Travis - A Scrooged Christmas

by Tracie Douglas

  Table of Contents

  TRAVIS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Works by Tracie Douglas

  A Scrooged Christmas Collaboration

  Travis – A Scrooged Christmas © 2017 by Tracie Douglas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To My Mother

  For always making Christmas the best holiday,

  and for giving me the gift of words.

  I love you.

  Travis

  I, Travis Malone, hate Christmas.

  Hate with a capital H.

  Bad shit always happens to me and my family this time of year.

  I refuse to even acknowledge the holiday’s existence, let alone celebrate it. Although some members of my family still choose to do so, my mother and aunt being those people. I’ll never understand why they torture themselves with all the cheer and décor, because they’ve suffered through the merriest time of year for longer than I have.

  On December first every year, the countdown begins. Today is day one, but I’m already anxious for this season to be over. Especially since my alarm didn’t go off this morning and I had to skip my morning workout routine. I hate days that start out this way.

  I shut the side door to my two-bedroom home with a loud bang and catch sight of the bright yellow moving truck. It stands out like a sore thumb against the stark whiteness covering the ground and every surface around it.

  Normally, I wouldn’t care about the truck, or the trail of footprints between it and the little blue house next door, but the damn thing is blocking my driveway.

  I groan, already running late for work; the last thing I want to do this morning is meet my new neighbors. Looking up at the sky, asking for patience, I trudge across the snow-covered ground toward the little blue house.

  A cold breeze picks up my hair, making me shiver down into my coat a little further. Passing the truck, I can’t help but shake my head in frustration. Who the fuck moves in the middle of winter, let alone two weeks before Christmas?

  I can hear people moving around and shouting from somewhere inside when I approach the door. Careful to check my attitude, I lift an arm, rapping gently on the door. The last thing I need to do is start a war with my new neighbors. No one comes to the door. Checking my watch, I release a frustrated sigh and knock again, this time harder and louder.

  After a few seconds, the door opens, and I’m greeted by a young girl with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair. Green and red ribbons hang down in strands from her headband.

  “Who are you?” she asks and places her small hands on her hips with mountains of attitude.

  “Are your parents here?” I ask, ignoring her question but lifting an eyebrow all the same. This little girl could use a lesson in manners, greeting a perfect stranger like this. Better yet, why is she answering the door in the first place? Haven’t her parents taught her about the danger of strangers?

  “Hannah, I told you not to open the door.” A woman emerges from the next room with a scowl on her face directed at the young girl. Hannah turns and drops her hands to her sides.

  “Sorry, Mama.” Hannah shrugs at the woman before skipping off down the hallway. I watch her go with a smirk on her face.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turn my eyes from where she disappeared to, back to the woman in front of me, and my heart stops. Standing across from me, in the doorway of the little blue house, is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.

  Her ocean-blue eyes regard me with curiosity and annoyance. The longer I look into their ocean depths, the more I feel like I’m drowning in them. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and my hands itch to release it from the hair tie.

  I shake my head, struggling to pull air back into my lungs, and break the connection. From her eyes, mine travel down the length of her body, and I cross my arms, managing to disguise my initial interest and attraction as something else.

  She’s wearing clothing that does nothing to show her body, but even under the large garments, I can tell her curvy body is the kind that will bring a man to his knees.

  “Hello,” she yells, waving a hand in front of my face. “Anyone home?”

  I shake my head again and take a step back before regaining my composure.

  Fuck, I got caught staring at her body.

  Fuck, staring is next to the last thing I need to be doing. Getting caught is even worse. But the very last thing I need to be doing is thinking about taking her clothes off for a better view of the goods underneath.

  “Where’s your husband?” I bite and clear my throat.

  “Excuse me?” She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up and out, allowing me a better sense of their size. My cock twitches as though her breasts are beacons of life, calling to it.

  “Your husband,” I repeat, enunciating each word carefully.

  Please let this woman be married.

  “I’m not married.” She lifts her head proudly, like she’s waiting for me to say something about it. I don’t touch it.

  “Move your truck.”

  “What?” she gasps, and I roll my eyes, my annoyance over this shit turning into irritation pretty quickly.

  “Your truck. Move it.” My eyes bear down on her. She opens her mouth as though she’s going to argue with me, but I cut her off. “It’s blocking my driveway.”

  “It is?” She looks down the driveway at the yellow truck, and her face softens a little. I stifle a groan, feeling the twinge in my cock, when her lower lip slips in between her teeth and she bites down on it. Fuck me, why did she have to do that? “I’m sorry. I’ll have one of the movers out there in a minute to move it out of your way.”

