Chapter 11
“Santa Claus Wants Some Lovin’”
Wren seriously needed a break from Hawthorne men. The moment her phone stopped buzzing, it instantly started again.
As soon as she reached the safety of her soundproofed car, she snatched the phone out of her bag and snapped, “What?”
“Wren, thank God. I need you!” Soren said in a panic, his voice cracking with desperation.
Her frustration immediately transformed into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to fucking kill Logan! He signed me up for some bachelor auction with a bunch of feral romance readers! I was getting lunch at Hook, Wine, and Sinker this afternoon when your horny author friend accosted me.”
“Jocelyn?”
“Yeah. She raved about me finally doing my civic duty. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about until she showed me the signup sheet for her event tonight. Logan put my name on that damn list. I know it was him.”
Wren exhaled her concern with an eye roll. Why was this her problem? “If you don’t want to do it, Soren, just tell her you had a change of heart.”
“Have you met Jocelyn? She’s a lunatic. I tried getting out of it, but she threatened to tell everyone we slept together and that she broke it off because I wasn’t ergonomically satisfying in the pants department—that’s total bullshit, by the way.
I’m above average and surprisingly impressive.
Once, I even made a woman speak in tongues. ”
“I don’t need to hear that.”
“I’m just trying to protect my reputation. I can’t have some Viking porn author making up stories about me and my man parts.”
She laughed. “Just play along with the auction, Soren. It’s for charity.”
“No. I can’t. The chick with the blue hair from the sex toy shop turned up too. Those two should never be able to team up. She said she’d back Jocelyn’s made-up story if I didn’t show up.”
“Then you better go.”
“I’m seriously going to murder Logan the next time I see him.”
“What’s the big deal, Soren? You could actually meet someone—“
“Uh-uh. No way. You have to help me.”
Someone hollered in the background, and Wren frowned. “Where are you now?”
“I’m at Hook, Wine & Sinker. The auction starts in thirty minutes.
And Wren... these aren’t regular women. They’re all boozed up and catcalling like this is some sort of construction site.
I’ve never felt so objectified. They’re looking at me like a prime cut of beef. I’m scared.” His voice cracked.
Wren could hear the volume of the bar in the background. It sounded way too wild for the typically swanky vibe of the restaurant. “It’s for a good cause, Soren. Jocelyn’s trying to build a new wing on the library. You like books.”
“Not the sort these women like. The last thing Hideaway Harbor needs is more women like Jocelyn. They’re feral! One tried to take my shirt off and lube me up with some strawberry-scented shit.”
Wren laughed. “Come on, Soren, be a good sport.”
“They won’t let me leave! I’ve tried several times. Apparently, I’m prime pickings. You have to come save me.”
“How am I supposed to do that? There’s no reasoning with Jocelyn once her mind’s made up.”
“Then you have to come bid on me. I can’t go home with these women. I’m already feeling objectified. I’m a piece of meat here!”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. That doesn’t seem like a sensible investment. The holidays are coming, and I’ve been saving up for some new yoga equipment—“
“Wren!” he snapped, voice back to shrill. “Do not let me get sold off to these jackals. They’ll rip me apart like the last big ticket item at a Black Friday sale. I’m not charming enough to survive this.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m really not. Please, come rescue me.”
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there soon.”
“Hurry!”
She ended the call and laughed. He was definitely going to kill Logan.
Hook, Wine & Sinker was one of Hideaway Harbor’s most upscale bars, where leather and mahogany usually whispered sophistication under dark wood beams and candlelit tables. But that hushed, romantic atmosphere was not what Wren walked into.
The deep emerald velvet booths overflowed with well-hydrated women whose laughter bubbled like champagne. The air fizzed with anticipation, and they hooted and cheered whenever a bachelor walked by. It was as rowdy as the New York City trading floor five minutes before closing.
“What the...”
The anchors and vintage fishing gear adorning the walls were draped in flashing red lights, giving the usually tasteful establishment a more sinful, red-light district appearance.
A runway stage made from a glossy wooden dock platform, complete with string lights and garland, protruded into the main lounge.
Jocelyn’s books were displayed throughout, along with naughty toys from Lola’s adult store, The Perfect Package.
She grinned, thinking of how great it would be if they forced Soren to strut his stuff down that catwalk. He was going to beat the crap out of Logan for setting him up like this.
Red velvet curtains tied back with gold rope created a lush backdrop that shimmered under stage lights like liquid sin. A large, hand-painted sign read, “Raiders of the Lost Heart Fundraiser: A Holiday Hero Auction Benefitting the Hideaway Harbor Public Library!”
