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Chapter One
Lyric
Dear Santa...
I haven't asked for anything for Christmas since I was younger and wanted boobs. Thanks for coming through with those, by the way. But I have a favor to ask. Can you please bring this curvy girl a daddy for Christmas this year? Preferably my older brother's best friend, Sinclair Evans. I'll never ask for anything else ever again.
xoxo,
Lyric
I skim my letter to Santa, drumming my finger against my bottom lip. I'm probably asking too much from a jolly old guy in a red suit two days before Christmas, but it's the time for miracles, right? Maybe he'll come through with one for me.
That's what it's going to take to make Sinclair Evans notice me. I should know. I've only been trying to get his attention since I moved in with my brother, Lachlan, a year ago.
My big college adventure didn't go so well during my sophomore year. My roommate liked to bring strange men over at random hours. When I woke up with one standing over my bed, I started sleeping in my car. I accidentally let that slip to Lachlan on the phone one day.
Less than twenty-four hours later, he was in California, and we were packing my stuff. I didn't mind. I took a semester off and then enrolled in college here in Seattle. Now, I get to spend my time daydreaming about Sinclair.
I'm ready to stop daydreaming. I'm obsessed with him to an unhealthy degree. He's all I think about some days.
But no matter what I do to get his attention, he refuses to budge. Some days, I think the only time he pays any attention to me at all is when he's growling at me.
Your dress is too fucking short, Lyric.
You need to focus on school, Lyric.
Why aren't you wearing a coat, Lyric?
Argh! He's worse than my brother. As if the fact that he's thirteen years older than I am makes him the boss of me.
Newsflash: it doesn't.
But, God, Iachewhen he growls at me. I want to crawl into his lap and grind against him until the throb between my thighs fades. I want to feel his rough hands on my body and his teeth in my skin.
I want him, period.
I have since the day my brother dragged him home right after I moved in.
Writing a letter to Santa is my last resort. If it doesn't work, well, I don't want to think about that.
I sign my letter with a sparkly pink pen.
"Lyric!" Lachlan shouts, stomping up the stairs.
I quickly shove my letter into an envelope, sealing it just before he pops his dark head into my bedroom.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," I lie.
He narrows his jade eyes on me. "Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing. It's nine million degrees in here." I fan myself for emphasis. "I think the heat is broken."
He eyes me suspiciously, not buying my crap. Then again, he never does. I'm way too easy to read, and he's known me my entire life.
"I need a favor," he says after a moment, seemingly deciding to let me keep my secrets. Probably because he has a million of his own. Weird and secretive is his default setting these days. He's been acting weird for weeks.
