Flirting with the Scrooge, page 1
part #1 of Harbor Highlands Series
Flirting with the Scrooge
A Grumpy Sunshine Holiday Romantic Comedy
Harbor Highlands
Gia Stevens
Flirting with the Scrooge: A Grumpy Sunshine Holiday Romantic Comedy by Gia Stevens
www.authorgiastevens.com
Published by: Gia Stevens
Copyright: Flirting with the Scrooge: A Grumpy Sunshine Holiday Romantic Comedy by Gia Stevens © 2023 Gia Stevens
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-958286-09-8
Editor: My Notes in the Margins
Publisher: Wild Clover Publishing, LLC
v111023
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Blurb
A spicy holiday grumpy sunshine standalone novel by romantic comedy author Gia Stevens…
* * *
‘Twas a month before Christmas, and all through the town,Everyone was ready to celebrate, except my hot and grumpy new neighbor.
* * *
Christmas is my favorite time of year with the festive parties and holiday cheer. But having Connor Tyler move in next door is as much fun as searching for a burned-out bulb in a string of lights.
* * *
His rugged good looks and guitar can make anyone swoon. That doesn’t change the fact that he slammed the door in my face when I welcomed him with a tray of homemade cookies.
* * *
But I won’t let his bah-humbug attitude damper my holiday spirit. This year, more than ever, I need to deck the halls and revel in being jolly. As I ramp up my holiday cheer, Connor spends more and more time casting lingering glances toward my… mistletoe. When a blizzard hits, a gesture of hospitality leads to exchanging more than presents.
* * *
As Christmas draws nearer, I chip away at his icy facade only to discover a painful truth. There’s an expiration date on his time next door.
* * *
And I’m certain I don’t have enough boxes of tinsel to convince him to stay.
Welcome to Harbor Highlands
A Series of Interconnected Standalones
Flirting with the Playboy - Bennett and Charlie’s Story- One dating app. Many flirtatious messages. But what happens when the other person behind the screen is actually the office playboy?
* * *
Flirting with the Enemy - Seth and Parisa’s Story- Co-workers and enemies get stranded together only to discover their hatred for each other is fueled by lust.
* * *
Flirting with the Stranger - Van and Hollyn’s Story- What do a fake stripper, a younger man, and a one-night stand have in common? They all end up becoming Hollyn’s new boss.
* * *
Flirting with the Bad Boy - Ledger and Olivia’s Story- When the good girl falls for the bad boy… too bad he’s also her best friend’s brother.
* * *
Flirting with the Scrooge - Connor and Tatum’s Story- After getting dumped, the only thing Tatum wants to do is immerse herself in holiday cheer, but her grumpy, new neighbor has other plans.
For everyone searching for their soulmate…
Be sure to find someone who will write a beautiful song for you.
* * *
Or at the very least, fuck you under the Christmas tree.
* * *
Merry Christmas!
While this story is a romantic comedy there may be situations that are triggering to some. For a list of those content warnings please visit my website and scroll to the bottom of the page.
* * *
Contents
1. The New Neighbor
2. Satan’s Ballsack
3. What The Crap?
4. The Snow Shovel Police
5. Scrooge McAssface
6. The Christmas Tree Thief
7. Christmas Mullet
8. Hot Pink Dick
9. Fuck Xmas Frank
10. Nut Butter
11. You Liiike Him
12. Vanilla and Ass
13. Only One Fireplace
14. Orgasm Trifecta
15. Who’s The Stalker Now?
16. Will You Stay?
17. Nurse Tatum
18. Fake Date
19. Make Him Jealous
20. The Holiday Escort
21. One Trick Pony
22. In Bed With A Rock Star
23. It Was Real
24. Candy Mafia
25. Shimmy Down His Chimney
26. Santa’s On Fire
27. Two Orgasm Limit
28. The Band of Christmas Misfits
29. Caught Cheating
30. Take The Stage
31. Road To You
32. Naked and Homeless
Epilogue
A Note From Gia
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Gia Stevens
One
The New Neighbor
Tatum
Some people love Christmas, but I love Christmas. Ever since I was a little girl it was always my favorite holiday. Everything from the delectable smell of vanilla, sugar, and melted chocolate from fresh baked cookies wafting through the air to hunting for the perfectly symmetrical and lush Christmas tree at the local tree farm. And let’s not forget decorations galore, inside the house and out. Honestly, it’s a holiday that should be year-round.
