Bubble Bath Romance Collection Books 1-6: Bubble Bath Romance

By Max Watson

Book One: Scarlet's Naughty Christmas

After nearly quitting her job as Santa's helper, Scarlet changes plans when she meets the new—and incredibly sexy—mall Santa, Luke. Can Scarlet get this Santa to stuff her stocking this Christmas?

Book Two: Charli's Sexy Valentine

The noisy upstairs neighbors have nearly cost Lars his job. But after confronting them, Charli and her roommate have an offer he can't refuse. Be Charli's Valentine's date and they'll never make another peep.

Book Three: Arlina's Hot Barista

After Arlina, "Straight and Narrow Arrow", lets loose, she finds out she's pregnant with the sexy barista's baby. She wants Sebastian to stick around more than their drunken one night stand. But does he even remember her?

Book Four: Danny and Reita's Double Dare

After Reita's bigoted mother posts a nasty comment on a picture of her and her lesbian best friend, Danny, a dare is formed. Pretend to date and post all about it online to get her mother's goat. But can Danny play along without getting her heart broken?

Book Five: Lara's Blackmail Kiss

When Lara learns she has a new stepbrother, she finds herself in a tight spot after he discovers her secret pet kitten. To bribe him from telling her secret, she blackmails him with a stolen kiss. But Derek's interested in something more…

Book Six: Ash's Luscious Lawyer

Ash is forced into bankruptcy after a nasty divorce. When her lawyer, August, finds out just how desperate her situation really is, she finds herself living with him and working for him! Can she keep it professional and walk away once her case is closed?

This book contains six stories all part of Max Watson's Bubble Bath Romance collection. Each short story romance is intended to be read in one sitting while you sit back and relax in a hot and steamy bubble bath!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max Watson Books LLC
• Release date: Aug 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955527040

Max Watson

Max Watson braves the sweltering heat of Dallas, Texas along with her husband Spencer, their son Jack, and their three kitty overlords. From roofing, to flipping houses and businesses, to building race cars, to ladder-climbing in corporate America, Max Watson loves to jump from one challenge to the next. In her career working for the man, she frequently found herself enthralled by the human psyche and was always daydreaming twisted tales. Running away screaming from corporate America, she decided to tackle the itch just under the skin and begin her writing career.

Book preview

This book contains six stories all part of Max Watson’s Bubble Bath Romance collection. Each short story romance is intended to be read in one sitting while you sit back and relax in a hot and steamy bubble bath!

Book One:

Scarlet’s Naughty Christmas

Chapter One - Scarlet

I want a pony.

You and every other little girl on the planet. Do you know how many little girls there are versus ponies? It’s not happening.

But—

Aren’t you too old to believe in Santa, anyway?

M-mommy! The young girl screams and runs from Brady’s lap. I smile at the young boy next in line to stifle the urge to roll my eyes. I send Brady a ‘get your shit together’ glare but instead of taking the hint, he waves me over to his red and white plush throne with an air of impatience.

You reek. I wave a hand under my nose as the stench of sour liquor wafts from the worst Santa I’ve had the misfortune of pairing with in many years.

Yeah, yeah. Then gimme a candy cane or something. I ain’t drunk, just a little hungover. Anyway, can we take five? I gotta piss somethin’ awful.

Oh my God. Fine. Just go.

Hey! Where’s he going? I’ve been in line for almost an hour already! The young boy’s father yells at me while pointing at Brady’s receding back.

Santa heard Rudolf was feeling scared so far away from the north pole so he’s going to go check on him. You wouldn’t want him to be scared and alone, would you? I kneel down to the young boy and gaze into his pale blue eyes. His father’s dull gray stare shoots daggers at me.

Santa isn’t real. My mom wants a picture of me sitting in that hobo’s lap. I’m hungry! When’s he gonna be back from the smoke break?

Well. I’ve had about enough of this. Every year it’s the same. I put away my Halloween decorations, break out the silver and gold right before Thanksgiving, and I get that itch. The desire to be part of something bigger than myself, to give back, to be surrounded by the holiday cheer.

Every year I think it’ll be different. This time children will line up, their eyes filled with excitement and wonder. The families will gather around, snap pictures, and swoon over the holiday display I spend hours perfecting. I’ll go home every night feeling fulfilled and connected. And come the day of Christmas as I slip into my favorite robe and slippers and trod down the stairs to open the presents I wrapped for myself, I won’t feel so alone. I’ll be filled with the Christmas spirit from this job.

But every year is the same. Some sad sack sits in the chair drunker than the last guy. The children are as fed up as the parents and the whole holiday is cheapened by the experience. These fake Santas have to be the kind of men who can’t even hack a grocery store greeting gig. Otherwise, I can’t fathom why these spoil sports would want to listen to children’s wish lists all day if they all seem to hate children as much as they do Christmas.

