Elf Against the Wall: A Holiday Romantic Comedy (The Wynter Brothers Book 2)

“You are a queen, sis!” Ian tossed a handful of poinsettia petals at me. “Take a bow.”

“You didn’t tell us you were dating Anderson Wynter.” Sawyer pulled up a stool.

“Fucking,” Ian said, enunciating both syllables. “They are eff-uck-ing, and I am here for all of it. Did you see St. Henry’s face?” He cackled.

“It was a recent development.” My mouth was dry.

“‘Once you have a murderer’s dick, you can’t go back’ type of thing?” Sawyer joked.

I licked my lip, looked around furtively, then whispered, “I’m blackmailing him.”

“You’re blackmailing a murderer?”

I raced to shut the kitchen door. “Attempted murderer, and he’s had a recent career change. He’s a waiter at the club.”

“At the country club.” Ian slowly snapped his fingers.

“Our origin story is that we had a stranger-danger hookup in the sauna.”

“I need to tell my parents we’re going to the country club for my birthday if they have guys like that on staff.” Sawyer fanned herself. “Gawd, did you see his eyes when he talked about coming on your tits?”

“He was just doing it to humiliate me. He wouldn’t actually.”

“That man would totally come on your tits if you let him.” Sawyer pressed a cold can of Coke to her neck.

“You totally have to sleep with him.” Ian grabbed me.

“He’s not my type.”

“He’s every woman’s type.”

“And gay boys’.” Ian pulled at his sweater collar. “There are probably some straight guys who would cross the aisle for him too.”

“Not me.” I dumped the washed cranberries out onto a towel. I’d adapted my stuffed pork loin recipe for the holiday season.

“My dream guy is a billionaire who wears fancy suits and likes to throw money at problems to make them go away. Not a bad boy with a loud motorcycle and a nasty temper.” I cut thick slices of the French bread for croutons.

“It’s hard to find a billionaire IRL. You get tased if you get too close to one.” Sawyer began whipping the softened cream cheese and herbs in a bowl. “A bad boy? You can stumble on one breaking into your parents’ house.”

“Take advantage of the walking dildo that just appeared in your life,” Ian said sagely, dipping a piece of French bread into the herb-and-cheese mixture.

“When you do decide to take advantage, let me know first so I can wax your nipples.” Sawyer slapped Ian as he tried to steal more cheese.

“I’m not taking advantage of anything. Anderson ruins Murphys. He put Henry in the hospital, and he’s trying to get me kicked out of the family for good. It’s a complete disaster,” I groaned as I set garlic butter on the stove to melt.

“No, this is genius,” Sawyer corrected. “No one is going to be talking about you trying to steal Boring Braeden after you paraded none other than Anderson Wynter around your mom’s living room.”

“Instead, they’re talking about how I’m a traitor and need to be drawn and quartered.” Using a mallet, I banged the pink meat.

Wrong visual. Absolutely terrible visual.

“You can’t give up now,” Ian urged me. “Go big, like full-on animatronic-nativity-scene-on-your-roof big. Get pregnant with his baby and announce it at Felicity’s wedding. Have sex with him under the Christmas tree as everyone’s coming down for presents.”

“My life is already a shit show!” I shrieked then lowered my voice. “I cannot afford to keep dealing with Anderson. I need him out of my life, not to be chained to him with a baby.”

Miserable, I salted the pork loin.

“You saw how everyone was last night, how our parents were. They hate me. I’m never going to be welcome at Christmas again. I need to ghost him. Forget I ever saw him.”

“That leaves you worse off than before,” Ian argued. “At the very least, stage a big breakup at the next family holiday party with an impassioned pro-Murphy speech.”

Laughter sounded from the hallway that led into the sunlit kitchen as Henry, the triplets hanging from him, giggling, waded into the kitchen, the heavy wood door thumping against the nearby shelf.

“Happy twelfth day of advent.” I tried to keep my tone chipper and not like someone who had just spent all morning envisioning disaster scenarios.

“Ooh, are you making Cesar salad?” Alana breathed in appreciatively at the umami smell of the garlic butter.

