding from happening.

And suddenly, like reindeer on a rooftop, an idea appeared. An awful idea. A wonderful, awful idea, because I was now in my Grinch season.

My sister was always boy crazy. Unlike me, who wanted to settle down with my soulmate, my sister was always looking for the next big thing, and that next big thing usually resided in the pants of a hot male, preferably one with lots of tattoos, a terrible attitude, and no respect for authority.

James was not her type. I had a hunch that she was disappointed with his bad jokes, his pudgy shortness, sweater vests, and lackluster bedroom performance. The only reason she was with him was because of the excitement of stealing something that belonged to me and the drama surrounding the whole situation.

But that was last year. As we counted down to Christmas, this was officially the longest relationship my sister had ever been in. The wedding excitement was waning. Kelly was staring down the barrel of a boring suburban life, because that’s what James wanted—a housewife to take care of him, suffer through his demands, and suck his dick every once in a while. My sister wanted glam, drama, screaming fights in the middle of the street, jealous men, passionate sex, and a whirlwind romance.

All I needed to do was slide an ideal man in front of her, one who looked like he had stepped out of her wildest fantasies, a tall, muscular, tattooed bad boy who would give my father a heart attack and make James jealous. To make it extra enticing though, I needed that bad boy to be my boyfriend. My sister couldn’t resist blowing up her marriage to steal something of mine.

It was the perfect plan. Muahahah!

My villain origin story, complete with a bug-eyed sidekick and all the cheese I could eat. Well…

I looked down at the empty, torn-up Advent calendar.

Some wine would be good with this.

The only problem with my epic revenge plan? I didn’t have a bad boy.

Mr. I-Hate-Pugs was stoically sitting next to me, ignoring Pugnog’s snorting and reading his book. He’d removed the book jacket, and I couldn’t make out the title. It was probably one of those how-to-be-a-sociopath-to-pick-up-women type of books.

Don’t ask him. Find someone on Craigslist or the Meat Market app. You need a professional.

I wished I’d had this brilliant idea when I was still in New York City. Then I could have hired an out-of-work actor. If I tried to hire anyone in my hometown, word would for sure get back to my sister.

I chewed on my lip and tried not to look at the tall, broad-shouldered man in the seat next to me.

He flipped a page in his book.

My mouth was dry.

Grow a spine.

I turned and studied him.

He was handsome; the scar made him seem rugged and mysterious. With the straight nose and strong jaw, he was totally my sister’s type. To be fair, he might be any woman’s type. Not mine, though.

I bet he’s wearing that skullcap to hide a bald spot, I thought uncharitably.

Mr. Bad Boy flipped another page in his book then turned his body slightly toward me.

I quickly crossed my arms and faced the window.

You cannot ask a strange man to be your fake boyfriend, I scolded myself. That’s … well, it’s rude.

Besides, I’d have to pay him, and who knew how much money you had to pay a man to be your fake boyfriend. What was the going rate for that these days?

Maybe it wouldn’t be too expensive. If he was riding a bus, then he must need money.

No, this is crazy. Just distract yourself with planning the postwedding Christmas brunch and do some knitting.

I pulled out the doggy sweater I was making. I was in the process of knitting holiday outfits for the local animal shelter to use to dress up their wards for Facebook posts and hopefully help find the dogs new homes.

The needles clacked as I knitted. Every so often, I glanced over at Mr. I-Insult-Pugs. Outside the bus window, dirty snow was piled on the side of the highway. This was the scene I was going to witness every Christmas from now until eternity, because I’d lost my one chance of getting a halfway decent boyfriend, and none of the men at that speed-dating event Dakota had dragged me to had written down that they wanted to keep talking to me, and I was going to ride in this slow, smelly, too-hot bus every Christmas forever and ever, and never have a house or a family or wear that dress.

I dropped a stitch. Dammit.

Do it.

I licked my lips; my mouth was dry.

Knitting clutched in my hands, I turned to the bad boy sitting next to me.

“Do … um …” I cleared my throat. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

His finger paused on the page he was turning. He fixed those pale-silver eyes on me, a dusty gray like the winter sky.

