The Christmas Deal Read online

  About The Christmas Deal

  Will fake boyfriends become the real deal this holiday?

  It’s the most wonderful time of the year—except ex-Marine Logan is jobless and getting evicted. Worse, he’s a new single dad with a stepson who hates him. A kid needs stability—not to mention presents under the tree—and Logan’s desperate.

  Then he meets lonely Seth and makes a deal.

  Can Logan temporarily pretend to be live-in boyfriends to increase Seth’s chances at a promotion? If it provides a roof over their heads for the holidays, hell yeah. Logan considers himself straight—he doesn’t count occasional hookups with guys—but he can fake it. Besides, with his shy little smile, Seth is surprisingly sexy.

  Make that damn sexy.

  Shocked that Seth has only been with one man, Logan can’t resist sweetening their deal to teach him the joys of casual sex. No strings attached. No feelings. No kissing. No commitment.

  No falling for each other.

  Easy, right?

  The Christmas Deal is a steamy holiday gay romance from Keira Andrews featuring fake boyfriends, bisexual awakening, a clueless single dad with an angry preteen, and of course a happy ending.

  The Christmas Deal

  BY KEIRA ANDREWS

  The Christmas Deal

  Written and published by Keira Andrews

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  Copyright © 2019 by Keira Andrews

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-988260-48-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. No persons, living or dead, were harmed by the writing of this book. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to Anara, DJ, Mary, Leta, and Rai for their friendship and assistance with Logan and Seth’s story. Ho, ho, ho! <3

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About If Only in My Dreams

  About Gay Romance Holiday Collection

  Also by Keira Andrews

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  When the phone rang again, Logan allowed himself a flicker of hope before snuffing it out. No, it wasn’t the warehouse manager calling back to say he had the job after all. No Christmas miracle was coming.

  He stared at the screen, dread sinking through him. It was Rencliffe Academy, which meant his balls were about to be busted because the kid had fucked up.

  Again.

  Logan shivered on the side of the bed in his skivvies, the battered parquet floor freezing under his bare feet since he’d put the heat down as low as possible in hopes of paying the bill. Fuck, he was tempted to huddle under the blankets and go back to sleep, dealing with whatever crap this was later.

  But Veronica’s disappointed face filled his mind. As foolish as the choice had been, he’d married her, and her son was his responsibility now. He swiped the screen and answered.

  “Mr. Derwood? It’s Assistant Headmaster Patel calling.” She spoke calmly and smoothly in a British-type fancy accent. Logan braced himself. She said, “I’m afraid there’s been another incident. Can you join us this morning for a get-together?”

  He wasn’t sure why Rencliffe insisted on making it sound as if they were inviting him over for finger foods and Chardonnay or some shit. “Yeah. I’ll be there in—” He groaned to himself, remembering his Ford was broken in the shop. Because of course it was.

  After a pause, she prompted, “Mr. Derwood? This is really quite urgent. Connor’s behavioral issues—”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks.” He hung up, bile rising in his throat. The only silver lining to apparently being unemployable was that he didn’t have to take time off work for yet another school visit. Too bad his disability benefits had run out. That sure made being jobless a real son of a bitch.

  Merry fucking Christmas.

  There was nothing else to do but text Jenna:

  Can I drive u 2 work and take the car? Will pick u up at 3.

  His sister was working short days Monday to Thursday after having her second kid, and hopefully he’d caught her in time. The typing bubbles appeared on the screen, and she replied:

  No prob. Just leaving day care. Everything okay?

  He barked out a laugh in his empty bedroom. He couldn’t even remember what okay felt like. Forget good or great. Those feelings were distant memories. He typed back:

  Just have to run errand. Thx. They had to order a new part for the pickup.

  A new part he couldn’t afford, but he left that out. He also didn’t mention Connor because it would only make Jenna worry, and she had enough on her plate. Shit, her plate had been overflowing since she was fourteen.

  When the cancer finally got their mom, Jenna was the one who’d taken care of their father and the house while Logan had been in Iraq. He was seven years older than his baby sister, but she was the one who kept them all afloat.

  She worked her ass off to include Connor in family stuff, and at least he tolerated her. For a moment, Logan considered whether he should ask Jenna to come with him to the school, but no. She had work, and she had to save her emergency time off for her own kids. Connor was his responsibility. Logan was thirty-eight years old, and he should be able to unfuck his own life.

  He stood, wincing at the stiff ache in his muscles and the phantom twinges in his formerly broken bones. After being in traction, he’d never take moving his body for granted again, but goddamn, everything felt tighter than it used to. Of course, he hadn’t done his stretches, so what did he expect?