I put up one of the many clever signs I’d painstakingly painted that give bullshit excuses with a holiday flair for the frequent disappearances of our various rent-a-drunk Santas. This one reads: Back in five minutes, Mrs. Claus needs to talk to Santa.

The father at the front of the line mouths something foul at me then stomps away, dragging junior sourpuss behind him. After five minutes, half the line has wandered away. Ten minutes later and the line drops to a small cluster of ten kids and their adults.

Every year it’s worse and worse.

We should try another mall somewhere else. This mall Santa is always a joke.

I wanna see Santa! I never get to see Santa!

A high pitched wail erupts from the back of the line. I catch a glimpse of the look of hurt and despair on a little girl’s face and my heart twists in a knot. I spin on my heel to hide the tears as they form.

How could I be so stupid to put my holiday happiness in the hands of such a failed project? I took this seasonal job on a lonely whim five years ago and it’s never once been the whimsical experience I’d hoped. When will I ever learn?

I swap the signs out from a ‘be right back’ to ‘try again tomorrow’ message when Brady never returns. He’s lucky I don’t find him in the employee break room or I’d have probably ripped the plastic wig and beard from his haggard face. My red velvet heels smack on the cracked linoleum with each stomp around the cramped break room.

This is such bullshit. We’ve only been here two hours and he couldn’t handle it. He only had two more hours to go for today’s shift. But then I’m sure he’d be even worse off come tomorrow. We’ve just gotten started this year and it’s already a total disaster!

I sink into a metal chair as the tears I’d held back finally erupt in an angry gush. Damn him for making me this upset! Damn Brady and that Bob guy before him and Rusty last year and Dusty and Larry and especially Pete who couldn’t be bothered to vet a single one of the guys he hires.

Damn this whole thing to hell! I yell into my hands that have gone slick with my tears and streaked black from my mascara. A red curl sticks to my cheek and I throw it over my shoulder with a growl. I curled my unruly hair for this. I hot glued holiday ribbons onto my favorite heels for this.

Screw it! I’m done! With an exasperated yowl, I leap from the chair and send it falling back with an ear-ringing clang. I wrench open my rented locker and dig through my coat pocket for my phone. No more drunk deadbeat Santas. No more betting my happiness on this stupid job!

A shadow tiptoes quietly into the breakroom behind me but I’m too angry to care. My fingers shake over the numbers as I punch in Pete’s name to call him. If Brady’s behind me, good. All the better to hear me ranting and getting his ass fired. Whatever. I’m quitting once and for all. Never again will I get caught up in the stupid delusion that Santa could save my Christmas. It’s time I stopped believing in Santa and started making merry all on my own.

Pete doesn’t answer. His voice mail box hasn’t been set up yet. An animalistic scream bubbles up my throat but dissolves into more sobs.

Miss are—

This is bullshit, bullshit, bullshit! I scream and throw my phone back into my coat pocket.

Sorry, are you—

I slam my locker shut and whirl around. Take this job and shove it, Pete! Screw you, Brady. Fuck you, Pete. And fuck you, Santa!

I mean, that can be arranged but I’ll have to ask Mrs. Claus first. The shadow looming in the back of the break room takes shape in the form of another Santa. I growl and he throws his hands up in surrender.

Back off, Kringle. I’ve had enough of your kind for a lifetime.

Yeah, I bet. I’m the emergency stand-in. Brady called and quit a little bit ago. Lucky for Pete, I happened to be doing a little shopping and well, looks I’m the new Santa. He spreads his arms wide, gesturing at his Santa getup.

I blink at the man. Wait, Brady actually did the decent thing and called Pete to say he quit? It would’ve been nice if he’d said anything to me. But... at least Pete called in a replacement quickly. My eyes narrow at the new guy. The beard looks clean. The red outfit actually looks high end, thick and fluffy enough to brave a blizzard. Almost like the real thing. I step up to his face and breathe deep.

Woah, what are you—?

The spicy scent of man invades my senses. Woah is right. He smells of wood smoke and peppermint and gingerbread. He smells like Santa with a sexy aftershave. But no stink of rotten alcohol breath and no bloodshot hot-box eyes, either.

Sorry. I clear my throat and sniffle, swiping at the wetness of my lashes before spinning away with embarrassment. All Pete hires is drunks. They always reek.

The new guy says nothing and lingers, likely waiting for me to tell him what to do. They always need trained how to sit in a chair and ask the same flipping question. I throw my things back in the locker, fix my face up in my compact mirror, and straighten my shoulders.