  She looks back at me, and then retreats to close the front door, but I place a booted foot and stop her.

  The need to shut down the feelings raging in my body for this woman and reinforce the invisible line separating our properties bubbles out. Like with the rest of the neighbors around me, I’m not interested in being friendly, and I need her to know that.

  “Not exactly a good impression you’re making, blocking a neighbor’s driveway like that,” I say dryly, almost like I’m bored with this entire thing.

  “Considering I didn’t park the truck there, I’d probably agree with you, but it’s not exactly a good impression, banging on a neighbor’s door, making demands like you’re king of the neighborhood welcome team,” she clips back, mimicking her daughter’s behavior and placing her hands on her hips.

  “Don’t care about impressions. Care that my dr
iveway isn’t blocked first thing in the morning when I’m trying to leave for work.”

  “I can assure you, neighbor, it’s a one-time thing and it will never happen again.” Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow on me. “Now, if you’re finished with your unconventional welcome, I’d like to settle in and organize my house.”

  I give her a quick nod but still can’t make myself walk away. Not when all I can think about is how fucking sexy she looks all riled up and sassing me.

  “Are we done?” She lifts an eyebrow and stares at me.

  I lift a hand, place it on my hip, and look down at my boot, removing it from its spot in front of her door. I chuckle before turning away. She slams the door at my back, only making me laugh harder.

  Trudging across the snow again, I wait inside my truck for one of the movers to move the moving truck out of my way.

  Liv

  “Mama.” The sound of my daughter’s voice and the slight pressure of her hand on my back bring me out of the dream I was having of my sexy-as-fuck asshole neighbor.

  I groan and roll over to look at the blinking red lights of my alarm clock.

  “Mama, you need to get up. We’re going to be late,” Hannah insists, this time plopping down onto my bed next to me.

  8:42 A.M. blinks brightly at me, and I jump out of bed, looking around me. Why didn’t my alarm go off? I remember setting it last night. I study the contraption and notice the button to turn the alarm on is not in the on position.

  Double fuck!

  I make a mad dash from my bed to the bathroom and grab my toothbrush. Hannah follows right behind me. She’s still in her pajamas and her hair is a complete mess.

  “Hannah, honey, go get dressed and brush your hair. We’ll have to get breakfast on the way to school today.” I turn on the faucet, waiting for the hot water to kick in.

  “But, Mom, you promised me French toast,” she whines, sticking out her bottom lip.

  “That was before my alarm didn’t go off and we overslept.” She doesn’t move from her spot next to me. I take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Baby, I promise I will make you French toast every morning for the rest of the week if you will please get ready for school.”

  “Fine,” she sighs before stomping off to her room across the hall. I roll my eyes, already worried about the approaching teenage years. Hannah is seven, but she acts like she’s going on sixteen most days, and with the amount of attitude she’s been throwing at me lately, I’m not sure how I’m going to survive her actual teenage years.

  It’s more than that, though, I surmise, thinking about how hard life has been for both of us, and how much it’s changed in such a short amount of time.

  But that’s what divorce does.

  Parker, Hannah’s father, and I were married for almost eight years, but everything about our marriage was a sham. It all came crashing down around us four months ago when I caught him with his pants down.

  Literally.

  Only it was Parker’s assistant on his knees.

  The biggest sham of our marriage was Parker’s sexuality.

  Admittedly, sex with Parker was never anything to ring home about, but he was the perfect boyfriend turned husband, and he gave me the perfect little girl. Life was good. We never argued, we always found compromise and supported each other. It never once occurred to me that my husband was living a lie.

  Thinking on it now, there were signs something was amiss between us, but I was too happy in the bubble we’d created to question them.

  A month after the divorce was final, I decided a fresh start for Hannah and me was a promising idea. I quickly found a job in the area and fell in love with the little blue house through the pictures on the Internet. It was the easiest decision I’ve made in eight years, but now I was beginning to worry if it was the right choice for my daughter.

  Hannah is particularly close to her father. She’s the epitome of a daddy’s girl. And while Parker and I have remained close friends, our friendship being one of the best things about our marriage, the news of our move didn’t go over well with either one of them.

  Hannah’s attitude has ramped up a notch or two since, and I’ve been trying to find a way to reach her ever since.

  Fast forward to yesterday. The move and the hot asshole living next door to me.

  Christ, I have never met a man I despised and wanted all at the same time. It didn’t help that he looked at me like he wanted to gobble me up. The entire time he stood there scowling at me, I could see it in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but there were moments when he let his guard down, especially when it came to my boobs. Even when he attempted a jab at me over proper neighborhood etiquette, he looked like he wanted to rip my clothes off.