“I know it’s your favorite.”

Alexis grabbed the pot of eggnog-spice coffee I’d made earlier and poured out three cups.

“Just black coffee for me.” Henry waved them away when she offered him one.

“I have to make some more black coffee,” I said. “Sawyer took the last of it.”

“I can do it,” Henry offered. His demeanor was stiff, as you would expect if you thought your sister was dating the man who’d tried to kill you.

Gosh, I was a horrible sister.

Anderson and I were done.

Totally done.

I was cutting my losses.

I brushed butter onto the croutons while a cast-iron skillet heated up on the stove.

“You don’t need to help, sweetie.” My mother breezed into the kitchen, making a face at the amount of oil I had in the cast-iron skillet. “Henry, you work too hard at that big military drone company. Let us spoil you.”

“Maybe you could get Evie a job there,” Alissa suggested to Henry as she and the other triplets tag teamed to steal more croutons. “They’re letting you work remote, which is awesome. Then Evie could do holiday cooking and still get a paycheck.”

Alissa stole a swipe of the herb-and-cream-cheese filling. “So good.”

“I think Evie needs to lower her expectations,” my father interjected from the doorway. “After you finish prepping dinner, you should go out and see if anyone is hiring at one of the local restaurants, Evie. You might want to go too, Ian. Dance isn’t a real career.”

My middle brother narrowed his eyes. “Technically, neither is working at a restaurant.”

I ducked my head, busying myself with making more coffee.

“Forget what your father says.” Granny Doyle hustled into the kitchen. “You and Ian are good-looking kids. You need to find a rich husband.”

“And then kill him?” Grandma Shirley interjected sharply as Braeden helped her to the kitchen, Felicity hovering possessively next to him.

“You said it, not me. But if you do,” Granny Doyle told us conspiratorially, “Don’t wait too long. You don’t want to give him a chance to burn his retirement savings on women and poker.”

“If that’s your goal, I don’t think Anderson fits the bill, does he?” my mother remarked as she removed the plastic wrap off the veggie tray and dip I’d assembled early that morning. “Someone with a criminal record isn’t employable.”

“Uncle Brian did say she should lower her standards. Sounds like Evie should go for it, then.” Felicity slid a coffee cake onto the kitchen island.

Mom glared at Dad, who made an apologetic face.

“Are you making sausage stuffing, Evie?” Felicity’s sister Ashley asked.

“She doesn’t need to make it if she’s getting it delivered!” My younger sister cackled as the rest of my family, attracted by the twin allures of food and family drama, piled into the kitchen.

I poured glasses of holiday sangria, tried to keep Granny Doyle from spiking it with brandy, and rolled the stuffed pork loin, trying to blend into the background while my family traded good-natured ribbing.

I was browning the pork when phones started beeping and buzzing with an incoming message. Then the screams started from my female relatives.

My father’s normally pale face had angry splotches of red on it as he looked at his phone.

“Oh my god, your boyfriend is so fucking hot!” Nat and Lauren drooled at Nat’s phone.

“What?” I peered over her shoulder at her phone screen… and saw the picture… and the message.

On the screen was a photo of a man—tattooed chest, huge arm with a prominent vein, hand in unbuttoned motorcycle pants pushed down his thighs, the photo strategically cropped so you could only make out the base of the thick shaft.

“If I had him, he would not be coming down my throat. Let’s just make that clear.” Aunt J screenshotted her phone. “It would be a white Christmas all up in my—”

“Seriously?” My mom turned on her sister.

“Melissa.” Granny Doyle poured a splash of rum into her mug of coffee. “Your vaginismus has clearly spread to the rest of your body.”

“Lighten up, Mel.” Mom’s sister smirked at her.

“Don’t feel like less of a man if you catch my daughter having some quality time alone with her phone tonight, Brian.” Granny Doyle hiccupped, almost falling off her stool as my cousins howled with laughter.

“Did Andy go to art school?” Aunt Trish asked me while several of my other female family members crowded around, wanting to know if I had the rest of the photo.

