HolidayHangover Read Online Free

lower lip.
    “You might want the coffee and aspirin now.” Awkward silence
follows. “For the hangover. Am I right?”
    I reach my hand out, still unable to face my lover in the
light of day and reality of sobriety. He places the tablets in my palm. What if
drunk Jane saw a hot Latin lover but the sober truth didn’t support my
intoxicated memory of Raul? Weren’t all Rauls hot? Or could he have gingivitis
and a beer gut? The costume had hung loose over a mystery body. If he was as
sexy as my sloshed remembrance, wouldn’t I have noticed him sooner than last
night? What I’d seen through bleary eyes earlier that morning had looked
sizzling hot, unless I’d still been bombed.
    I pop the pills into my mouth and reach for the proffered mug
of coffee. He places it in my hands.
    “Waffles in less than five, Jane.” He doesn’t leave.
    I wait, part of me wishing he’d leave, most of me hoping he’ll
strip naked and join me. “Okay.”
    My “okay” must have satisfied him because he retreats. I
close my eyes and nurse my hot coffee, just the way I like it with cream and
sugar. How did he know? Maybe we brought our party upstairs for coffee last
night.
    No. I distinctly recall now that he held up a bottle of
Patrón and two shot glasses last night and said, “I heard a rumor that tequila
makes your clothes fall off.”
     
    “Trisha has a big mouth,” I replied, and wondered if he’d
ever shared a drink or anything more intimate with Trisha or the buxom blonde
from 202A. In my opinion, Raul could do better than reserved little ol’ me,
with the sensible shoes and comfortable wardrobe.
    “Yeah, in the future I wouldn’t confide in her if you can
help it,” he agreed, pouring two shots of tequila. He passed one to me and
clinked his glass with mine. “Here’s to good neighbors.”
    “Cheers.” I downed the liquid courage and gasped.
    Raul poured me another. He still wore the silly costume,
minus the beard, reminding me of a naughty Santa. Curious about the physique I’d
felt in the booth, I appraised him from the safety of the other side of his
kitchen island. His gorgeous brown eyes studied me too.
    Raising his glass, he said, “Here’s to you getting
everything you want for Christmas.”
    “I’ll drink to that.” Of course after the first shot of
tequila I’d drink to most anything. And I did, emptying my glass, which he
refilled in record time.
    “You never told Santa what you want for Christmas.” Pointing
at my Secret Santa gift basket on the counter, he said, “I’m guessing it’s not
a basket of kinky sex gadgets.”
    “No.” My eyes cut to the basket. “That’s a dig.”
    He cocked his head to one side. “A dig?”
    “A dig,” I repeated. We’d hit a language barrier, but I wasn’t
really there for stimulating conversation. All things considered, though, he
spoke excellent English. His accent tickled my libido and I wouldn’t have traded
his sexy enunciation for a dump truck full of sex toys. “Like I’m wound too
tight. You know? Jane needs to loosen up and relax. Enjoy some of life’s simple
pleasures.”
    “Ah.” The light went on. “Do you? Because I can help you
with that.”
    Duh? That was why we’d brought the party upstairs, bad idea
or not. I hadn’t come home with him to admire his partial ocean view. I snatched
the basket of pleasure doodads and said, “Let’s get this party started.” I
downed my tequila and tried to forget how lame I sounded. He poured us another.
    Raising his glass again, he said, “To neighbors helping
neighbors be loose.”
    My face screwed up. I hoped something had got lost in
translation. Clearly English was his second language. But I could listen to him
butcher my native tongue all night long—while he fucked me. I slid the liquor
away. I was done drinking.
    In the bedroom, he stripped off his costume in record time,
down to nothing but his boxer shorts and Santa hat. I dragged my feet due to
some sense of outdated modesty and body