Ends 09-09 – Silver Bells, Single Bed by Paula Dombrowiak Book Blitz + $10 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway

Excerpt #1
“So,” she says. “Small problem.”

I cannot fathom any problem bigger than the one that’s currently happening in my pants at the sight of her.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in.” She wiggles the bag helplessly. “I didn’t exactly pack for two overnights. Everything in here is dance clothes. I can sleep in this, I guess.” She shakes her head and sets the bag down on the chair.

Jesus fuck, the universe is loving me today.

“You can’t sleep in your clothes.”

“Well, I think sleeping naked is out of the question,” she says, and I swear she’s not as innocent as she seems.

I clear my throat. “That’s not…” I dig through my duffel bag until I find a Hollow Reign concert t-shirt and hold it out to her. “Here. You can sleep in this.”

She hesitates a beat.

“It’s clean, I promise.”

Her fingers brush mine, small and soft as she takes it and brings it up to her nose. “Smells like you,” she smiles and then disappears back into the bathroom.

Fuck, get yourself together, Rhodes.

What would Casey do if he knew I was in a hotel room with his little sister right now, and that she was wearing my t-shirt? I press my forehead against the cold glass window and try to think about anything—my drum kit, my mom’s tamales, the tempo count on the new single, anything that isn’t Harper Beaumont pulling her sweater off on the other side of that door.

And I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her as she walks out of the bathroom wearing my shirt. Every coherent thought in my brain evaporates.

The neckline slips off one shoulder, and the hem hits the tops of her thighs, revealing soft, smooth legs. She pads over to her bag and stuffs her clothes inside.

“It’s a little big,” she says, pulling on the hem.

I swallow hard.

“Jesus, Harper,” I say, my voice rough. “Are you not wearing a bra?”

She looks down at herself, genuinely confused, then back up at me. “Of course not.” She shakes her head like that’s the stupidest question in the world. “It’s not comfortable to sleep in. Get over it.”

Get over it?

She says it the way another girl would say pass the salt. Like she has no idea what she’s doing to me. Like she hasn’t just rearranged the entire chemistry of the room by walking out of a bathroom in my shirt, her nipples visible through the material.

I scrub a hand down my face.

I grab a pillow off the bed and carry it to the armchair by the window. “I’ll take the chair. You take the bed.”

“Liam, that chair isn’t big enough for you to sleep in.”

“I’ll manage.”

She crosses to the bed and lies down on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching me with an expression I can’t read. The t-shirt rides up her thigh, and I swear to God I catch the edge of lace and the curve of her hip underneath before I have to physically drag my eyes off her.

I rearrange the pillow, trying to smash it into submission.

“Liam,” she says, getting my attention. She’s resting her cheek on her hand. Her hair is spilling across the white pillow, and she looks like a fucking wet dream. “Do you not feel safe in the bed with me?”

Excerpt #2
“Sir, we need to check your bag.”

Fuck. I move out of the way while the agent unzips the main compartment, feels around the edges, then reaches into the side pocket. He frowns and pulls out something bright pink and unmistakably shaped like an exceptionally large cock.

What the actual fuck?

Motherfucking Casey!

As if this day can’t get any worse, it turns on, vibrating in his hand. I tilt my head towards the ceiling, though instead of looking for some divine intervention I’m imagining wringing Casey’s scrawny little neck.

“Anything with batteries needs to be taken out of your bag,” he says, like he sees this shit all the time.

The vibrator is getting attention from everyone around me. A teenager whips out his phone and starts filming.

Great. This is gonna be on the internet in about thirty seconds. Merry fucking Christmas to me.

“That’s not mine.” Which is exactly what every person in the history of air travel who’s been caught with a vibrator at airport security has said.

“It was in your bag, sir,” he says unimpressed.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Apparently my friend,”—and I say that loosely—“thinks he’s hilarious.” The agent just stares at me while the vibrator dances in his hand. “Fucking Casey,” I mutter under my breath.

A little kid tugs on his mom’s sleeve and asks what that noise is. She steers him away without answering.

The agent unceremoniously switches it off with a click and drops it back into my bag. “You’re free to go,” he says, waving me out of the line.

I zip the bag shut and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.

I’m gonna murder him.

There’s a nine-foot Christmas tree all decorated near the food court. I order a slice of pizza, drop into a seat, pull out my phone, and send a text to our group chat.

Liam: Casey you absolute fucking menace.

Casey: Found my Christmas gift?

Liam: No. TSA found it you asshole.

Casey: 😂😂😂 wish I could have seen that.

I take a bite of my pizza.

Casey: Oh wait. I didn’t need to be there.

He sends a link to a TikTok. Goddamn. That kid at the TSA line. It’s already racking up views.

Liam: I hate you.

Casey: Geez. Try to do something nice for a guy and this is the thanks I get 🙄

Phoenix: #vibratorgate

Theo: the comments lmao ☠️

Fuck, what are people saying?

Nope, don’t care.

I flip my phone face down and finish off my pizza. I stare at the phone. Jesus. Against my better judgment, I pick it up and flip through the comments.

@fangedfangirl: Sir that’s not a drumstick 😭

@moshpitdiaries: Even TSA getting backstage access now

@screaminginrow3 Reply to @moshpitdiaries: more like backdoor access 🤣

@distortedheart: Security said vibe check failed

I put my phone away and pull my hat lower. I’m gonna need therapy and a new identity by New Year’s.

A woman across from me glances down at her phone, then looks up at me. She nudges her husband.

I grab my bag and get up before anyone else connects the dots. Weaving through the crowds, I pass the wreaths and garlands lining the corridor on my way to a gift shop. I briefly consider buying a scarf or a hoodie, but who am I kidding? I’d just look like a guy who got stopped with a vibrator by TSA.

A small jazz ensemble is set up along the corridor, playing a smooth rendition of “White Christmas” and I stop to listen. Travelers are passing by in a rush, but for me, everything slows down. It’s two days before Christmas, and I just want to get home in time.

I turn to leave, and that’s when I notice her. The woman from the security line, standing in front of one of the departures monitors with her back to me.

She’s in boots and tights, with legs stretching on forever beneath the hem of her skirt, the kind of gorgeous that makes a grown man walk into glass doors.

“Shit!”

Or magazine racks. I catch it before it topples, shoving a scattered copy of People back into place while the guy at the newsstand gives me an annoyed look. Smooth, Liam. Real smooth.

I straighten up, the magazine rack wobbling behind me. There’s something about her that makes me want to walk over and say something. I don’t even know what. I just know that if I keep walking, I’m going to regret it.

The noise makes her turn around and I almost fall into the magazine rack again.

It’s Harper Beaumont, my bandmates little sister.

The one fucking person in this entire world I have absolutely no business looking at the way I just did. This can’t be happening. As if Casey hasn’t already fucked me over enough today. Now this?