“This is such a creative piece.” Trish was in high-school-art-teacher mode. “Look at the lighting.”

“Damn right.” Granny Doyle raised her glass. “A work of fucking art, this is.”

“Evie, you need to break up with him now. This is obscene!” my father thundered. “There are children in this group chat!”

“I don’t know anything about a group chat. I’m not in the group chat!” I yelled at my father.

“You’re not?” He seemed a little confused.

My thirteen-year-old girl cousins did not seem at all concerned about having a very risqué photo of Anderson on their phones and were giggling and texting it to their friends.

“Yeah, that’s going to be all over their high school Facebook page in like three seconds.” Nat and Lauren collapsed in drunken giggles.

“Kids don’t use Facebook these days.” Sawyer passed her glass to Gran for some rum.

“I’ll put it on Facebook,” Granny Doyle promised. “This picture has to be shared with the people.” She slammed the bottle on the counter, sloshing amber liquid everywhere.

“I can’t. I just can’t!” My mother threw up her hands.

“Don’t work yourself up.” Braeden tried to comfort my mom. “We know that Evie is prone to spiraling into delusional behavior. Like Henry said, we’re just going to ignore her. She will eventually see the errors of her ways and realize she made a horrible miscalculation in allowing herself to fall in with bad company. Just like her being fired from her jobs for immoral behavior.” He gave me a patronizing smile, but his eyes were reptilian. “Karma always comes around.”

“Until then, keep the photos coming!” Aunt Virginia toasted Granny Doyle.

“Melissa, you need to get your daughter under control. I do not want photos of that man on my phone unsolicited.” Grandma Shirley thumped her coffee cup on the counter.

“I heard Evie was soliciting him at the country club.”

All my aunts and cousins erupted in squeals of laughter.

“This is why you can’t ever keep a job, isn’t it?” my mom demanded. “You’re—” She groped for the words. “Soliciting your bosses.”

“That’s just what I heard Janice from HR say to Amber,” Irene clarified, spooning caramel sauce onto the coffee cake. She sniffed it. “Oh, gross. What is this? Why does this cake taste so weird, Evie?”

“She didn’t make that cat food. Felicity brought it and jarred caramel sauce,” Sawyer said, grabbing the plate and heading to the trash.

“I have a job. I cannot spend all day baking.” Felicity grabbed the plate from her.

My nails dug into the palms of my hands.

“But you have enough time to spread rumors and lies about me all over Manhattan!” I shrieked at her.

Braeden placed a protective arm around Felicity. “It’s sad that you’re still tied to your girlish imaginary fantasy. You and I will never be together.” My former boss regarded me like he was a patient older professor and I was some unhinged teenage girl. “We were all there last Christmas Eve. You can’t deny that you were trying to break up my relationship because of your insecurities. Understand, Felicity and I are setting a boundary here. You can’t control us. We will speak our truth.”

“Braeden, just drop it,” Henry snapped.

“A stain on this family!” Grandma Shirley was shouting as more messages came pouring in.

“Oh my god, that bike,” my aunt gasped, staring, face flushed, at her phone.

“Does he always go commando, Evie?” Lauren demanded. “Or is this just for the photos?”

One of the triplets held out her phone to me. “Aww, Anderson said oops, that he meant to send it only to you. He’s sorry for the confusion, and he didn’t mean to be a bother.”

“He can get me all confused and bothered.” Aunt Jennifer fanned herself.

“I don’t know why you wanted to steal Braeden from Felicity when you’re capable of scoring this.” Cousin Nat kissed the screen.

Score? Hardly.

I ducked around my aunts to grab a bottle of schnapps in the pantry.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Hands shaking, I twisted the cap off the bottle and took a noisy swig.

Anderson was the biggest mistake in a lifetime of mistakes.

He was fucking with me was what he was doing. He was targeting me.

Well, guess what. I was not going to roll over.

I stared at his text message, blinking back the angry tears threatening to form in my eyes.

I meant what I’d said: if I was going down, Anderson Wynter was coming with me.