Good Elf Gone Wrong: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

Gracie’s big brown eyes were glued to mine.

Thanks to the soaking-wet dress, I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.

She stepped up to me.

I watched her swallow, the pulse jumping in her neck.

Her hands slid up my chest, sliding easily on my wet skin.

She reached up on her toes in those high heels, leaning forward, catching her weight on me, then hesitated, her breath warm against my mouth.

“Thank you. You’re my hero,” she whispered then, softly like the first snowflake of winter, brushed her lips to mine. It was chaste, sweet.

I closed my eyes, savoring the purity of it.

Wrong fucking word, asshole.

I allowed my hands to rest briefly on her waist, resisting the urge to slide them up and cup her breasts, feel how hard her nipples were, to whisper in her ear that she should let me fuck her in the back of the truck and show her how wet she could really get.

“You saved Christmas.” She really was gazing at me like I was her knight in shining armor, her Nutcracker Prince. That shy desire was intoxicating. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her, kiss her, bask in her adoration.

“It was nothing,” I said after a moment, forcing myself to step away.

“For the man of the hour,” Granny Murray announced, coming by with a tray of shots.

I knocked back the drink, then another, then a third. I normally never drank that much on a job. Sure, it might look like I did, but I would tip the drink out or leave the glass on a random table and go to the bar and grab another. I needed to be stone-cold sober to work. But now all I wanted to do was drink enough alcohol to wash away all thoughts of Gracie.

I grabbed a mop from the supply closet and tackled the water all over the floor.

It would be a lot easier if she would just go away. Anywhere. But Gracie kept trying to help me. Even though I had rolled my shirt back on after drying off, she was still in her wet clothes. She was practically steaming whenever she got close to me, trying to take the mop or roll the bucket closer.

The sweet cinnamon sugar scent of her, like Christmas morning, wafted up.

You don’t even like cookies.

I bet I would like hers though.

“Seems he actually is a maintenance man,” Gracie’s ex said loudly. “Thanks for cleaning up that little spill there, Hudson.” He tipped his glass to me.

“Anything for Gracie,” I said, trying to keep my tone even.

I’d had good training in schooling my expression when I worked at the country club, cleaning up after the rich fat cats and their soft sons, picking up golf balls in the middle of the night and clearing tables.

Working in a country club will really make you hate humanity. I made good tips though.

“I’m going to call your boss and tell him what an upstanding employee you are,” James continued.

I clenched the mop handle.

You don’t care. You do not care. You just used these minimum wage jobs to be invisible, to have access. You are not a broke teenager anymore.

Between Gracie and the alcohol, I felt like I was starting to spiral.

“Shut up, James,” Gracie snapped. “Go bother someone else.”

After cleaning up the rest of the water, I ordered some new parts to fix the pipe.

While her family partied, Gracie kept bringing me snacks and drinks.

I both craved and hated the way I felt when she looked up at me like I was her hero, like she was in love with me. Usually the women I dealt with were spoiled princesses; it was easy to dismiss them.

“Did you not bring a change of clothes?” I growled when she came over with more food and another drink.

Her curly hair had been blown out of her fancy updo and was tangled around her face.

“Of course I did, but my cousin spilled wine on her shirt, so I lent her the dress,” she explained, picking up the drink off the tray and handing it to me.

Against my better judgment, I downed it.

“You trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?” I rasped.

“What? Of course not,” she cried. “I feel bad.”

She leaned in toward me, and I kissed her because I could, because we had an audience, and wasn’t that part of the plan?

Gracie melted like hot chocolate against me.

I am fucking addicted.

Then,

I think I drank too much.

Which I hadn’t done since I was a fucking teenager, and wasn’t that just great? Gracie was standing between me and a big payday and undoing a decade’s worth of self-improvement.

“I know cleaning up after my family is very much not in your job description,” she whispered to me.

I kissed her again and slid my hands down her damp clothes that clung to her curves.

“I’m trying to be nice,” she whispered against my mouth. “Also if you don’t eat anything now, I can’t promise there will be leftovers. My family attacked the food and drinks like a pack of locusts.”

“Really?” I said, peering at her. “Because you’re not drinking. Seems suspect.”

“Gracie is our designated driver,” her dad chirped from behind her. “Speaking of, I’m beat, Gracie. Do you think you could drop me and your mom off then come back here and clean up? We don’t want to get fined.”

I clumsily put my arm around her shoulder, drawing her to my chest.

“Designated driver, huh?” I said, squeezing her tight, loving the way her soft body fitted against mine. “Sounds like you’re driving me home.”

“Well, actually we—”

I ignored her parents and grabbed my jacket, herding Gracie out into the wintery evening.

“Where’s your car?” I asked.

“I don’t have a car,” she said, digging in my jacket pocket.

“Fuck, you really do want me to fuck you.” I kissed her again. She tasted like candy apple and was pliant in my arms. I suddenly wanted all of her.

I dipped my head down, brushing my mouth to the soft underside of her neck to her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts.

This time I gave in and cupped her huge tits in my hands. Her nipples were hard, pebbled under my fingers.

