Unwrap My Present: A Sexy Bad Boy Holiday Novel (The Parker's 12 Days of Christmas Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Table of Contents

  Unwrap My Present

  Description

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Want More?

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Unwrap My Present

  By

  Zoe Reid

  Description

  Set in New York City -- She’s a dancer in the Nutcracker; He’s a stripper and does Holiday parties; her best friend is wild child and for her upcoming birthday which is close to Christmas, she hires himto strip... things just get interesting from there.

  Introduction

  Checkout the other 12 Days of Christmas Novellas

  Find them all HERE

  Chapter 1

  Colton

  Riding the F train home gave me more time to think than I needed. I spent the time brooding, wishing things were different. I’d already turned thirty and was still stuck in a dead-end job, inches away from the career I wanted. But I might as well be a million miles away.

  Ever since I was a kid, I’d wanted to cook. Culinary school had been an awakening, and then I’d moved to the city to break into the restaurant business. It was head chef or nothing.

  Right now, it was nothing.

  The bistro I worked in had a passable chef, but I knew I could do better. Unfortunately, the owner thought I was “too pretty” to be stuck in the back of the house. I waited tables, acted as a host, even helped her with management when needed. But she didn’t let me get anywhere near the stoves, which meant my dream remained unfulfilled.

  Still, working in the restaurant did provide some perks. Like the sexy thing who’d come in today. To call her ‘beautiful’ was the understatement of the millennium. Compared to the women I’d been fucking lately, she could have descended from heaven.

  Her dark hair was pulled up tight into a knot, highlighting her strong cheekbones. Plump lips, pale skin, and eyes so green they reminded me of the grass in Central Park in the middle of summer. I’d almost tripped over my own feet when I’d shown her to her table.

  A girl that pretty shouldn’t have been eating alone. But I didn’t think she’d be interested in having me join her. I’d made a run to the convenience store on my break to grab an energy drink and on my way back, she’d been coming out the door. She was looking down at her phone and had slammed into me.

  I caught her and had given her my best smile, a shock of electricity hitting me at our contact. But she’d yanked herself away from me and given me a little shove, ordering me not to touch her, and then she'd hurried off without an apology.

  At the restaurant, gorgeous girls like her didn’t give me a second look. They wouldn’t give me the time of day, except when I took my clothes off for their dollar bills.

  They threw money at me then, feeling me up, begging me to take them into the bathroom for a quick and dirty ride. They weren’t bad for a good time, and sometimes a humongous tip, but desperate girls had never done it for me. I liked the quiet ones, the reserved ones. They presented a challenge. And usually, it was the reserved ones who were the biggest freaks between the sheets.

  The walk to my apartment was blessedly short, although the five flights of stairs were steep and narrow, which was nice, especially when I had to lug my bike up and down them. Tonight, I jogged up the stairs and unlocked my shitty studio apartment, barely closing the door behind me before a knock sounded on it.

  It was Ozzy, my next-door neighbor. He was in and out of my place almost as much as I was. Ozzy was in his early twenties and felt like the younger brother I never had. He looked up to me, so I let him hang when he got sick of his roommates. Which seemed to be most of the time. I couldn't blame him. I had to work a second job just to be able to afford 400 square feet to myself.

  Ozzy was in the fridge pulling out a couple of my beers before I got my coat off. He popped the tops off them and handed one to me, taking a long pull on his own. He burped, then flung himself on my couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. I sat down beside him, taking a sip of my own bottle.

  "Big party this weekend, down by the college. Hot co-eds and a couple of kegs. You in?"

  I leaned back, then tipped up the bottle, swallowing most of it in one long pull. "Doubtful," I replied.

  "Why not? You know those college girls drool all over you."

  The statement was partially true. Drunk college girls followed me like a magnet. But the sober ones eyed me with distrust. I couldn't blame them. I was too old to be hanging around campus. Besides, I had enough thirsty women on my dick with my night job.

  Still, I didn't want to say all that to Ozzy. So I kept it simple. "I got a gig."

  Ozzy shook his head. "Lucky bastard." He drained the rest of the bottle. "What's it like, having women make it rain dollar bills all over you?"

  I eyed him. This wasn't the first time he'd asked that question. The kid had the makings of a paunch and skin he didn't take care of. To put it bluntly, he wasn't cut out for the world of erotic entertainment. But he liked to hear my stories, and sometimes I liked telling them, although truthfully, the whole thing had begun to lose its shine.

  "The money is good," I agreed. "And the work isn't too strenuous, although I have to keep in shape, of course."

  "Yeah, yeah," Ozzy said, waving his hand. This wasn't the part of the story he liked. "What about the ladies throwing themselves at you? Nothing to complain about there, right?"

  The boy had no idea. There were plenty of women I wasn't excited to swing my junk around in front of. Still, the money made bitching difficult. And the boy liked the fairy tale. So I played the part he expected.

