Fake It ‘Til You Sleigh It

CHAPTER TEN

Ethan

Morning hits, and I’m stiff as a board… and I am not talking about my abs.

Chase is draped over me like a sultry blanket… again. I could get used to this. Her breasts press against my chest—her pelvis just a subtle back arch from my cock. She’s dripping with sensuality. I need to have a quick sidebar with my dick.

Knock it off, goddammit. This woman drives you nuts!

I tell myself it’s morning wood—purely physical, nothing personal.

Sharing a bed has been more of a challenge than I expected. Shit. I need another shower.

Seconds later, I step under the warm spray, groaning as it cascades down my back. I grip my cock, desperate to take the edge off, but all I can see is her.

Naked.

Dripping.

Yearning.

Stop it, penis!

Maybe I actually want to anger-bang her? We can't stand each other, after all.

Is this some subconscious dirty bucket list thing?

Fuck! My orgasm shreds through me once more, all because of the she-devil who's hijacked my horny second brain.

After my shower incident, I spent the morning dodging Chase like she was radioactive. Fortunately, Dad filled the silence with endless swamp trivia during our drive through the Everglades. Chase hardly spoke, just gazing out the window as if she was contemplating her life choices... Except when she thought I wasn’t looking and I caught her sneaking glances at me. Interesting.

Now it’s the ass-crack of dawn and I’m standing outside an alligator theme park sweating my balls off. The Cherish Channel cooked up a brilliant plan to put us on TV at a time when sane people are still drooling on their pillows. We’re about to appear on the local news, showcasing our totally-not-fake romance for all to see.

But here’s the thing—I’m not exactly bringing my A-game today. Why? Because I find myself continually fixated on Chase. My mind is a chaotic swirl of conflicting thoughts. It’s like I’m viewing two movies at once with completely different plots. I’m not sure if the heroine is likable or a vicious, back-stabbing serial killer. Either way, I can’t stop watching.

I see the uptight Chase (aka the sexy serial killer), and she’s bossing me around, micromanaging my every move. Then I see the charismatic Chase—the one who got on that stage last night. She’s…

Smiling. Laughing. Fun?

I remember her genuine laughter at the show, and I grin. Never would I have dreamed infectious joy could come from that woman.

I mean, holy hell! She was a totally new person. What pushed her to let go? And what other Chase-shaped mysteries are hiding in there? Why do I keep thinking about her? Is she thinking about me?

Enough, Ethan. You’re assigning magical properties to her. It’s not real; this is Chase we’re talking about. The boss who’s made your career a daily obstacle course of criticism and unreachable standards. The director who scrutinizes your performances like she’s hunting for flaws with a magnifying glass.

But damn. Her smile cancels out all my frustrations in an instant.

Her hair blows slightly. It’s swept up in that signature tight ponytail, and… why do I want to grab her locks and pull on them like reins? She’s not in her usual all-black attire today. She’s poured into a pair of snug green cargo shorts that hug her curves and make her ass look incredible. That fitted white button-down is doing wonders for her breasts, and the rolled-up sleeves really showcase her tanned, toned arms.

She’s a knockout, and I want her to direct me in a porno called Raiders of the Lost G-Spot .

Fuck! Get it together, man!

She’s brutal, heartless. How many times have you lost sleep over her insults? Hell, remember that one time? She brought you to tears. She gets off on making you feel like you aren’t good enough. She’s a sadistic drill sergeant, breaking you down to nothing. She wants you feeling worthless and talentless. Don’t fall for it.

I start tallying the reasons she's the absolute fucking worst:

1. She’s an agenda-setting dictator who can’t be spontaneous.

2. Her heart is colder than a penguin’s nutsack.

3. She micromanages everyone on set, especially me, like it’s her God-given mission—

“Do I have something in my teeth?” Chase whispers, snapping me out of my thoughts. Dammit, she’s even cuter when she’s nervous. My stomach does a backflip.

Penis 1. Brain 0. Quit calling the shots, Little Ethan!

“Your teeth are fine. Your personality, however… that needs work.”

“Okay, thanks, I’ll get right on that. Right after you stop being a cocky dickhole. Deal?”

“Ah, so you’re finally doing nicknames now? Okay, snuggle tits.”

Penis 1. Brain 1. Ha!

We’re not-so-patiently waiting as a busy news crew works frantically to make last-second adjustments. I try not to fidget. Try not to think about how easy it would be to reach out and take her hand.

And hold her.

And kiss her.

Dammit, Little Ethan!

“Ready when you are,” the cameraman says, giving the reporter a thumbs-up.