Okay. You are going to sit up, smile wide, and talk sweet. You will ask the same exact question every time and you will not lecture a child for wanting things. I hold open the door and stare pointedly at the new guy, waiting for him to follow me. This is Christmas, not a time for life lessons about materialism. It is a time for magic and wonder so go out there, sit down, shut up, and make it magical!

So should I shut up or ask what they want for Christmas? Which is it? He stands too close to me in the small doorway with a smirk buried in the fake white of his beard.

I scowl back at him and lift my chin. Two hours and I’m home. Doesn’t matter how well this guy does. Come tomorrow, he’ll be as useless and humiliating as every guy before him. I’ll finish this shift then I’ll go home and call Pete to tell him I quit. I won’t quit in the middle of the day like Brady and leave other people hanging. And anyway, if Pete can find a new Santa this quickly, he can find a new Santa’s helper no problem. Just two more hours.

Hey, I’m sorry about the bad hires. I’ll talk to Pete, okay? You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t bail on you.

Yeah, right. That’d be a Christmas miracle.

Chapter Two - Luke

Hot damn. Pete did not warn me Santa’s helper was such a firecracker. She bends to eye level with a cluster of little kids and waves them in close. She conspiratorially whispers with them and their mother’s eyes close as she takes a deep breath. The mother’s eyes look bloodshot with exhaustion and her hair is a messy bun on top of her head. The three young kids look to either be triplets or very close in age. Scarlet, as Pete informed me was our only reliable employee’s name, ushers the children up to the throne.

Ho, ho, ho! Who do we have here? I boom and scoop them all into my lap. Two boys and one girl squeal in equal peals of high-pitched laughter.

Sara.

Sam.

Sid.

I knew that, I was just making sure you knew! I laugh and wink at them, my packed stomach does its special thing and shakes like a bowl of jelly. The kids clap in excitement. Scarlet smiles down at us but the moment I catch her gaze, her plump red lips fall, her chin lifts, and she leaves to entertain the next in line.

I want a jet plane!

I want a bulldozer!

I want a life-size dolly!

But I want a jet plane, too!

The triplets flail and my fake belly makes it hard to hold them steady for the picture. Scarlet snaps three in quick succession, hands out candy canes, and ushers the tired mom and her rambunctious kids from the throne’s alter to the ordering desk for the photos where our teen hire takes over. Without breaking stride, Scarlet is bringing in the next cluster of kids with a bright warm smile and a skip in her step.

I can see why this is still a profitable endeavor. If we don’t draw a large enough crowd, we don’t sell enough pictures, and we don’t make enough to break even. For some unknown reason, this location in our Santa’s Stop spots across the Midwest has been the most profitable in several years despite the inability to snag a quality and consistent Santa actor. But I can see now that it’s because of Scarlet. 

She soothes the scared children, calms the hyper ones. Eases the minds of the over-protective parents and gives the tired and over-worked ones a break, even if only for a few minutes. She snaps the best photos and handles all of the setup and tear-down the of the display each year. Pete mentioned she’s even solely responsible for the amazing display this location has versus the other spots.

The alter, throne, picture setup and ordering station are all the same. But that’s the only similarities between this location and our others. Quality silk holly garlands line the alter and throne. Thick wood cutouts of all of Santa’s reindeer graze in red velvet roped-off pastures surrounding Santa’s chair. Garden gnomes repainted to look like elves peek out of the quilt batting fake snow draped at the reindeers’ feet.

Even Scarlett’s uniform is bedazzled with extras. Mistletoe-shaped buttons dot up the back of the red long-sleeve dress. The white trimming is normally a cheap thin fabric but hers is replaced with thick and fluffy fur fabric comparable to my own costume. Her nails are painted red with white tips to match her outfit and her shoes are doctored up with stitched and glued on tweaks to look like elves’ pointed toe shoes complete with a little white ball on the toe. Her hair is lined with strips of red tinsel somehow. She’s about as extra and over the top as some kind of Hollywood reproduction.

The slam of a nearby store’s entry gate startles me and the preteen boy scowling on my lap as Scarlet snaps a picture. His mother fusses from the sidelines and mumbles something to Scarlet as she points in our direction. Scarlet’s eyes flash with a heated look like she’d worn earlier in the breakroom but her smile is sweet and her voice soft. What I can hear of it from where I sit anyway.

You bangin’ that? the teenager whispers.

What? Scarlet snaps a few more pictures and I hold the tight smile.

"That sexy little elf. I want her under my tree. Can you put her under my tree in nothing but a bow, Santa?" The boy can’t be more than fourteen. His smile is wide and filthy right as the camera flashes. Finally satisfied, his mother flies to the ordering desk and begins arguing the prices. Scarlet comes over and leads the boy to his mother.