“Oh, this is too good.” Rather than find Soren, Wren sat down at the bar. The place was packed, so there weren’t many options for seats close to the stage.
Her eyes widened when she realized the ornaments on the Christmas tree by the bar displayed anatomically correct molds of genitals—clitorises to be exact.
There also hung crab claws, wine corks, and bottles, and such, but once one saw a set of dangling Christmas balls—not the Hobby Lobby sort—it became a bit difficult to notice anything else.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, having to shout over the boisterous crowd.
Wren glanced at the signature cocktail menu for the night. “I’ll take a spiced cider.”
“Rum or whiskey?”
“Um, rum, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Cranberries, pine sprigs, and floating tea lights added some tasteful holiday charm to the lounge, but nothing could distract from the potent essence of female hormones in the air.
“You came!” Jocelyn tackled her with a clumsy hug that reeked of rum and victory and nearly knocked Wren off her stool.
“Phew.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “Good God, Joce. You smell flammable.” Wren did quick math. “ I left you more than eight hours ago. Have you had any water or food?”
She waved away her concern. “I’m the host. I had to sample a little of everything.”
“Why would you do that when you know you have to emcee?
She shrugged. “My Vikings weren’t cooperating. And you know my motto: when life gives you writer’s block, make martinis.”
“Does that actually help?”
“No, but I don’t care about the writer’s block anymore.” She reached for a program on the bar. “Can you believe this crowd? I never expected this great of a turnout.”
Wren scanned the women. She only recognized a few from Hideaway Harbor. These ladies weren’t town locals. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re Viking lovers like me! Some are fellow authors, others are readers, and a few are just single women looking for a good time.” She grinned and hooted when the handsome, young barback walked by with a case of beer on his shoulder.
Several women catcalled and whistled.
“These are my people!” Jocelyn reached for a program that shamelessly advertised her newest release, The Viking’s Heart. “Have you seen this lineup?”
“That’s sort of why I’m here. Soren called me in a panic.”
Jocelyn laughed. “How very territorial of you to come to his rescue. Careful, Wren, do anything public and by tomorrow, the town will think you’re in love.”
Wren’s face went slack, and Jocelyn, despite her intoxication, read her like a book.
“Oh, my God.” Jocelyn grabbed her by the arms and shook her like a rag doll. “There have been new developments. Tell me!”
Wren disentangled from her grip. “Shh!”
“You saw Grey.” Her eyes grew wild with curiosity. “What happened?”
Where did she even begin? “That’s a story for sober Jocelyn.”
“Oh, come on. She’s the lamest of all my personalities. Just give me the CliffsNotes. Did you fuck him?”
“Joce, shh!” Wren winced and quickly looked around for anyone eavesdropping. “And no.”
“Blow him?”
Realizing she wouldn’t stop, Wren blushed and whispered, “It went the other way around.”
Her eyes went wide and she leaned in. “Really?” She grinned, her gaze drifting upward.
“Stop trying to imagine it!”
“What? That’s what I do!” She laughed. “If you had a nooner with Grey, why the hell are you here?”
“To support my friend.”
“No, Wren. If you were making progress with one, why would you come to rescue the other?”
“We’re just friends, Joce. I’m only here because Soren begged me.”
“Sounds like a setup if you ask me.”
“Logan signed him up as a prank.”
“I know.” She laughed. “I was there. But if you ask me, it’s not much of a prank if Soren gets to go home with you.”
“No one’s going home with me. It’s only for a date, anyway, right?” Leave it to Jocelyn to start a prostitution ring in their wholesome little town.
She held up her palms. “Hey, where people put their no-nos on said date remains totally up to them.”
“You’re a master of prose.”
“Don’t judge me. I’ve had enough rum to sedate Santa himself.” Jocelyn sipped from the tiny swizzle straw of her red cocktail and snorted. “Logan’s his own worst cockblocker. What did he think would happen?”
“Speaking of Santa...” Wren lifted the paddle she received when she bought her ticket at the door. It featured a sexy, shirtless Saint Nick glued to a tongue depressor stick. “Is this your doing?”
“Good swag remains the name of the game, my friend.” A number appeared printed boldly on the back of each paddle. “And you’re gonna need that to bid on your boyfriend’s brother.”
“Jocelyn! He’s not my boyfriend.”
She smirked. “Exactly why you have every right to take someone else home tonight. I can’t wait until Grey finds out.”
“Why do you hate me?”