Bad Boy for Christmas

By Sloane Peterson

An idea from a reality show, months of exchanging letters, and a bad boy that I shouldn't want to be around at all.

 

My entire life, I've played by all those unspoken rules. I've tried to be perfect and normal, and it's all been terribly boring. After watching a reality show about prison romances, I decided to find a pen pal.

 

Enter Cole Lilus. He's been in and out of prison his entire life. This time, he's in for robbery. But he's absolutely gorgeous. We start writing and there are immediate sparks between the two of us. He's everything I could ever want.

 

I never expected this to go anywhere. 

 

Until a week before Christmas, Cole shows up in my driveway on his Harley, out on early release. 

 

Suddenly, my bad boy fantasy is in front of me. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sloane Peterson
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223510628

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© Copyright 2023 by Sloane Peterson - All rights reserved.

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In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

Bad Boy for Christmas

Holiday Biker Romance

Table of Contents

Chapter One 5

Chapter Two 9

Chapter Three 12

Chapter Four 16

Chapter Five 19

Chapter Six 24

Chapter Seven 29

Chapter Eight 34

Chapter Nine 37

Chapter Ten 41

Chapter Eleven 48

Chapter Twelve 54

Chapter Thirteen 58

Chapter Fourteen 64

Chapter Fifteen 71

Chapter Sixteen 76

Chapter Seventeen 80

Chapter Eighteen 84

Chapter Nineteen 91

Chapter Twenty 95

Chapter Twenty-One 100

Chapter Twenty-Two 103

Chapter Twenty-Three 109

Chapter Twenty-Four 113

Chapter One

Olivia

This was never part of my plan.

I’ve always done everything in my power to follow the plan. You know the one. You go to school, you get a well-paying job, you find hobbies, have friends. Eventually, you go on to get married, have children. It’s the formula that’s preached to us since childhood. I’ve followed it – except for the last two parts. I don’t know why I’ve never found somebody that I clicked with. I never found love. I’ve dated a few guys. Nice ones who would probably make great husbands and great fathers, but it never clicked.

I mean, I’m not looking for a fairytale. I just want something that feels right. So, maybe I am asking for too much. Maybe I’ve never given anything the chance to develop enough to feel right.

Everything changed for me six months ago. It was a Friday night. Most people my age have plans on Friday nights. Dinner, drinks with friends, dates, something. I’m not the type of girl who has plans. Usually, it’s just me and my cat, Cucumber. So, I was on my couch, shoveling lo-mien into my mouth, watching one of those super sleazy, super trashy reality shows.

The plot of this one was simple (aren’t they all?). It followed people who wrote to inmates. Usually romantically. Then, the inmates got released and it followed the couple. Usually, they fell apart. Usually, the people writing the inmates were the train wrecks while the inmates wanted to get their lives together. Quality trash TV.

I don’t know why I decided it was a good idea. Maybe it was the half bottle of wine that I was down, maybe it was pure loneliness. Maybe I wanted to do something different for the first time in my life. Or, honestly, maybe I’m not as smart as I like to think I am. Who knows? I decided to give it a shot myself. What’s the worst that could happen? (A lot. Okay. A lot of bad things could happen, but I wasn’t thinking about that part.)

I finish my trek to the mailbox, open it and find the gold I was looking for. Underneath the junk mail and credit card bills, there’s an envelope addressed to ‘Olivia Rhett’ in a script that I’ve memorized. I don’t know how handwriting can make someone smile, but it can. Seeing that handwriting always means good things.

It takes everything in me not to tear that letter open on my walk back to the house. Throw the scraps of the envelope to the ground and read it as quickly as possible. But I’m not a damn monster. I’m just...kind of into this guy. A lot.

I get inside the house, close the door, throw the rest of my mail on the table in the entryway. I’ll deal with those later. I take my prize to the couch with me, flopping back on it. I stare at it again for a minute, preparing myself, calming the excitement bubbling inside of me as I carefully peel the envelope open.

No art this time. No photos. Just simple paper. I don’t care. I start to read, my heart pounding in my chest.

Olivia,

You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I have your photos plastered on my wall. My cellmate, Leo, constantly stares at them. Told him if he ever touches them, I’d break his nose. Kidding, of course. Things are basically the same as always here. Nothing exciting. We haven’t had a lockdown in a little bit, so that’s a plus. People are always on their best behavior when Christmas is coming up. No one wants to spend it in solitary or not be allowed to call their families.

Do you think maybe I could call you for Christmas? I ain’t got anyone else to really call. It’s okay if you don’t want me to. I’m sure you’re going to be spending the holiday with your family. I don’t want to interrupt.

Speaking of Christmas, tell me about any traditions you have with your family. That’s evidently something people have? My family never had any. We were lucky to celebrate. I don’t have any money to buy you anything, but I’ll draw you something for Christmas. You can throw it in a pile with the others or whatever. I just want to give back to you somehow.