His hand swoops around her waist and she smiles her sweet smile at him. But there’s a burning fire in her eyes. Ho, boy, if his mother wasn’t around something tells me he’d be getting an ear full.

From the small curtained off area behind Santa’s chair, Scarlet pulls out a sign and hobbles the thick wood to the front of the alter. I rise to help her but she cuts off my assistance with a curt hand. Damn. Either this woman’s every bit the firecracker I imagined, or our bad judgement in hiring gave her quite the chip on the shoulder.

Ignoring her little stop gesture, I pull the sign from her struggling grasp and prop it on the red carpet aisle. It’s painted with cute reindeer curled up with little Z’s floating above their heads. Tiny elves cuddle with the reindeer. The sign says: Be back tomorrow in curly hand painted lettering.

You painted this? And you did all this? I wave around at the display.

She blinks in surprise. Uh, yeah, I did. Not all at once, though. It’s evolved over the years.

It looks great. You’ve been here five years, right?

She ropes off the display and heads back to the breakroom. I fall in step beside her. The thick costume has had me sweating this whole time. Thankfully it was only two hours. I’m going to have to get something lighter to get through tomorrow and the next few days until a replacement hire can be found.

Scarlet’s head whips in my direction and her eyes narrow with suspicion. How did you know that?

I know Pete. I shrug. Telling her Pete and I both own and run the business isn’t really necessary. Something tells me the moment she learns I’m her boss, she’ll turn on that fake smile and I’ll never get to see the real Scarlet.

Her look is skeptical but she says nothing else. I hold the breakroom door open for her and she heads straight for her locker, leaving me ignored or forgotten. With a sigh, I gather my bag from my own rented locker.

The thick costume has me too uncomfortably sweaty to want to head out just yet. I think this mall has a gym, and if it’s a chain I’ve got a membership to, I can get a quick shower in before leaving. I pretend to pack up just to linger and peek over my shoulder at her.

She’s holding up a little handheld mirror and unclipping strands of the tinsel from her hair. She bends down to remove one heel and her skirt lifts, drawing my gaze. The rush of my last minute placement as mall Santa plus the long line that formed the minute my ass hit the seat distracted me but now that I have a good chance to look at her, Scarlet is a firecracker indeed.

The skirt flairs around generous hips and a plump ass to match. The red velvet tapers in along a thin waist and bulges out over voluptuous breasts. The image of her in nothing but a bow and sprawled beneath a Christmas tree flashes in my mind. The thick pants of my costume get tight and I send a curse to that filthy teenager for planting that image in my head.

Her gaze flicks up and meets mine. Shit. But she barely registers my existence. I might as well be a stain on the wall for all she could care. She tosses the decorated heels into a black bag and pulls out black combat boots. With one fluid motion, she reaches overhead to her upper back and flicks a few buttons free from the dress. It flutters to pool at her feet and too stunned to look away, I gape at her instead.

But where my perverted mind had hoped for a velvet bow, I notice she’s clad in a black tank top and black shorts. Damn. Although the view is still very nice. Trying not to get a claim filed against me for my obvious staring, I turn back to my bag and close the locker. When I make it to the door after Santa’s package finally settles down for a long winter’s nap, I notice that she’s slipped on a thick gray sweater and mouth-wateringly tight low rise jeans.

See you tomorrow, Scarlet.

She grunts in answer as the door shuts.

Chapter Three - Scarlet

How the hell did he know my name? That Santa replacement was different. Nothing like all those before him. Which either means he was happy to get the job and was probably out all night celebrating or he’s one of those career drunks who’s really good at hiding it. By the end of today, he’ll be gone for sure.

Saturdays are the longest. Two hours in the morning, two hour break, two hours midday, two hour break, then another two hours before closing. It’s not enough to go home unless you live close enough to not have to endure much of the holiday traffic. So a six hour workday becomes more like twice as long with half the pay.

These shifts are when I do my holiday shopping and get my fill of people watching. Christmas is the best time to sit in a busy spot in the mall with a book and steaming cup of hot cocoa. The Christmas carols on repeat, the spicy and minty smells in the air, the people all around smiling with holiday cheer. If my crappy job offers no fulfillment, at least I have this.

The morning’s shift was over quickly after a surprisingly large turnout for so early in the day. The new guy was just as clean and chipper as yesterday. He’ll be dragging by the next break for sure. I haven’t had a chance to ask how he knew my name. Although if Pete told him how long I’ve worked here, I suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising he knows.

The mall is packed for 10 a.m. The early bird sale has this place looking more like a Black Friday war zone. That’s the only reason I came in today. For the early bird sale. Working at the mall means I got in early and was able to do