White Hot Christmas: A Heart of Fame Christmas Story Read Online Free

he’d sung the song in public—during an end-of-year Christmas concert in high school when he’d been seventeen—floated into his consciousness.
    His cock stiffened: not at the thought of his far-from stellar performance on the stage of his old school’s sports hall-slash-theatre-slash-multi-purpose building, nor at how he’d ironically subverted the overtly religious tone of the concert with such a song choice, but at what had happened after he’d come off the stage.
    Lauren had met him at the bottom of the backstage stairs, her eyes dancing with happiness, and by met him he meant she threw herself into his arms, her long coltish legs wrapping around his hips, her arms wrapping around his neck, her lips claiming his.
    She’d kissed him so fiercely, so wildly, his knees had buckled and they’d both ended up on the floor.
    That hadn’t stopped her from kissing him however, nor him kissing her back. Hell, they’d been teenagers driven by hormones more powerful, more consuming, more potent than a nuclear bomb. His hand was under her shirt, cupping her right boob, his cock well and truly a rigid pole of impatient want, when the school principal broke them up.
    They’d both spent the rest of the week on lunchtime detention in separate buildings, but holy fuck, had it been worth it. For one, it declared loud and clear Lauren was his and he was hers to all the other students at the school (most of the boys lusted after her), and for another it showed him just how much she loved his singing.
    They’d finished what the performance had started later that night, in the back seat of his dad’s car—which meant he and Lauren both came screaming to mutual orgasms in the captain of the Murriundah police department’s cop car.
    Lauren had called it an early Christmas present. He’d called it perfect. Heaven.
    Stare fixed on the road even as the memory played with his senses, a grin stretched Nick’s lips. What were the odds he could convince the current Murriundah police captain to let them borrow his car for a—
    A high-pitched beeping filled the Range Rover’s cabin, barely a second before the 4WD’s engine spluttered, coughed and—with an ignoble gurgle hardly worthy of a car costing more than two hundred grand—died.
    Just like that.
    “Are you fucking kidding me?” Nick ground out, directing the car to the side of the road. The Range Rover coasted to a complete standstill as AC/DC boomed from the still working speakers.
    He sat behind the wheel, staring at the array of warning lights flashing at him from the dashboard; lights that meant little to him. He was a singer for Pete’s sake. What did he know about cars?
    “This,” he growled, watching those bright red lights flash, his hardening cock softening in his shorts, “is getting ridiculous.”

Magic Mike
    M1 Motorway, Australia
     
    Perched on the bulbar, waiting for the arrival of the very affable Mike of Mike’s Mechanics (the only mechanical service he could convince to come out to his location at 1:35pm Christmas Eve), Nick glared at the cars zooming past him on their way north.
    Cars with functioning engines and charged batteries.
    Cars carrying their passengers where they wanted to go.
    Cars that did what they were supposed to do.
    Damn it, when he got back home he was buying a Learjet. A fleet of them.
    Lowering his glare to his mobile phone in his hand, he bit back a curse. Nope, the thing was now as dead as his car.
    Flat battery. He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t charged it on the flight home. He should have. What was the point of flying First Class if not to make sure one’s electronic devices were fully charged at all times? No, he’d been too concerned with sleeping. Idiot.
    Of course, because the battery of his Range Rover had also died—or at least decided to play dead with such perfection he couldn’t even get a sad whrr on his numerous attempts to restart the car—he had no way of charging it now.
    Damn it.
    He had tried to call