The reporter—all bouncy black curls and luminescent smile—does a final fluff of her hair. She’s pretty in that “I eat kale for breakfast” kinda way, but my eyes are glued to Chase—despite her forced scowl and even if she is pulling away from me like I’m wetland ooze.

“I’m Ashley Barnes, standing in front of the Swamp Life Haven here in the Everglades. With me is hunky holiday movie star, Ethan Barrett, and his co-star girlfriend, Chase Pemberton.”

“I am not an actor,” she says. “I’m the director and also the screenwriter.”

“That’s my girlfriend. She’s got a mile-long list of quirks, but she’s all mine.” I say, glossing over Chase’s rudeness. “Ashley, appreciate you coming out.”

The reporter’s eyes light up. “You two are adorable! Everyone’s buzzing about Chathan! Tell me, what’s it like working together and filming those romantic scenes? Do you ever get jealous?”

Chase’s laugh sounds like a rusty hinge. “Jealous? Of what? Ethan’s ability to forget his lines five seconds after I call action?”

“Oh, sweetheart, maybe I forget my lines because you’re rewriting them every five seconds. For someone who loves her precious words so much, you sure love changing them—”

Ashley’s smile falters. “Next question! You’re currently filming your fifth movie together, right? You two really know how to create movie magic.”

“We’re a great team,” I agree with sarcasm. “I act. Chase yells ‘cut’ every thirty seconds. Then somehow, thirty miserable days later, we end up with a movie.”

Chase fires back, “What Ethan is trying to say is that we have a very… collaborative process. I collaborate, he processes. Eventually.”

Ashley, a true professional, barrels into her next talking point. “Ethan, your family must be thrilled to have you home for the holidays with your girlfriend.”

“Oh yeah, they’re over the moon to see me—I mean, us. Both of us.”

“It’s been great,” Chase says, her tone suggesting it’s been anything but. “Ethan is great. His family is great. They’re just so… present. Like, they’re always around, everywhere we go. All the time.”

I throw an arm around her shoulders, feeling her stiffen. “Chase is a shy one. She’s not used to so much Barrett family love. Are you, snookums?”

“Definitely not, sugar bear. But every day is a gift, and I’m counting them down until I get to open the big one. Then… Christmas will finally be over.”

Chase flashes a smile so strained, it takes me a second to remember the cameras are rolling. I let out a forced laugh and she casually shrugs off my arm.

“Honestly, she’s got this relentless, exhaustive energy that keeps me on my game, no matter where we are. I can’t get enough of it.”

Ashley picks up her pace, eager to move the interview along. “Your hilarious dares have had me giggling every day. Say, would it be possible to pick today’s challenge live on our show?”

“Absolutely,” I say, whipping out the dare jar as if I were a gambler laying down the winning hand.

The reporter turns to Chase. “So you both have no idea what’s on those slips of paper?”

“Trust me, I wish I did.” Her voice is tight and controlled. I know that tone. She hates not being in charge—hates the unpredictability. She looks so uneasy that part of me wants to comfort her. The other part…

“This one’s a control freak, Ashley. But we’re both loving all this good ole clean fun as we promote our new movie. Right, Chasey poo?”

Ashley nods enthusiastically. “Your movie premieres in a mere eight days. And your goal is to have a million new subscribers watching Fa La La Love on Christmas Eve. Is that right?”

“First month free!” Chase chirps, sounding like a deranged parrot.

“Exactly,” I say, “and we’ve raised 150,000 subs so far. Everyone’s having a really good time with us. Let’s see what dare we’re doing today.” I hold the jar up to Chase. She reaches in like she’s grabbing a live grenade.

Her eyes go wide as she reads the slip. “Kiss an alligator? WHAT?!”

My face radiates with excitement. “This one’s such a big dare that we gotta hit one hundred thousand new subs today. That’s a lot, but we’re on the edge of history here, folks. I’m shaking in my boots, and Chase just pissed herself. Okay, not really. So get all your friends to sign up. You don’t want to miss this!”

Ashley’s face lights up like she hit the jackpot. “That is genuinely terrifying. And we are here for it. Stay tuned for more Chathan! Next up, Swamp Santa will be cruising the Everglades on his airboat, delivering special gifts to kids in need.”

The camera stops rolling and she dismisses us. “Great show, guys.” She joins her crew as they head off to capture B-roll of the alligators.

I brace myself, ready for the fallout. I’m not surprised to see Chase looking paler than freshly fallen snow.

“Don’t worry. My dad is an alligator trainer here. It’ll be fine. He’s kissed plenty of them.”

