Page 19 of Elf-ish

“And there’s only one bed?” Jude confirms.

My head snaps upright. No. Absolutely not.

“Jude.” The deep masculine call of his name causes Jude and me to spin toward an older gentleman with a wet smile. “So glad you could make it.”

He holds out his hand to shake Jude’s, clapping him on the shoulder for extra effect before he turns toward me.

“And who do we have here?” the man addresses me. His white hair is cut short, and his eyes are bloodshot and watery.

“Walt. This is . . . my girlfriend, Angelica.”

“Angelica.” Walt raises his brows. “What a lovely name for a lovely woman.”

“Thank you, sir,” I answer.

He leans forward, placing a clammy kiss on my cheek. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Fighting a shudder, I simply respond, “Oh.”

When Walt stands upright again, he claps Jude one more time on the shoulder, visibly squeezing tight. “Looking forward to a drink later this evening.”

Walt nods at me, then looks at the clerk who has been standing still, watching our introductions.

“Is there a problem, Mickey?”

“No, sir, I was just assisting Mr. Ashford with his reservation and the issue with—”

“No issue,” Jude interjects, sharply cutting him off. “My girlfriend and I are happy to take our room keys now.”

Mickey looks from Jude to me and back before finishing our registration.

For one room with one bed.

chapter 7

[Jude]

I might have left out a teeny-tiny detail like the party being held three hours from Chicago in a small Wisconsin village. I also might have purposely held back that information until the last minute because I was afraid she’d back out. Other than one text exchange confirming her address and the time I’d pick her up, we haven’t spoken for the last week, which has been strangely unsettling for me. Because I’d wanted to talk to her even though I couldn’t think of a single thing to discuss. I’m not even a talker, but still, I’d wanted to hear her voice. The concept was fucking with my head.

The inn is practically suffocating in holiday garb. Twinkling tinsel and chiming bells. Lights and crackling logs. Evergreen fragrance everywhere, including our hotel room.

The one room. With one bed.

Heads will roll come Monday for this practical joke, although I’m certain my assistant will have an excuse, claiming the situation is my fault.

“You requested one room, sir.” I can already hear the sarcasm in her sixty-something-year-old voice. The same voice that knows I probably did request a single room, without knowing if I’d have a date or not.

Maxine Kelsey knows me better than anyone. She should. She’s been assisting me for over a decade. Working with her is the longest relationship I’ve ever had. Pathetic but true.

As I told Angelica in the car, I’ve never had an official girlfriend.

And under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t balk at sharing a room with a beautiful woman, but this is Angelica.

I’m trying to be a new man.

Not only is she beautiful in her EMT uniform and dorm-room drab shopping attire, but she’s stunning in a pair of jeans that perfectly sculpt her hourglass shape and a sweater that drops off her shoulder, exposing the thin strap of a tank top underneath the soft, white material. A red tank top that suggests there might be a little naughty beneath the nice.

Then again, I’m not here to corrupt Angelica. I need a date to impress Walt and his cronies on the board. Angelica feels like the right fit. In fact, I’d go so far as to blame her for my harebrained idea. She suggested needing a date first. I just took the wish-list request and ran with it, adding my own holiday desire alongside hers.