  There was no time to shower and shave, but he splashed his scruffy face, ran a comb through his cropped dark hair, and scrubbed a wet towel under his arms. He sniffed five shirts before finding a fresh-enough gray Henley and pulling it on over his jeans and combat boots. Maybe he should have dressed up a bit, but the folks at Rencliffe knew who he was. Putting lipstick on a pig wouldn’t change anything.

  After Jenna picked him up, he listened to her good-natured complaints about her kids and husband and Christmas shopping. She chattered nonstop until they reached the six-story, glass-fronted office building in a corporate park on the outskirts of Albany.

  There was a puke stain on her shoulder, but Logan didn’t tell her. She’d call it “spit-up,” but from what he could tell, it was puke. But it was already dry and too late for her to change anyway.

  Putting the SUV in park by the front of the building, she gave him a gleaming smile, dimples appearing in her cheeks. Logan and Jenna shared the same greenish-hazel eyes, but she’d been the only
one to inherit their mother’s sunny smile and optimism. “I haven’t let you get a word in edgewise. Sorry.” Her smile faded. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yep. Have a good day at work.”

  But Jenna stayed put behind the wheel. “Look, I know it’s still too soon to think about dating again—”

  “Yet you’re bringing it up anyway.”

  She sighed. “I just hate seeing you so miserable—and don’t bother telling me you aren’t. I know you don’t like me worrying, but newsflash: I worry anyway. And maybe dating would help.”

  “It wouldn’t.” The thought of meeting a woman and trying to impress her, getting to know her, inviting her into the shit show of his life—it was exhausting.

  Hell, Logan hadn’t even had the energy to hook up with guys beyond a half-hearted hand job in a bathroom stall at the mall a few weeks ago. It had been quick and rough, the way Logan liked it with men. No kissing, no hugging, no need to be tender and concerned about feelings.

  That’s how he knew he was straight. He only wanted that other stuff with women. Men were for getting off and nothing more.

  Jenna sighed again. “You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Because you’re desperate to fix things for me.” Because Jenna was good and kind. He didn’t deserve her. “Don’t worry about me, all right? You’d better get inside or you’ll be late.”

  “Oh, did you hear about the warehouse job?”

  He shrugged. “Not yet.” He’d put in a bunch of applications other places, so maybe one of them would call. For now, there was no point in worrying Jenna more by telling her he’d failed yet again.

  “I’m knocking on wood.” She rapped her knuckles on her head, then leaned over the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Have a good day.”

  He walked around the vehicle, waving to her before she disappeared inside. Logan had a good foot on his baby sister, and as he adjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, his phone rang again. He pulled it from the pocket of his leather jacket, his stomach dropping. The landlord. He let it go to voicemail. He didn’t need to hear Mrs. Politano tell him again that the rent was overdue.

  He hadn’t been able to afford the rent on Veronica’s house after her death, and he’d moved into a tiny bungalow in a rundown neighborhood. Even if he’d had the money, the thought of sleeping every night in the room where Veronica died had been unbearable.

  “Fuck,” he muttered as he drove out toward Rencliffe. It was about forty-five minutes away, and Logan wished he could just be there already to get this over with.

  He jabbed at the presets on the radio, and every one played commercials or Christmas songs with sleigh bells and peace on earth by a warm fireplace. He left it on a station blaring an ad for extended Black Friday deals. From what he could tell, Black Friday went for about six weeks at this point.

  If that warehouse job had come through, maybe he’d have a hope of a decent Christmas. He could’ve at least bought Connor some presents. But the job hadn’t come through, because no one would hire him once they found out he’d been fired from the railway and blamed for the accident.

  No matter that he’d served his country for four years in the Marine Corps after 9/11 and earned a commendation medal. Thank you for your service, but you’re a useless sack of shit now.

  He struggled to take a deep breath, the low ache in his sternum that had never fully gone away flaring hot. Logan tugged at his seatbelt. His broken bones had healed, but sometimes he just couldn’t fucking breathe. Usually it was only when he exerted himself, and he knew right now it was probably all in his fucked-up head, but it still hurt.

  The sign marking Rencliffe’s curving driveway was freshly painted in gold and navy, proclaiming:

  Rencliffe Academy

  The Brightest Minds Since 1909

  Logan followed the driveway through the towering trees, only a few red, gold, and shit-brown leaves left hanging as winter quickly approached. Visitor parking was empty but for a silver Audi. Birds chirped almost desperately as he walked up the path to the main gray-brick building, which was decorated in massive red-ribboned holiday wreaths and lights that were currently off.

  The school was a sprawl of five or six buildings, including the dorms. A newer addition had been constructed in the same style with big arches and turret-type things on the top like a castle. Veronica had called it Gothic, which apparently didn’t actually mean scary, although Logan found it all pretty creepy. Rencliffe was definitely the type of place where a crazed murderer would strike in the movies.

  He walked into the vaulted foyer of main building, his boots thudding. He stopped in front of a massive Christmas tree decorated in white lights and old-fashioned wooden ornaments shaped like birds, pinecones, and angels. Probably all made by the students.

