Everyone in my town knows Ronan as the dashing football star. I get it. He’s hot. And he can throw a ball. Big deal.
He’s been my nightmare since I was nine. Now he’s a six-foot, drop-dead gorgeous version of the menace who terrorized me.
So naturally, he’s my companion to every-single-freaking Christmas event this year. I’m Mrs. Claus in the annual parade. Ronan is Santa.
Our nonstop banter should drive me insane. His cocky attitude should be a huge turn-off. But if there’s one man who can pull off seductive in a Santa suit—it’s Ronan.
Let's just say, stockings aren’t the only thing hung at his house.
If I can make it through the week without kissing him, it’ll be a Christmas miracle.
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