Julie Olivia

I’m Birdie Mae, and let’s skip to the weird part of my story: Short-term relationships with good looking Santas are kind of my thing. And Nicholas Ryan is the good looking Santa I really don’t need in my life.

They say the spirit of Christmas finds you on holiday vacations, but instead I run into the only person who could get my Christmas lights twisted: freaking Nicholas. A man I haven’t seen in twenty years and who I never wanted to see again. Except now he’s my hot bartender, complete with a silver-fox beard, a twinkle in his eye, and looking a lot like my kryptonite: jingle belling Santa Claus.

It’s five days until Christmas, I’m stuck in a snowy town straight out of a Hallmark movie, and my ultimate goal? Avoid the Grinch who stole all my Christmases and pretend that our chemistry is simply just the magic of Christmas in the air.

The Fake Santa Apology Tour is a laugh-out-loud, holiday romantic comedy novella with sexy Santas (trust me), small town snowball fights, and some feel-good holiday magic.

Please note that this book contains sex scenes and is intended for mature audiences only. But, if all you want for Christmas is some slow burn spice involving a bar top and some cleverly tied Christmas lights, then put on your favorite holiday album and dive right in

A Holiday Novella

The Fake Santa Apology Tour

Bia || Alpi 

I would say a man is my bartender, but no...I'd be wrong. 

This must be some type of cruel joke by the universe.

My previous Santas were handsome, but even they didn't look like this. Not this hot-bartender Santa with massive biceps that look like he slings a burlap sack over his shoulder every day of every month instead of the fabled once a year. This man with ridges of abs I can partially peek at through his tight white tee.

nanafark

I bet I’m just getting slow food poisoning. Much more preferable than 

“Where have you been my whole life?” he asks me, and the words settle deep in my soul because I don’t know a way to tell him I’ve been wondering the same thing.

“Sorry,” he says with a small shake of his head, his hard lines fading to a gentler expression. I don’t know which I prefer more: the face that is kind and sweet with more rounded features that say, ‘What do you want for Christmas, little girl?’ or the other with straight, harsh lines that make me wanna say, ‘You, Daddy.’

“Because a cute out-of-towner with freckles is flirting with me in my bar.” He leans in, voice deep and throaty once more. “And I’m a sucker for it. And maybe I wanna see you just a bit longer.”

“Should we really go in the front door if Dorothy is that strict?” I ask.

He grins. “Why? Do you want me to sneak in through your window instead? Maybe even the chimney?”

“Sounds unsafe,” I say. “And like we’d get in trouble.”

He tilts his head to the side, and I see it again in his crystal blue eyes: that twinkle. A genuine kind of thing.

“Do you avoid trouble?” he asks. Then he leans in, hands placed in his pockets, and his next words heat the shell of my ear as he whispers, “Or are you more of a bad girl?”

I, feeling on top of the world and high on him, say back, “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

The Fake Santa Apology Tour quotes

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