Surviving the Holly-Days

God grant me the serenity to not die a willing man between the thighs of a woman who thinks we’re faking it… Holly f*cking McAdams.My best friend’s little sister.Professional overachiever.Human caffeine pill in heels.Thanks to a freak blizzard and the universe personally targeting me, we’re stuck in the last room, with one bed, and no adult supervision.Her brilliant solution?A head-to-foot sleeping arrangement.Cute. Harmless.Until she latched onto my face mid-REM and tried to crack my skull between her thighs like it owed her money.Death by snatch.Not how I thought I’d go out, but hey—there are worse ways to die.I take the bro code seriously, but there's no clause for mistletoe black magic, manifestation panties, or those damn librarian glasses practically begging me to dog-ear her pages.And don’t even talk to me about the thigh-high striped socks.She says they’re for warmth.I say they’re a felony in five states and an act of war in the other forty-five.Everything about her is a snake charmer’s symphony, conducting a full-scale assault on my co—er, anaconda.Nick asked me to give his baby sister a ride.He didn’t know she’d nearly suffocate me with her thighs and I’d get hard before I got oxygen.