“Okay, A: That’s super weird. Do you hear yourself when you talk? And B: That in no way makes me feel better.”

I know it seems crazy to an outsider, but my dad’s never had an accident. I grew up learning to respect the danger while enjoying the excitement. The stunts, the showboating—it’s all for the tourists. It’s (almost) as safe as a magic act. I wish she could relax and enjoy it.

This sudden desire to pull her close is… unexpected.

“Come on. We’ve got some time to kill while we wait. I’ll show you around.”

“Time to kill? Is that a threat or a promise?”

“With all these alligators around? Could be both,” I quip.

A huge sign reading Merry Gatormas greets you at the entrance of Swamp Life Haven. It’s part zoo, part theme park. Playful alligator statues wearing festive scarves and Santa hats lurk among the palms, their jaws in perpetual, toothy grins. Garlands of red and green tinsel drape the fences, intertwined with strands of twinkling lights reflecting off the murky waters. Every few feet, signs warn of gator crossings.

Don’t be fooled by the signs—they’re just for show. All reptiles are securely contained behind electrified chain link fencing.

“Welcome to gator haven,” I announce, spreading my arms wide. “Where the stockings are hung by the swamp with care, and Santa’s sleigh is pulled by reptiles with a hunger for reindeer.”

“Charming. Do the elves wear Crocs?”

“Was that a joke? From the woman sentenced to death by gator kiss?”

“When in Florida, do as the Floridians do.”

“Go ahead, act like you’re not wooed by their charm. Wait’ll you see Santa surfing on a wave of eggnog.”

There’s a glimmer of a grin on her lips. That near-smile does something strange to my heart.

“As a child, this place was basically our backyard.” I steer her past a group of excited children digging in a giant sandbox filled with “snow” (aka white sand) . “Nolan and I caused so much trouble, I can’t believe they didn’t feed us to the gators.”

“That’s because it’s illegal to feed the alligators here. I saw a sign,” Chase deadpans. “And you were just a kid. But now, you’re an actor, and actors are considered nuisance animals by Florida state law.”

“I’m a nuisance animal ?”

“How else do you explain all my on-the-job stress headaches?”

“Whatever. It’s okay to confess you love directing me.”

“Directing you is like trying to wrangle Godzilla.”

“So you’re saying I'm bigger than Godzilla?”

“You have the same ego. But talent? That’s debatable.”

I lean in close, unable to help myself. “You know what they say about guys with big egos…”

Chase pushes me away. “That they’re compensating for something?”

“I was going to say ‘great screen presence,’ but I like where your mind went,” I say with a wink.

I guide her to the boardwalk that gives us a prime view of Alligator Lagoon. The sunlight dances on the water, catching the scales of dozens of gators as they chill in the murky waters.

“Check out that big fella over there. That’s Brutus. He’s the head honcho of this place. And if you–”

SPLASH! An alligator lunges playfully.

Chase jumps like she’s just touched a live wire, grabbing onto me and clinging firmly. My arms instinctively wrap around her—every nerve in my body tingles.

Time seems to slow, and suddenly we’re caught in our own little bubble of sexual tension. Our eyes meet, and I’m drawn into her gaze. Then my attention shifts to her lips, slightly parted and tempting as hell. Chase sucks in a breath, and I can practically taste her mint toothpaste on my lips. Her pulse is racing at the base of her throat, and my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. My body’s screaming at me to kiss her again, to see if it’s as fucking incredible as the first time. I start to lean in—

But then Chase pulls back. “Are the gators always this restless?” she asks, trying to act normal, but I can see desire in her eyes. It's the same urge that’s clawing at my insides.

“Only when they’re hungry, which is typically once a week. Don’t worry. Gators prefer sunbathing over anything else. Chase, serious question. Do you trust me?”

She eyes me warily. “Do I have a choice?”

I ignore her negativity (years of training) and steer her toward the Reptile House. She stops dead in her tracks at the doorway. “I get the idea—gross, slimy, scaly things. I don’t need to see them up close.”

“Let me show you something cool,” I say, offering my hand to her, palm up. I hold my breath, waiting for her response.

She pauses, rolls her eyes with award-winning flair, and then grudgingly takes my hand. Her fingers are warm and delicate, and I can’t resist giving them a comforting squeeze.

The darkness inside covers us like a heavy blanket. Chase inches closer, her body pressed against mine, and I’m vividly aware of every point of contact. That sweet citrus scent of hers—it’s all around me again. I long to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in.