Rising on my tippy toes, my fingertips scratch at a box sitting on the top shelf in my garage. As I stretch, the step stool scrapes against the cement floor beneath me. Oh, come on, just a little farther. With a one footed hop, I’m able to push the box just enough to expose the corner so I’m able to pull it with my other hand. With both hands I secure the box against my chest. As I step backward, my toe slips off the edge. The box flies from my grasp as my arms flail wildly to regain my balance. The cardboard rips down the side as it hits the floor, spilling plastic ornaments and Christmas lights across the cement. Just my luck. As I tumble backward to the floor, a stack of sharp cornered boxes breaks my fall, instead of the pile of inflatable decorations. A mushroom cloud of fake snow plumes into the air and flutters down around me. It’s like I’m living in my very own snow globe. I blow a strand of hair out of my face. The one thing that should bring me joy this year just tried to kill me. Great.
If someone told me a month ago this is where my life would be, I would have laughed in their face. Never did I imagine I’d be lying in a heap of cardboard boxes and fake snow. No one expects to not only get dumped but also fired in a span of thirty seconds. But here I am a month before Christmas, single and definitely not in the mood to mingle.
One day, it was all… gone. The bow on my neatly wrapped Christmas present was catching my ex canoodling with his intern at a charity gala my sister was coordinating. When he told me he was dumping me to focus on his career, it was accurate as long as his career involved a leggy brunette in a pencil skirt. We spent five years together, and he tossed me out faster than an unwanted fruit cake.
My only goal for the next four weeks is to drown my sorrows in tinsel, lights, and ornaments. And clearly, I’m even having a hard time with that. Any other year I would be stringing up Christmas lights and blowing up the inflatable Santa and all his workshop accessories, but this year my bah humbug is at an all-time high. Which I hate. I’m always the first one to put up my decorations, mostly to encourage my neighbors to do the same so I can have some actual competition for the neighborhood decorating contest.
I peel myself off the ground and brush off my jeans. Coffee. I need more coffee. Pushing my way through the door that leads from the garage into my kitchen, I pull a cup off my mug tree, and fill it to the brim with the deep brown deliciousness. While clutching the mug with both hands, I leisurely stroll toward the large picture window that faces the street. By now, a tree would be standing tall in this very spot, but this year is different. It’s hard to get into the holiday spirit when your life crumbles to pieces a week earlier.
I lift the steaming cup of coffee to my lips and take a sip. No more wallowing. No more letting my ex consume my thoughts. I need to immerse myself in the one thing I love and forget everything else. Christmas. As my nana would say, “Only let your thoughts be consumed by someone who deserves them. Give everyone else the middle finger.” Nana was classy like that.
Whirling around, I stomp across the room and back into the kitchen. It’s time to raise some middle fingers. I slam my coffee mug on the white quartz kitchen island a little harder than normal. I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. Shoving my feet into the fur lined boots, I throw my coat over my shoulders and tug my knit cap over my hair. Time to make the decorations my bitch.
I press the garage door button. The bright light slowly fills the dark garage as the door rises. I finish cleaning up my previous mess and dig into the other boxes sitting on the cement. I rifle through several boxes, pulling out all the decorations I’ll need and move everything else to the side.
A light coating of snow dusts the ground as I drag one box out to the driveway leaving a plowed snow path in my wake. From my back pocket I pull out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, I glance down at the haphazard diagram of my decoration set up. The blowup Santa and reindeer wil
Over the next several hours, I run extension cords, carry out boxes, and set up all the decorations. Once everything is in place, I plug it in for a trial run. I shuffle my way to the end of the short driveway, being careful so I don’t slip, and admire the lights as they faintly twinkle to life. Santa rises to his eight-foot height and the snow swirls around in the inflatable snow globe. Now it’s not Clark Griswold-esque, but it’s pretty close. A triumphant smile covers my face. This may be my best work yet. Maybe getting dumped actually put a little extra pep in my Christmas step.
I tiptoe around the decorations, careful not to disturb the powdery snow as I inspect each light and electrical cord. Once I confirm everything works properly, I pull the plug, cutting off the power.
A large black truck rumbles down the road and slows as it approaches my driveway. Instead of entering mine, it pulls into Mrs. Hendrickson’s across the street. My gaze immediately drifts to the California license plate. Soon after, a moving truck pulls in with a storage container on the back. A tall, broad shouldered, dark-haired male steps out from the black truck. He’s got a ruggedly handsome lumberjack vibe to him with the green flannel coat and dark beard to complete the ensemble. A duffle bag is in one hand and a guitar case in the other. Another man, older with a graying beard and a beanie, meets him at the rear between both trucks. He must be a new neighbor. But I never saw a for sale sign in front of the house.