  He was rude and insufferable but, fuck, the mere sight of him had my panties soaked in seconds.

  No one has ever made me feel that way.

  Why did it have to be the asshole next door?

  I walk from the bathroom back into my room, needing to multi-task and hurry, but something catches my eye as I pass one of the windows in my sunshine-filled room. It just happens to be one the windows that overlooks his house and, unbeknownst to me, looks right into his bedroom.

  I stop in my tracks and turn back toward the window. My feet carry me to it, and I nearly drop my toothbrush at the sight my eyes feast on; and I say feast because that’s literally what they do.

  He is there, half-naked, sweaty, and hanging from a bar in the doorway, doing what I assume is a million pull-ups all from the comfort of his bedroom.

  I can’t move. I can’t think. The sight of him has me entranced, and I begin to count the number of times he pulls himself up and over the bar.

  Fourteen… Fifteen…

  The muscles on his arms pull and constrict with each up and down motion, demonstrating the obvious strength in his upper body.

  Twenty-one… Twenty-two…

  I find myself thinking about the dream Hannah woke me from minutes ago. It was about him, and he was doing something similar, only he was hovering over my body while it happened.

  I squeeze my legs together as my center begins to pulse, demanding attention. My heart pounds recklessly against my breastbone, but I know it’s only because of the lack of orgasms I’ve been experiencing. This man makes me want to change that fact.

  Twenty-nine… Thirty…

  “Mooooooom!” Hannah wails from her room. “Where are my shoes?”

  “Check by the front door, where I told you to put them last night.” I tear my eyes from him and take a breath. I can’t have this reaction to him, not the asshole next door. I received his message loud and clear yesterday, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use this to think about later after Han’s gone to bed and I’ve had a couple glasses of wine.

  I look back, wanting to commit more detail to memory, but he isn’t doing pull-ups anymore. Nope, now he’s standing in the window, directly across from me, staring at me with annoyance flaring in his dark chocolate eyes.

  The toothbrush falls from my hand and I feel my skin flush with embarrassment.

  Busted. He lifts an eyebrow before reaching for his blinds and closing them, preventing me from gawking at him any further.

  I swallow hard, instantly gagging at the contents of saliva and toothpaste running down my throat, and move quickly back into the bathroom to rinse and spit the remaining contents from my mouth. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I cringe because I look like a character from the show The Walking Dead.

  I was too tired to wash the makeup off my face last night, so my mascara has given me racoon eyes, my hair is a ratted mess, and I’m wearing the same clothing I wore when he saw me yesterday.

  Shit, shit, shit. I groan, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.

  Not that I want to.

  No, because he’s an asshole.

  ***

  As if this day can’t get any worse, my car won’t start.

  I turn the key in the ignition once again, this time pra
ying for a bloody miracle. Nothing happens.

  My head falls onto the steering wheel with a thud.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  This can’t be happening.

  “Mom, we’re already so late,” Hannah complains for the hundredth time since waking me up this morning. As if I didn’t know how late we are already running.

  I reach under the steering wheel and search for the latch to pop the hood. I get out of the car and lift the hood, realizing pretty quickly how pointless that act was. I know nothing about what happens under the hood of my car.

  Son of a bitch!

  Travis

  Drinking the last of the coffee, I place the ceramic mug in the sink and pick up the keys to the truck sitting next to me on the counter. I glance out the window at the little blue house next door. Thoughts of her fill my head once more, the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since yesterday.

  The same woman is now standing under the open hood of her car, cursing up a storm.

  What the fuck?

  I grab my winter coat off the rack and stuff my arms into it before opening the door and stepping outside into the cold. I zip up the coat as I cross my driveway and the invisible line I was careful to draw yesterday. I do it without a second thought.

  Another flurry of curse words leaves her mouth, and I glance into the car to see her daughter staring wide-eyed at me, her hands over her ears.

  I step into the woman’s line of sight and walk around the front end to stand next to her. A gasped breath escapes her lips and she clutches her chest, clearly shocked at my sudden appearance.

  “Don’t do that,” she cries, narrowing her eyes on me. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Move,” I tell her, but she doesn’t.

  “I’ve got this,” she assures me, but I don’t believe her.

  “You know cars?”

  “No, but—”

  “Move.”

  “Who in the hell do you think you are?” she demands, again with her hands on her hips. I groan inwardly. There she goes again with the sass.

  “I’m not going to say it again,” I murmur before taking a step toward her.