Dreaming of a Cowboy Christmas

Chapter 1

“Is there a reason you have two ten-inch dildos in your carry-on?” the TSA agent asks, holding one up with his gloved hand as if it’s evidence of a crime.

My cheeks flush as several travelers whip their heads in my direction, judgment screaming from their expressions. It doesn’t help that the agent dumped the bag of toys I meticulously packed into a pile next to my suitcase, adding to my public humiliation.

Two nuns who’ve just passed the security checkpoint look at me as if they want to douse me in holy water, and a mother shields her toddler from view while she waits for her bag to be checked.

I don’t blame them.

My luggage holds the full holiday collection from Twisted Temptations—the biggest online adult shop in the country. With glittery dildos, vibrators, and candy cane-striped butt plugs, one might assume I’m off to an X-rated party at the North Pole instead of a solo Christmas trip in Arizona.

The agent clears his throat when I don’t respond. “Well?”

“Uh… they’re for work,” I say with the most innocent smile I can muster.

Anything to speed this interrogation along before someone decides to livestream and I’m trending on TikTok as #GlitterDildoGirl.

The agent arches a brow. “I see. And what kind of work is that?”

I blush, realizing too late that my answer likely led him to assume I’m a stripper—or a professional for hire. If only I were that coordinated.

I clear my throat. Something tells me he’s not interested in the full story, so I settle on, “I host a podcast.”

“And that explains why you’re traveling with all these devices, how?” He gestures to a Christmas-tree-shaped wand that’s just started buzzing on the counter.

“Brands sponsor my show, and I like to try the products beforehand. I’d never recommend anything to my subscribers that I wouldn’t use myself. Especially not with a sparkly battery-operated device that goes in—” I stop mid-sentence.

I tend to ramble when I’m nervous, even in situations when I’d be better off keeping my mouth shut.

“And you didn’t think to check your bag?” the agent asks.

I bite back a laugh as he fumbles to turn off the vibrating wand. I’d offer to help, but knowing my luck, it’d probably land me on a no-fly list.

“No?” I say it as a question.

Note to self: Don’t accept sponsorships from adult novelty brands with a tight deadline right before going out of town.

I’m supposed to record the brand’s ad spots for the podcast at the start of the year, but I wanted to have firsthand experience with the products first. Unfortunately, shipping was delayed, and the package didn’t arrive until this morning.

I crammed everything into my suitcase, which made me late to the airport with no time to check my bag.

It hadn’t crossed my mind that it could be an issue until the TSA agent dumped the collection on the counter.

“Are you asking or telling me?” he questions, exhaling in relief when the wand stops vibrating.

I run a hand through my hair, giving him a sheepish chuckle. “Depends on which option gets me to my gate before I miss my flight. I’m guessing neither comes with complimentary champagne?”

There isn’t so much as a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Someone must be all out of holiday cheer.

No wonder—it’s a week before Christmas, and the airport is packed with travelers who think wrapping paper bans and liquid limits are negotiable. And now he’s dealing with a chatty Gen Zer lugging around a suitcase full of adult toys.

“Ma’am, if you don’t give me a direct answer, I’ll have to escort you to a secondary screening area, and that could take a while.

” The agent presses his lips into a thin line.

“Are you asking or telling me that you purposely didn’t check your bag?

” His calm delivery is more intimidating than if he had shouted.

“Telling. Definitely telling,” I say, tugging my purse strap higher on my shoulder. “I didn’t want to chance missing my flight, so I came straight to security.”

I fully expect him to tell me to toss the items or go back to the check-in counter. Instead, he studies me with narrowed eyes as he drops the wand and the rest of my toys into the open suitcase and pushes it toward me with a brisk nod.

“Alrighty then. You’re all set.”

“Um… thanks,” I stammer, still shell-shocked from our interaction. “Happy holidays.”

He ignores me in favor of changing his gloves before retrieving the next bag ready for inspection.

I heft my suitcase over to the nearest repack station, studiously avoiding glances from the flurry of travelers passing through the checkpoint.

That was hands down one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life.

I hate to point fingers, but this is all my ex-boyfriend’s fault. If he hadn’t cheated which led to our breakup this past summer, I wouldn’t be stuck choosing between spending a Christmas alone in New York or hopping on a plane to a sunny destination to drown out my holiday blues.

I usually spend it with my parents, but they booked a Christmas cruise back when Mark and I were still together. They invited us to come along, but he complained about getting seasick, even though he’s never set foot on a boat.

After we broke up, my parents offered to cancel their trip since the cruise was sold out, and I couldn’t go with them, but I insisted they go without me. The tickets were non-refundable, and after a lifetime of prioritizing me, it was time they treated themselves.

I pushed aside the fact that being alone during my favorite time of year would be unbearable.

That’s how I ended up scrolling through vacation rentals at the last minute, eager to trade in stockings and mistletoe for tank tops and tan lines.

If I had to miss out on the traditions I’ve cherished since childhood—traditions I won’t have this year thanks to Mark’s inability to keep it in his pants—I wanted a distraction.

And by this time tomorrow, I’ll be soaking up the sun in a desert oasis with a margarita in hand, hoping it’s enough to fill the void of spending Christmas alone.

On the way to my gate, I text my friend Gemma.

Noelle: Is it possible to die of humiliation??

Gemma: Please tell me you didn’t send a ‘prince’ in an obscure country money again?!

Noelle: He was being held prisoner!

Noelle: This is worse. A TSA agent dumped out my luggage, including the giant dildos Twisted Temptations sent me.

Gemma: That’s perfect viral material for your next podcast.

Gemma: Episode title idea: TSA Gone Wild

In addition to being my best friend, Gemma is also my manager and isn’t shy about turning my embarrassing moments into content gold.

I prefer to keep my personal life private, but sharing certain experiences with my audience is unavoidable.

Especially when I think they’ll find it relatable or entertaining.

Luckily for me, I have an endless supply of them.

Noelle: And let everyone assume I’m single for the holidays and hauling a suitcase of glittery dildos across the country to keep me company? No thanks.

Gemma: Girl, you are single, and your next orgasm is long overdue.

Noelle: You make me sound desperate.

I’m an expert at giving advice, but taking it?

Not so much. It’s easy to encourage other women not to wait on a man for their next release and to move on when their boyfriend cheats.

But I haven’t gotten laid in over six months and can’t remember when I had my last orgasm.

Maybe this trip will be my sexual reawakening and the fresh start I’ve been hoping for.

Gemma: I did catch you watching those thirst-trap cooking videos on TikTok from @BicepsAndBiscuits69 last week.

Noelle: He’s a very skilled chef!

Gemma: Mmhmm. Did security survive looking through your bag?

Noelle: Barely, but they let it through.

Gemma: Thank god your battery-powered boyfriends passed inspection.

Noelle: Just glad I made it past security… I gotta run or I’ll miss my flight.

Gemma: Let me know when you get to your rental.

Noelle: Will do!

I tuck my phone in my pocket and speed walk to my gate.

My trip might have gotten off to a rocky start, but I’m confident it will turn into an adventure full of sunshine and unforgettable memories.