Page 31 of Naughty-ish

“You, too,” Brock offers. “But who is Feisty?” His gaze fixes on me.

“You mean Frosty,” I correct, although I’d called myself Freya earlier.

He slowly smiles. I bet women drop their panties for that smirk.

“Not a thing cold about you, girl,” he adds.

Nick wraps an arm around my shoulder. “This is my neighbor, Holliday.”

“No shit.” Brock’s forehead furrows.

“No shit,” I reply, trying to shake off the blasé label of being Nick’s neighbor.

Brock’s eyes narrow to slits and he smiles wide. Pointing a finger at me, he says, “I like this girl.” Only it comes out like one word. Izlikethisghaul.

“Where’s Zebb?” Nick asks, looking over heads for someone.

“He’s late.” Brock rolls his eyes. “Probably making out in the car with his wife.”

I glance up at Nick puzzled, but he shakes his head.

Hands double tap on the bar. “Okay. Fireball for the snowball,” Brock announces to the bartender. “New initiate.” He hitches a thumb at me.

“Oh, I don’t need—”

“Snowball’s Chance, snowball. Gotta prove you can handle the heat,” he says to me. “How naughty you gonna be tonight?”

I glance up at Nick, who shakes his head again like I should just ignore this Brock character. But something about Nick calling me his neighbor doesn’t settle well with me. “Give me the damn shot.”

Brock whoops and slaps the bar once. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

A shot glass filled with amber liquid appears on the counter, and I drink like I’m a sorority-girl when I haven’t done hard alcohol in more than a decade. The burn going down is fire and spice, and my insides instantly warm.

“Gonna melt you, snow lady,” Brock teases, turning toward me.

“That’s a hundred bucks,” the bartender yells and my eyes widen. Holy shit. I don’t have a hundred dollars on me.

Brock is already pulling a bill from his wallet. Nick is faster, slapping the hundred on the bar. “Now stop hitting on my date.”

Brock narrows his eyes, tilting his head. “You said she was your neighbor.”

I chew at my lower lip. I might like this Brock guy after all. Although if this is his idea of flirting, it’s a strange way to hit on a woman.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say to Nick. “I’ll pay you back.”

“It’s all for a good cause.” He doesn’t even blink that he just paid one-hundred dollars for a shot he hadn’t ordered me. “But let’s get you away from him.” He tips his head at Brock.

Brock scowls at Nick. “When you’re ready to dump Santa, come find my lap.”

“Dude,” Nick growls before Brock turns back toward the bar.

We wait for my wine and Nick’s beer and then press through the crowd toward a high-top table along the wall. Men and women come and go, recognizing Nick, wishing him happy holidays, or discussing some familiar event. Nick introduces me, but I generally stay quiet as I don’t know anyone.

It’s a good reminder of what dates might be like if I ever considered going on one in the future. For now, I’m just the neighbor out with the guy next door. With that in mind, I take a hefty sip of my wine.

When a couple enters dressed like an angel and Father Christmas, loud cheers erupt.

“That’s Zebb. Snowball’s Chance is his foundation.” Nick tips his head toward the couple about our age. They both have brown hair while Zebb’s is speckled with gray. Scruff decorates his jaw, and he has a smile like an angel’s, although he’s wearing a dark green robe and a holly wreath on his head. He’s extremely good looking and his wife is equally beautiful in a sexy angel costume with giant wings that keep swatting people. She laughs at something Brock says and waves her hand to dismiss the bartender.