  "What's there to complain about? Hot women paying me to seduce them with my sweet dance moves?"

  Ozzy laughed at that line and I joined him. "Come on, Colton. You could have any one of those women. And they'd probably fucking pay you for it."

  I nodded. "Yeah. But not everyone is a super model, you know."

  Ozzy rolled his eyes. "Still, they fucking want you. Enough even to pay for it."

  The kid had a point. I needed the money. Tips at the bistro paid for the day-to-day expenses of living in the city, but they weren't enough to cover this apartment, nor the loans I'd taken out for culinary school tuition. My nighttime gigs more than made up for the cost of the gym membership and the ridiculous outfits the job required.

  My dresser had a drawer devoted to banana hammocks.
Not to mention the breakaway pants, the cop costume, the doctor's coat and bag, the fireman outfit and its fake hose. You name a manly profession, and I'll show you the see-through boxer brief equivalent from my own closet.

  "Well," I said, settling back and tucking my hand into my waistband. "There was this bachelorette party last month."

  "Oh man," Ozzy said with bright eyes. "Here it comes."

  "The bride was cute. Late twenties, blond hair. Nice rack." She had been cute. And absolutely shitfaced by the time I got there. Her bridesmaids had to hold her in her seat for my bump and grind.

  "They were in this fancy penthouse apartment uptown. These girls didn't bother with dollar bills. It was fives, tens, and twenties all night." I'd pulled down enough to cover a month's rent that night. Which was nice, since I only took enough gigs to cover my monthly expenses. I wasn't greedy enough to do it more than that.

  "And?" Ozzy asked. He cared more about the girls than the money.

  "And the ladies had been eager to...uhh...pay for a few private dances."

  The matron of honor had cornered me as I was coming out of the bathroom and pushed me back in. She'd then shoved a hundred-dollar bill down my shorts and started kissing my chest.

  The wedding ring on her finger would have bought my parent's entire house upstate. I'd tried to fend her off, but a second bill had followed the first.

  She was attractive in a rich-girl kind of way, with plastic features similar to the rest of her friends. When she'd dropped to her knees in front of me, I'd let it happen. She wasn't bad with her mouth, and I had to admit to enjoying it, even if it'd left me feeling empty inside after.

  "I just bet they were." Ozzy rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, probably imagining a bevy of beauties waiting for him to shake his package in their direction.

  As a gig, the work wasn't hard, and yeah, it had its definite benefits. But I'd have taken a spot in the kitchen any day, even if that meant sharing an apartment with two other disaffected New Yorkers like Ozzy did.

  It paid the bills and it got me laid. Sometimes I enjoyed it. Sometimes, not so much. Truth be told, I'd take a date with the girl who'd run into me without an apology over a quick fuck with any number of women I'd shook my dick for.

  "Well," Ozzy said finally, standing up and heading toward the door. "If your gig doesn't run too late, try to come by the party anyway."

  "Will do," I said, knowing I wouldn't. I insisted on a hot shower after every gig, then usually drank enough beers to pass out alone. Not exactly the glamorous nightlife guys like Ozzy imagined.

  The door shut behind him and I headed to the fridge. I'd bought fresh produce and a good cut of meat to cook for dinner tonight, but suddenly, I didn't feel so hungry. I settled on another beer instead.

  Chapter 2

  Addison

  I'd barely made it back to my apartment before the tears of frustration started to fall. Since finishing my time at a college for performing arts, I'd had plenty of shitty days. But today might have taken the cake.

  Wiping my eyes and refusing to give into the urge to wallow in self-pity, I got angry instead. I pulled out my phone and dialed Kayla, my best friend. I couldn't hold back the rant I had in check any longer.

  "Kayla McConnell," she answered, sounding as professional as ever. I'd met her in school where she'd been studying costume design. Now she owned her own business and had started working with some of the biggest names in theater.

  "Got a minute?" I asked, biting my lip and praying she wasn't busy with a client.

  "For you? Always."

  I smiled. I could count on Kayla to give me the support I was lacking from my cast and crew. "I'm beginning to think I'm in the wrong business."

  "What happened now?" Kayla had been getting an earful about my struggles ever since I joined Drew's dance company. Although I'd considered it the perfect career move at the time, since I hadn't gotten any traction with any other companies in the city and my youth was slipping through my fingers at an alarming rate, I now realized that maybe it wasn’t so great after all.

  In the dance world, like almost any other performance-based profession, youth was prized, and I'd come to ballet later than most. Although I'd always been interested in dance, I hadn't decided to pursue ballet because I wasn't sure I was up to the intense challenge of the dance. But when I'd finally decided to give it a shot, I'd thrown myself wholeheartedly into training. Although most of the dancers in the company were younger than me, it didn't mean I wasn't just as skilled, despite being longer in the tooth then was typically preferred.

