When I was a little boy, the best thing about the holiday season was unwrapping presents on Christmas morning — tearing off the paper and tossing it on the floor. Now that I’m a man, I like to unwrap slowly, deliberately, taking my time to savor what lies before me. I still like to throw the wrapping on the floor, but now I know the best gifts come wrapped in lace.
And unlike when I was a kid, I won’t get sick of this present by New Year’s. I’ll definitely be playing with this girl day after day after day.
After six years avoiding my hometown, the last thing I expected when I returned was a wannabe bad girl to unwrap my heart and rip open my soul. But that’s exactly what happened. Now if I can just get the hell out of my own way, maybe I’ll finally get the best gift of all — her!
Come get unwrapped by Drew this holiday.
“There was this guy.”
“OOH, a guy.”
“Shut up,” I said, laughing. “We flirted and drank all night, and he was so hot and sweet and. . . .”
“You are totally gushing over a boy. I can’t believe it.”
“I am not,” I protested, but I knew I was. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Why not?”
“I threw up before we got that far.”
Sabrina fell back on my bed laughing. “You did not.”
I hid my head back under my pillow. “I did.”
“Girl, you are hopeless,” she said, still laughing. “How hot was he?”
I came out from hiding. “Pretty damn hot.”
“As in you’d shave for him? That hot?”
“As in I’d wax for him.”
Sabrina started to fan herself, and I got up and headed to my bathroom, looking for some aspirin. “We’ve got to find this wax-worthy gentleman,” Sabrina called out.
Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren't enough happily ever afters in real life.
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