I step backward, gaze glued to my new neighbors, when my heel kicks one of the empty boxes, throwing me off balance. My arms windmill and I bellow out a screech as I crash to the ground with a thud. Boxes and tubs fling to the side and skate across my driveway. When I glance up, both men’s gazes shoot my way. Heat creeps up my neck and floods my cheeks. I wave them off, yelling, “I’m okay!” Just bruised my ass and my dignity. Without a second glance back, both men turn around and walk inside. Well that’s one way to introduce myself.
While still on the ground, my phone rings in my pocket, startling me. I pull it out and Olivia flashes on the screen. I press talk.
“Hey. What’s up?” I wince, rising to my feet. I can already feel a bruise forming on each ass cheek.
“I’ve set up a client meeting on Friday.” My sister, Olivia, started her own event coordinator business and asked me to work with her, which was perfect timing since I was just fired. I brush the speckles of snow off my butt and thighs. “Okay. Just let me know when and where.”
“I’ve already added it to the shared calendar. So, what are you doing today?”
“Just setting up the last of the outdoor decorations.”
“That sounds boring.”
Olivia never got into the holiday spirit as much as I did. I loved going to my nana’s house and helping her decorate. There was something special about having a cup of hot cocoa and throwing tinsel on the tree and hanging stockings over the fireplace. Nana always had two trees. One for me to decorate, which was home to every ornament I could find. Homemade. Store bought. If it had a hook, it went on the tree. There wasn’t a branch untouched once I was finished. And then there was Nana’s more elegant and pristine tree. But she always told me she liked mine more. Now that I’m older, I’ve learned less is more. At least when it comes to my own tree. The outside is another story.
“What if I said I have a new neighbor?”
“Now that could be interesting. Give me the deets.”
I stroll back into the garage, careful so no one else can hear me. “Two guys pulled into Mrs. Hendrickson’s place across the street with a truck and a moving container.”
“Are they cute?”
“One is older. Maybe mid-fifties. The other is harder to tell because of his beard, but he appears younger.”
“Get your ass over there and get a closer look. Bring cookies too. Neighbors like cookies. Plus, you’ll need to tell him all about the neighborhood decorating contest.”
I push an empty box to the side with my boot. “That’s true. He can’t be the only one with an undecorated house.”
“And while you’re there, you can tell me if he’s hot or not. Perhaps a holiday hook-up is exactly what you need. He can twittle your tinsel. You can deck his balls.”
I bark out a laugh. “No twittling. And the only balls I’ll be playing with will be covered in glitter.”
“I’m sure the glitter can be arranged. Some guys might be into that.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No glitter. I just want to spend this holiday with you and our friends.”
“Well, you’re no fun. Let me know how it goes and tell me if he’s hot.”
“You have a boyfriend.”
“I need to know if he’s hot for you.”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “Alright. You’ll be the first one I call.”
“You better. In fact, put me on speaker when you go over there. Then I can get the play-by-play.”
“That’s not happening. Kay. Bye.” I press end and shove my phone into my coat pocket.
I stack all the boxes and totes from the driveway and haul them into the garage. While I’m cleaning up, I steal glances across the street. So far, no one has come out and the curtains are closed, so I can’t see in through the large picture window.
Once I’m finished, I make my way inside. I glance at the oversized starburst wall clock. It’s still early. Maybe baking will get me out of this funk and I can bring them across the street to meet my new neighbor. Two birds. One stone.
Two
Satan’s Ballsack
Connor
I toss my duffle bag onto the floor and lean my guitar case against the well worn fabric couch. It’s been years since I’ve been back to Grams’ house. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve been back to Harbor Highlands. I guess that’s what happens when a record producer stumbles into the bar your band is playing at and offers to sign you. It's been a lifelong dream to play music professionally, but it happened so fast. One minute I’m thirty-four, playing local bars, then the next my band is selling out various halls, theaters, and clubs. We’re not filling stadiums, but for a follow up tour, that’s a possibility. Unfortunately, the vanity of it all wore off pretty quick. As fast as I entered Hollywood, I was ready to leave. And that’s why I’m here.
When I got the phone call saying they were moving Grams to Whispering Pines Assisted Living and they needed someone to fix up her house so they could sell it, I jumped at the opportunity. I’m not Bob Vila or anything, but I know my way around a toolbox. At the very least, there’s always YouTube. Plus, it was the perfect excuse to get away and have some time to myself and contemplate some life decisions about what I want the next step to be.
I throw myself onto the couch and exhale a sigh. “Thanks for all your help, man. I appreciate it.” My phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glance down at the screen, sigh, then mute the call. A second later my phone dings notifying me of a voicemail.