  Drew Dannon had given me a shot when no one else would. He'd welcomed me as a member of the company and had lavished attention on me since the start. But I was beginning to realize that attention was a double-edged sword.

  "Well, morning rehearsals were a real mess. The show starts in a couple of days, so we're doing run-throughs to make sure everything is perfect. I'd been on my toes, literally, for about five hours when Drew finally calls for a break."

  Tough rehearsals always made me hungry because they were the equivalent of hitting the gym for several hours. But dancers have to be meticulous about their weight, which meant I had to monitor every morsel that passed my lips. I'd headed to the common area to grab the lunch I'd packed--a protein bar and some grapes--when two of my fellow dancers had approached.

  "Then B-Squad informs me that my fouetté is the worst they've ever seen." Lacie and Katherine were my biggest rivals, both of whom wanted the lead part Drew had given me. Because they held second-tier parts, in my mind (and to my best friend) I called them 'B-Squad.' That and because they were both gigantic bitches.

  "Lacie made some joke about my legs resembling tree trunks and half the cast heard. I couldn't stand being there anymore, so I left to get some air." It was a cold December in New York, and I'd been shivering before I made it a couple blocks, the sweat turning cold on my body. "I ducked into a bistro to get lunch, and that's when shit got weird."

  The host had been handsome, but I barely noticed since I was trapped in such a negative headspace. As soon as the waitress approached, I'd ordered a glass of red wine. Alcohol was on Drew's list of no-no's, but I needed a way to relax quickly. I still had several hours of rehearsals to go that day and there was no way I was going to do them well if I was still pissed off at my fellow dancers.

  "Let me guess, you broke your diet restriction?" Kayla knew me too well.

  "Yeah. I ditched the salad and got fries instead." Then I laughed. "And, uh, maybe a couple of glasses of wine."

  "I don't blame you," Kayla said after a laugh.

  "So I'm drinking the second glass when I get this text. It's from Drew." I'd almost dropped my phone when I read it.

  If you can't get your weight under control, you won't keep the lead part. And two glasses of wine means I'm making you stay after to practice the grand jeté for an extra hour.

  The text was from Drew. My head swiveled around, but I couldn't see him anywhere. How had the bastard found out where I was, let alone what I was eating?

  "What the fuck?" Kayla breathed. "Is that asshole stalking you?"

  The scary thing was, I didn't know. "I paid and got up from the table, trying to find out if he was in the bistro or maybe outside. I'd pulled up my phone to reply to his text when I was walking out and ran right into one of the bistro employees."

  I blushed, remembering now what had happened. He'd been so attractive, even nice, catching me when I barreled into him. Instead of apologizing, I'd bitten his head off and stalked away. Maybe I should join the B-Squad.

  "As I rushed back to the studio, I texted Drew to ask him where he was, but he didn't answer me. When I got back, he ignored me, ordering us back to work and then driving me hard for the rest of rehearsals. And when everyone left, he made me do jetés for an hour." Grand jetés were like in-air splits. My thighs were burning like crazy.

  "I'm sorry, darling. Why don't you make an appointment with your masseuse for tomorrow n
ight? Get those muscles all relaxed for opening night."

  The idea of a massage sounded heavenly, but it wasn't to be. "Actually, that was the one other fucked up thing that happened today."

  After rehearsal, but before my 'private practice,' Lacie had come up to me to invite me to a party the next day. One of the cast members was getting married and the girls had decided to throw her a bachelorette party. It was tomorrow night.

  I felt like I had to go. They'd already accused me of being stuck-up and thinking myself better than the rest of the cast. I'd gone out of my way to prove them wrong, but B-Squad wasn't about to let it rest that easily.

  "I'll make an appearance, nurse a drink so they don't think I'm being antisocial, then I'll get the heck out of there in time to get some good rest before opening night." Even as I said the words, I knew that it wouldn't go according to plan. Not if Lacie and Katherine had their way.

  I felt a ray of hope, suddenly, when I thought about attending the party with backup. "Kayla, can you come with me? If they saw me being friendly with another girl, they might lay off the snob shit with me. Please?"

  "I can't, darling. I'm sorry. I've got to finish these costumes before the Christmas Day parade. I'm up to my neck in Santa beards and sequins. I would if I could, you know that."

  "I swear I'll spend all of my free time helping you sew those costumes if you come with me tomorrow night."

  Kayla laughed. "First of all, you have no free time. You're the prima ballerina in the Nutcracker during the holiday season. Second, you know your stitching is terrible. I can't have Santa Claus's pants falling down during the parade. Jolly Old Saint Nick exposing himself to a crowd of children is not exactly the impression we're shooting for."

  She had a point there. I could dance my ass off, but when it came to arts and crafts, I could barely hot glue a piece of paper to another piece of paper. I sucked.

  "Well, if you change your mind, let me know."