Gracie was gasping, and I was sure if I slid my fingers between her legs, she’d be soaked, and not from the burst pipe.

“Are you wet for me?” I whispered against her mouth, claiming it again. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Get a room you two!” One of her great-aunts cackled as her nephew helped her to a waiting cab.

It broke the spell I had over Gracie.

“Where is your truck?” she asked, jingling the keys at me.

She was shivering in her damp clothes. The cold air was starting to sober me up too.

“Go back inside,” I ordered her. “I’ll walk.”

“I’m not letting you walk home like this,” she protested. “You’re drunk.”

“Bad boy, remember?” I said, reaching for the keys.

She skipped back, putting me off-balance.

“Yikes. Yeah, you’re going to fall in a snowdrift and no one will find you ’til spring,” she said. She was visibly shivering.

I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her.

She pressed the button on the key fob. A truck nearby beeped.

“Score!”

“You don’t know how to drive this car,” I said, following her through the dark. “I can call …” My brothers. “A friend.”

“You have friends?” She stuck her tongue out at me.

“Aren’t we friends?” I teased.

Of course we were not. Even though she had taken me shopping with her and I’d helped decorate the venue and chopped wood, we were not friends.

“Vroom!” Gracie said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Your feet barely touch the pedals,” I told her, leaning back against the frosty window and crossing my arms.

“I got this,” she insisted as the truck roared to life.

Gracie was a horrible driver.

“Can you please watch the fucking road?” I bellowed as she careened down the empty, icy street back into town.

“I am.”

“You’re watching the radio.”

“I don’t understand why they can’t put real buttons in a car anymore,” she said as she peered at the touchpad while roaring down the street.

“For god’s sake, woman, keep your eyes on the road.”

“Fine. You look for a Christmas station, then.”

“Can you go ten minutes without Christmas music?” I snarled at her as I turned the radio off, or tried to. It connected with her phone Bluetooth, and “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted out of the stereo.

“Put on the vintage playlist,” she said, reaching for her phone.

“Fuck, Gracie,” I shouted as she creamed an inflatable Santa Claus. “That’s it. Pull over. I’m walking.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just one little mishap. I’m not used to driving is all,” she said, trying to put the truck into gear as we headed up a hill. “I’ve been living in New York City the past few years.”

The truck lurched and made a grinding noise. Grayson was going to kill me.

“Oops. That doesn’t sound good,” Gracie said, both feet working the pedals like it was a fucking organ.

“At least I know how I’m going to die. That’s one of life’s great uncertainties solved,” I said then hung on for dear life as she took a hard left turn at an intersection.

“Sorry,” she called, watching the GPS, the phone still in her hand. “Oh, shoot. It was that building, wasn’t it?”

“Just stop here,” I begged, reaching for the handle.

“We provide door side service here at Gracie’s taxi company,” she insisted, making a hard U-turn in the middle of the road.

There was a horrible crunching noise as the side of the tire scraped against the sidewalk curb.

“Cut that one a little close,” she said with a laugh and screeched to a halt in front of my building.

I let out a breath.

“You,” I said, “are never, ever driving any vehicle I am in ever again.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. I’m stone-cold sober now. I’ve been in firefights in Afghanistan that were less stressful than driving with you.”

Gracie unbuckled her seatbelt.

Did she want to come upstairs with me?

My cock was very intrigued by the prospect. Too bad I had sobered up enough to not give in.

Gracie was pulling off my jacket.

“Keep it. I’ll grab it tomorrow,” I told her then held out my hand.

She blinked at me.

“The keys,” I said to her confused look. “I called you an Uber,” I lied.

I had not, in fact, called her an Uber. I had called an employee of mine to drive her back to the venue and to text me immediately when she got there and to follow her as she drove her parents’ home.

“Thanks, Hudson.”

“It’s because I don’t want you tearing up my car,” I said, opening the car door.

The driver’s side door slammed, then Gracie was standing in front of me on the sidewalk, inspecting the car.

“Not too bad, right?” She winced. “Guess you’re never letting me borrow the truck,” she said, spontaneously grabbing my hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m baking cookies tomorrow,” she continued, her smaller hand still warm in mine. “You should come.” She was gazing at me with that shy desire again, then she started doing that hesitating lean thing, like she was silently asking me to kiss her.

All I wanted to do was fuck her.

Her body was pressed closer to mine now; my head dipped down.

Stop this.

“Don’t touch me,” I said harshly and pushed her away. “Don’t get too cozy. This is a fake relationship, remember. I work for you. Don’t be one of those girls that falls for every guy she sleeps with—it’s not cute.”

“Right,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Sorry about that.”

A black car pulled up with a fake Uber sign in the window. I recognized one of my employees.

Gracie reached for the door handle and hesitated.

“I guess I’ll—”

I ignored her and turned to head to my apartment building. In the reflection in the window, I watched as she got in the car and it drove away.

“I am not falling for her,” I said to my reflection as I unlocked the door to the building. “And I do not feel guilty that I yelled at her.”