It’s strange seeing her so uncertain. The Chase I know from work is relentlessly confident. This Chase is vulnerable, and it does something to me. Makes me want to be… better somehow.

We step into a room filled with illuminated glass terrariums. She eyes the reptiles suspiciously, her hold on my hand tightening. “Yup, just as I thought: gross, slimy snakes.”

I guide her to a large glass case. Inside, the humid air fogs slightly at the edges, where rocks and greenery mimic a miniature jungle.

“This one is my favorite. The coral snake.”

Coiled on a large rock, the striped serpent is a showstopper. Its bands of vibrant red, black, and yellow deliver a warning and an invitation all at once—kind of like Chase. It’s nature’s way of saying, “I’m hot as fuck, but I’ll kill you if you get too close.”

“Wow,” she breathes, her face softening. “Okay, it’s actually pretty cool.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to share a piece of myself. “Want to know a secret? When I’m prepping for a role, I give my character a spirit animal. Helps me get into their personality.”

Chase turns to me, genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Really? That’s... fascinating. Why haven’t you told me about your process before?”

Her question takes me by surprise. I swallow hard, deciding to risk the truth. “Honestly? Because whenever I try to bring things up, you shut me down.”

Chase winces, and for a second, I think I’ve ruined the moment. I’m about to make a joke, to brush it off like I always do, when she surprises me.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I should’ve... I mean, I want to hear your process for developing characters. Your idea is intriguing.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “What animal did you use for Connor, the barkeep? Let me guess, a peacock.”

I chuckle. “Nah. It was a chicken, actually.”

“A chicken,” she repeats playfully. “The sexy bartender was a chicken?”

“Hey, chickens are badass!” I defend. “They’re social, enthusiastic. Great listeners. Plus, they care for chicks that aren’t their own. Kind of like bartenders, they sense when they’re needed.”

“You know, Ethan, you might actually have some depth under all those muscles.”

“Careful, Chase. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

She turns back to the snake, but not before I catch the smile she’s trying to hide. My gaze drops to our still joined hands, and I’m struck by how perfectly they fit together.

***

“Welcome, folks, to the Jingle Gator Jamboree!” Dad’s voice booms across the amphitheater, a perfect blend of showmanship and genuine enthusiasm. “I’m Doug Barrett, and we’ve spruced up this lagoon for a festive good time!”

I grin, leaning forward in my seat. This never gets old.

There he is, my old man, standing proud in the middle of this outdoor spectacle. He’s swapped out the usual Florida retiree getup for khaki shorts and a sharp shirt, looking every bit the adventurer he is—minus that worn-out Santa hat perched on his head.

Weather-beaten benches form a semicircle around a murky pool, hinting at more danger than your typical Christmas gathering. A chain-link fence surrounds it all, a flimsy barrier between the audience and potential reptilian chaos. Every seat is packed with sunburnt tourists, cameras at the ready, eyes wide with anticipation.

I turn to Chase, seated beside me. “Dad’s been doing this show since before I could walk, and it still gives me goosebumps.”

“I see where you get your showmanship. Your dad’s a natural. Too bad you didn’t get his good looks.”

“Funny stuff. Really. But to be clear, people tell me daily how handsome I am.”

“That’s because you’re famous; Gail and her scandalous Christmas cookie photoshoots don’t count. Though I have to admit, that woman has a talent for strategic icing placement.”

“How do you know about that?” I ask, caught off guard. “Hold on, are you jealous?”

Whoa—she blushes.

My brain blushes right back.

Then she smiles.

Wow, she’s so beautiful when she smiles.

Dad’s voice snaps me back to reality. “I want to introduce you to Bubbles, my dwarf alligator. While some gators live in the wild and others are kept as pets with the proper permits, Bubbles is neither. He is being trained as an emotional support alligator.”

He holds the reptile in his arms like a scaly, potentially lethal toddler—stroking the gator’s head as if it were a dog. The crowd awws—I can’t disagree. The cute animal’s friendly smile and wagging tail make it impossible to imagine this “puppy” chomping your hand off.

“He’s four years old, and he loves it when you say hello. Everyone wave and say hi to Bubbles!”

The onlookers all coo in unison, “Hi, Bubbles!”

“With his tail, he’s four feet long and weighs in at forty pounds. He’s packing eighty razor-sharp teeth. But Bubbles is uniquely different—he loves a good snuggle, watching YouTube videos, and can never get enough hugs and kisses.”

To demonstrate, Dad hugs the half-sized gator and plants several kisses on the alligator’s snout.

Chase leans in, her breath tickling my ear. “Yup, still weird.”

