Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Oh, this is too good.” Rather than find Soren, Wren sat down at the bar. The place was packed, so there weren’t many options for seats close to the stage.
Her eyes widened when she realized the ornaments on the Christmas tree by the bar displayed anatomically correct molds of genitals—clitorises to be exact. There also hung crab claws, wine corks, and bottles, and such, but once one saw a set of dangling Christmas balls—not the Hobby Lobby sort—it became a bit difficult to notice anything else.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, having to shout over the boisterous crowd.
Wren glanced at the signature cocktail menu for the night. “I’ll take a spiced cider.”
“Rum or whiskey?”
“Um, rum, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Cranberries, pine sprigs, and floating tea lights added some tasteful holiday charm to the lounge, but nothing could distract from the potent essence of female hormones in the air.
“You came!” Jocelyn tackled her with a clumsy hug that reeked of rum and victory and nearly knocked Wren off her stool.
“Phew.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “Good God, Joce. You smell flammable.” Wren did quick math. “ I left you more than eight hours ago. Have you had any water or food?”
She waved away her concern. “I’m the host. I had to sample a little of everything.”
“Why would you do that when you know you have to emcee?
She shrugged. “My Vikings weren’t cooperating. And you know my motto: when life gives you writer’s block, make martinis.”
“Does that actually help?”
“No, but I don’t care about the writer’s block anymore.” She reached for a program on the bar. “Can you believe this crowd? I never expected this great of a turnout.”
Wren scanned the women. She only recognized a few from Hideaway Harbor. These ladies weren’t town locals. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re Viking lovers like me! Some are fellow authors, others are readers, and a few are just single women looking for a good time.” She grinned and hooted when the handsome, young barback walked by with a case of beer on his shoulder.
Several women catcalled and whistled.
“These are my people!” Jocelyn reached for a program that shamelessly advertised her newest release, The Viking’s Heart. “Have you seen this lineup?”
“That’s sort of why I’m here. Soren called me in a panic.”
Jocelyn laughed. “How very territorial of you to come to his rescue. Careful, Wren, do anything public and by tomorrow, the town will think you’re in love.”
Wren’s face went slack, and Jocelyn, despite her intoxication, read her like a book.
“Oh, my God.” Jocelyn grabbed her by the arms and shook her like a rag doll. “There have been new developments. Tell me!”
Wren disentangled from her grip. “Shh!”
“You saw Grey.” Her eyes grew wild with curiosity. “What happened?”
Where did she even begin? “That’s a story for sober Jocelyn.”
“Oh, come on. She’s the lamest of all my personalities. Just give me the CliffsNotes. Did you fuck him?”
“Joce, shh!” Wren winced and quickly looked around for anyone eavesdropping. “And no.”
“Blow him?”
Realizing she wouldn’t stop, Wren blushed and whispered, “It went the other way around.”
Her eyes went wide and she leaned in. “Really?” She grinned, her gaze drifting upward.
“Stop trying to imagine it!”
“What? That’s what I do!” She laughed. “If you had a nooner with Grey, why the hell are you here?”
“To support my friend.”
“No, Wren. If you were making progress with one, why would you come to rescue the other?”
“We’re just friends, Joce. I’m only here because Soren begged me.”
“Sounds like a setup if you ask me.”
“Logan signed him up as a prank.”
“I know.” She laughed. “I was there. But if you ask me, it’s not much of a prank if Soren gets to go home with you.”
“No one’s going home with me. It’s only for a date, anyway, right?” Leave it to Jocelyn to start a prostitution ring in their wholesome little town.
She held up her palms. “Hey, where people put their no-nos on said date remains totally up to them.”
“You’re a master of prose.”
“Don’t judge me. I’ve had enough rum to sedate Santa himself.” Jocelyn sipped from the tiny swizzle straw of her red cocktail and snorted. “Logan’s his own worst cockblocker. What did he think would happen?”
“Speaking of Santa...” Wren lifted the paddle she received when she bought her ticket at the door. It featured a sexy, shirtless Saint Nick glued to a tongue depressor stick. “Is this your doing?”
“Good swag remains the name of the game, my friend.” A number appeared printed boldly on the back of each paddle. “And you’re gonna need that to bid on your boyfriend’s brother.”
“Jocelyn! He’s not my boyfriend.”
She smirked. “Exactly why you have every right to take someone else home tonight. I can’t wait until Grey finds out.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“Honey, I love you. That’s why I want this for you. Sometimes, us women need to light a fire under a man’s ass.” She flicked the sexy Santa paddle. “This will get Greyson Hawthorne’s temper burning red hot. May the horned god of Yule be with you. The competition’s fierce, and Soren’s stirring a lot of interest.”