“No. Why? Are you offering?”

“Sort of. See, I kind of need to break up my sister and her boyfriend. She’s dating my ex. He’s a jerk. It’s complicated. But I need you to be my boyfriend so I can ruin her wedding. I don’t know if you do that type of work?”

I smiled hopefully.

The book closed with a loud thud.

He looked angry.

“Er, never mind,” I squeaked and held up my knitting. “I’ll get started on those baby socks. Forget I said anything.”

But he didn’t go back to his book.

“So you want a fake boyfriend.”

“Um, yeah. I mean that was the plan. But plans change …”

Those ghostly eyes still locked on mine, he leaned over, his huge body crowding my space.

I scrunched against the window.

“You sure you can handle it?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice. He smelled like leather and the winter wind.

No. No, I don’t think I can.

I swallowed. The empty Advent calendar was digging into my side.

“Yes,” I squawked.

“Prove it,” he said, his breath cool on my cheek.

He twisted out of his jacket, the ridges of muscle under the tight gray T-shirt flexing and rippling as he shrugged off the garment.

“Give me a hand job.” The baritone voice deepened. “I have my jacket on my lap. No one will know. Just go for it.”

My eyes were about as big and round as Pugnog’s and ready to pop out of my head.

“Unzip my fly,” he breathed against my mouth, “and stroke my cock.”

My stomach was flip-flopping. The air between us was supercharged, and my skin felt tight and prickly.

“I-I can’t,” I stammered.

He huffed out a laugh, smirked, and pulled his jacket back on, the leather creaking.

“Thought so.” He sat back in his seat and opened up his book. “You’re weak. You have an elaborate revenge plan all mapped out, yet you clearly can’t handle having a fake boyfriend.”

“I just wanted you to show up at dinner and brood and scowl.” I flapped my hands.

No man had ever been that forward with me, especially not one who looked and sounded like this one.

“Have you ever planned anything more complicated than a dinner party in your life?” he asked, lip curled up derisively.

“I have a job,” I protested.

“I was in the military,” he retorted, “and as someone who was paid to destroy things for a living, your plan to get back at your sister sucks. You’ve failed before you even started.”

The tears were threatening again. I blinked them back. I should have bought two cheese-filled Advent calendars.

“Tears don’t win wars, Sugarplum.” He opened his book.

I angrily wiped my eyes.

“You’re such an asshole,” I said.

Those eyes flicked up from the page. “Excuse me?”

“You’re perfect,” I said determinedly. “Kelly’s going to love you and dump her fiancé like that.” I snapped my fingers.

He snorted and continued to read his book.

I shoved the knitting in my purse that was on the floor between my knees.

In for a penny …

I flexed my fingers then leaned over and reached for his zipper.

He swore loudly and slapped my hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m showing you I can do this,” I said stubbornly, going for his crotch again. “I can complete the mission. I’m committed.”

“I don’t want you to give me a hand job in a bus,” he snapped. “I just wanted to see what I was working with. Besides, you look like you give terrible hand jobs.”

“You’re so rude.” I smiled at him. “When can you start?”

He fixed that snowy gaze on me.

“What would be your, ah, going rate?” I asked. “I’m thinking definitely I need you at the wedding kickoff party and the holiday party and to just hang around the house a few nights.”

“You think I regularly date women for money?” He set his book down.

I shrugged helplessly. “The economy is rough right now. I could do a flat fee, maybe $600. Is that too low?”

I winced when he looked at me, incredulous.

“Do you take credit card?” I fumbled for my wallet.

Mr. Bad Boy took the credit card from me, face softening.

“Actually, I think we can help each other out. I have a rich grandmother I need to impress with a pretty girlfriend so I can get my billion-dollar inheritance.”

“Oh, really?” I cried. “That works out perfectly then.”

“No,” he snarled and threw the credit card at me. “This isn’t a fucking Hallmark movie, Sugarplum. I want cash: $5,000.”

I sucked in a breath. “You sure you don’t want that hand job?”

He gave me a wolfish smile.

“Fine. You dress up in a sexy elf outfit and let me have you however I want for a weekend, and we’ll call it even.”