I stifle a shiver, feeling my heart rate kick up a notch. Keep it together, Barrett. You know the drill—list the reasons she’s not your type:

Cold.

Controlling.

Silky hands.

Soft, luscious lips.

Fuck.

Dad passes Bubbles off to an assistant. “But today, I’m going to show you some tricks with the biggest gator we’ve got. Say hi to Brutus!”

As Dad launches into his spiel, I start giving Chase the play-by-play. “Watch, he’s gonna make a Christmas joke.”

“If Brutus wrote to Santa, his list would be short: ‘Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is… more snacks!’”

The crowd laughs and then cheers as Dad tosses a fish to Brutus, who catches it mid-air. His powerful jaws close around it in milliseconds, showcasing remarkable speed and accuracy.

“Alligators have exceptional sensory abilities. Their integumentary sense organs can detect the slightest changes in water pressure. They track prey in the murkiest waters, and the best part? They never lose their car keys.”

Chase snorts, a sound that should be unattractive, but on her is somehow endearing.

“You know, growing up, I wanted to be my dad—an alligator wrangler. It’s why I love being called the King of Christmas. I get to bring joy to people like he does.” I turn to her, curiosity getting the better of me. “What was your dad like when you were little? Was he your hero?”

Chase’s expression droops like a wilting flower, her eyes reflecting a hint of sadness. “Let’s just focus on the show,” she snaps.

I sense there’s more to this story, a depth of feeling she’s trying to hide. I want to pull her close, to unravel the mystery that is Chase Pemberton, but—

The crowd’s collective gasp yanks my attention back to the show. Dad’s got his hand in Brutus’ mouth, playing a game of “Will I Keep All My Fingers?” It’s nerve-wracking the first time you see it… Okay, maybe even the one thousandth time.

The second my father pulls his hand out, Brutus chomps down hard, his jaws closing with an audible snap. The audience lets out a mix of relieved sighs and excited squeals.

Dad, ever the showman, beams at the spectators. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for my next stunt. The face-off! This ain’t your everyday trick. No, this one is extra dangerous. Get those cameras ready. If I mess up, I will lose my face!”

Chase pivots, facing me with wide-eyed horror. “Oh my God, what the hell’s he gonna do?”

“He’s sticking his head into the jaws of the alligator. It’s awesome!”

My dad’s voice booms, building up tension. “Do you know what kind of pressure Brutus’ jaws can exert? A bone-crushing, mind-blowing two thousand pounds per square inch! That’s like having a car dropped on your face!”

Dad takes a deep breath and dramatically opens the alligator’s gnarly jaws. He steadies himself and peers inside. Then, in one swift motion, he places his head into Brutus’ mouth. The group holds its collective breath. For a moment, it’s so quiet you could hear a mosquito fart. Then Dad removes his head, and Brutus’ jaws snap shut. The amphitheater erupts in cheers and camera flashes.

He raises his hands for silence. “Show’s not over yet, folks. We have two special guests in the audience, and they’ll be helping me with an extra trick today.” He pauses, amplifying the suspense. “Now, I’m proud as Gator Punch of my son. You know him as the King of Christmas. Let’s welcome him and his beautiful girlfriend, Chase, to the stage. Because they’ll be giving Brutus here a big ole sloppy kiss!”

The crowd cheers, but all I can focus on is Chase’s sharp intake of breath. Her hand finds mine, gripping tight.

“I’m gonna be sick,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

A fierce, overwhelming, all-consuming need to protect her surges through me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

“I won’t let you get hurt. Trust me,” I say, surprised by the intensity in my voice.

She meets my gaze, and her vulnerability tugs at my heart. Who knew the Ice Queen could melt? She gives a subtle nod, and we step forward together, fingers intertwined.

Dad locks Brutus’s jaws with a special strap, but it does nothing to untie the knot in my gut—not for my safety, but for Chase’s. I trace her knuckles with my thumb, trying to calm her nerves. The excited chatter of the crowd turns into white noise as my focus goes entirely to this woman.

Despite her fear, fire flashes in her eyes. “If my face gets chomped off, I’m going to haunt you every day, not just Christmas,” she says.

A chuckle rumbles in my chest. Even terrified, she’s all spark and sass. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

Her palm is sweaty against mine, but I’d face down a whole swamp of alligators before I’d let go. The thought should scare the hell out of me, but instead, it steadies me.

My dad’s voice cuts through the haze. “Alright, Brutus. Pucker up!”

I give her hand a comforting squeeze, and together, we lean in towards Brutus’ snout.