I can’t begin to describe how writing to you has changed my life, Livvie. I have something to look forward to. Mail call seems exciting now because I’m always hoping to get something from you. I spend my days thinking about what I’m going to tell you. What we’ll talk about next. All of that. You give me something to look forward to. You’re like a ray of sunshine. Always positive. It makes me feel positive. And not to put all of that pressure on you, but you keep me out of trouble. If I get in trouble, I can’t write you. All I want to do is write you.

I’m glad work is going well for you. I think you’ll get that promotion. You deserve it. You seem like such a hard worker. We both know I have absolutely no idea how corporate America works. Never got to be a part of it, probably never will at this point. But I know hard work has to mean something, right? If you don’t get it, it’s their loss.

I’ll leave this here. I’ll get carried away. I hope to hear from you soon. Give our boy Cucumber my love too, okay? I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to send more pics of him. I never had a pet growing up. Cucumber kind of feels like mine too these days. There I go, starting to get carried away.

Until we speak again.

All my love,

Cole

Why does a simple letter send butterflies fluttering through me? It’s just a couple of pieces of paper but I feel myself smiling like a damn fool.

I spent hours scrolling on this inmate pen pal site. Inmates can post their own ads, fill out profiles, etc. I wasn’t even convinced I was going to write anyone. I was just looking for a fun Friday night thing to do. Then I saw his profile.

His name is Cole Lilus. He was probably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. His profile picture was pretty simple, him standing against one of the white brick walls of the prison. His hair was reddish-brown. He had a beard, tattoos up and down both arms. He talked about liking art and motorcycles. About how much he missed camping and going out for rides.

He’s in prison for a robbery. I don’t know the details because I never asked. I’m sure I could just search it on the internet, but I don’t know if I want to. Maybe I’m okay with being naïve here. Like if I found out the robbery was worse than I imagine it would ruin that picture-perfect image of Cole in my head.

We’ve been writing for a little over six months. Sometimes two letters a week. Sometimes we don’t wait for the other to write back. Like we just have to tell each other something so we write one after another. We’ve never talked on the phone. I’ve never tried to visit him. Our correspondences have been solely through letters, and I think that’s okay.

This isn’t something that’s meant to be serious.

Not serious...so why is my heart hammering away in my chest? Why does getting a letter from Cole shift my entire day? Why does he have such an intense hold on me? Cucumber jumps up onto the couch next to me, nuzzling against my arm. I reach out, petting his silky, orange fur.

Cole gives you his love, I say. You know, just casually talking to my cat about my prison pen pal. The usual. Maybe I need to get out more.

Of course, Cucumber doesn’t respond. He just wants more pets. I use my free hand to hold Cole’s letter, rereading it, feeling the dopiest smile spread over my face. Then I’m shifting away from Cucumber, who’s upset that his pets are over.

I have to write Cole back.

Chapter Two

Cole

One thing people never mentioned about prison is how fucking boring it is. They mention the people, the food, all of that. No one tells you how utterly bored you’re going to be the entire time. Years locked inside a building. You pick up hobbies. I’ve gotten pretty good at art and I can read a 300-page book in a day now if I put my mind to it. The problem is, eventually the books run thin, and you can only think of so many things to draw before you give up.

I don’t have any family on the outside. Most of the people I know are felons, so no contact is allowed per the terms of their probation. I don’t have friends behind these four walls either. Just people who I get along with enough to trust them not to stab me in the shower. Stuff like that.

That changed when she wrote me. Olivia Rhett. My gorgeous, perfect angel. I’ve seen this happen before. Girls get bored and write guys in jail. Until they find someone a little more dangerous, a little more interesting. Eventually, they work their way up to writing school shooters or serial killers. Dark, but it happens. Women like the danger, the threat.

Olivia isn’t like that. It took me a little bit to let my guard down, to stop thinking what if she was like that. No. Olivia is genuinely my friend – who I’m in love with. I can’t put that on her though. It’s hard to determine if my feelings are genuine or if it’s some type of hero worship because she saved me from my loneliness.

I’m lying in my bunk, the thin white sheets wrinkled beneath me. The smallest bit of sunlight shines in through the window the size of a sheet of paper. It’s winter. Sun doesn’t shine as bright or as often. You try to get it while you can. In my hand, I’m holding her latest letter and I feel that familiar fluttering in my chest. Part of me doesn’t even want to open it.

I’m always scared. Always scared she’ll tell me that she found someone, and she won’t write me anymore. At this point, despite my feelings, I just want to keep writing her. Even if it’s just as friends. I’m fully convinced that having Olivia in my life has made me a better person.

My eyes glance over to the wall by my bunk, the white brick. Olivia’s sent me photos over the months we’ve been corresponding. Nothing racy. Just pictures of her, pictures of Cucumber. Cucumber is her cat who I’ve started to imagine as my own. He’s small with orange fur, white markings around his eyes. I haven’t asked why he’s named Cucumber. Maybe I should in my next letter.

Olivia is simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She has these beautiful blue eyes that feel impossible, hidden away behind silver-rimmed circular glasses. Her hair is blonde; it looks shiny