  The hush hanging over the polished wood and marble foyer made him think of church. They’d been Easter-and-Christmas Catholics when he was growing up, but he hadn’t even done that much in years. Though Rencliffe wasn’t a religious school, he still half-expected a priest or nun to appear to greet him. Instead it was an older woman, who led him down the eerily quiet hallways to Mira Patel’s book-lined office.

  She was surprisingly young—probably thirty. According to the framed diplomas behind her desk, she’d attended the University of Delhi and Oxford, so clearly she was pretty freaking smart. Her black hair was tied back in a twisty bun, and she had big eyes behind her gold-framed glasses.

  If they were in a porno, she’d be about to let down her hair, take off her glasses, and rip open her cream blouse to reveal big tits. She’d hike up her skirt and—

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Derwood. It’s good to meet you.” She sat in the padded leather chair behind her desk as Logan took one of the guest chairs and shoved away the stupid porno thoughts. “The headmaster’s absent on personal business, so I’m handling Connor’s case for the moment.”

  “Right. I’m sorry if the kid’s been acting up again.”

  “Mmm.” She leaned forward in her chair, folding her hands on the shiny wood desk, her nails gleaming with pale polish. “I hope you don’t mind if I go back over the particulars with you?”

  “Um, the particulars?” Jesus, he felt like he was back in high school about to fail an exam he hadn’t studied for.

  “Connor’s background. How we’ve gotten to where we are now. I understand you were a recent addition to his life before his mother passed away?”

  Dull pain throbbed in his chest, and he forced a breath. “Uh-huh. Veronica and I met about a year and a half ago. I was in an accident at work and had to be in the hospital for a few months. Veronica was my nurse.”

  A memory flashed—the wedding march playing on someone’s phone at the hospital chapel, Logan dragging an IV and Veronica still in her purple scrubs, her fellow nurses throwing confetti made of paper from the shredding bin.

  Clearing his throat, he added, “My life was shit, and she was the one good thing.” He shifted on the hard-backed chair. “Um, excuse my language.”

  Ms. Patel smiled. “Shit happens. You’re recovered now?”

  “Mostly. If I push too hard, I get out of breath. But it’s fine.”

  She nodded. “So you and Connor’s mother married quite quickly?”

  “Yeah. Within a couple months. Dumb, I know. But I loved her and was so sure we’d be together forever.” He snorted. “Then, you know. Reality smacked us upside the head. She brought me home from the hospital, and in a few weeks we were driving each other crazy. Living with someone’s not all roses and unicorns.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t.” Ms. Patel smiled wryly. “Compromise isn’t easy.”

  He shifted, hot trickles of shame in his gut. “We tried, though. We did. We really cared about each other, even if we didn’t fit.”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’ve tried with Connor. I really have.” He cringed internally at his defensiveness.

  She eyed
him sympathetically. “I know you have. It’s a challenging situation. Thirteen can be a tough age already, and Connor’s faced a traumatic loss and major life changes. Plus, you’ve suddenly found yourself a single father. It’s an adjustment, to say the least.”

  A single father.

  It was so weird to think of himself that way. He wasn’t qualified to be anyone’s dad, let alone a single one. Logan nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What was your relationship like before his mother’s passing?”

  Passing. As if she’d drifted off down a lazy river in the sunshine. Logan hated when people didn’t just call it what it was. Veronica hadn’t passed anywhere—she was rotting in a hole in the ground. He choked down the resentment. Ms. Patel was only being polite.

  “We didn’t really have a relationship. He was pissed when I married his mom, and I can’t blame the kid for that. He hardly talked to me when he was home on vacations from school, and I didn’t know what to say to him anyway. Things got very tense with me and Veronica. Then she died.”

  “It was an aneurysm? That must have been quite a shock.”

  He tugged at a loose thread on the cuff of his Henley. “Yeah. I’d spent the night on my sister’s couch since Veronica and I had been going at each other all day. They said even if I’d been home, it wouldn’t have mattered.” But maybe the docs were wrong. If I’d been there…

  “Then Connor discovered her in the morning since he was home for the summer.”

  Hearing Ms. Patel say it out loud was a steel toe to Logan’s nuts, guilt surging through him. Jaw clenched, he nodded. A clock ticked on the wall, each second louder than the last. His mind filled with red flashing lights, the sympathetic—yet definitely suspicious—cops escorting him inside his own place, a sheet over Veronica on the bedroom floor, waiting for a body bag. The poor kid sitting in the kitchen with a female cop.

  Connor hadn’t been crying, and Logan hadn’t seen him shed a tear since. The kid was empty, although when Logan had clumsily tried to squeeze his shoulder, Connor had exploded with rage. It was apparently all he had left.