Page 15 of Unwrapped

“January third.” I hear her clicking on a keyboard on the other end.

“What type of room would you like? Our prices range from $299 to $599 per night.” I click through the website looking at pictures of the rooms. Some are suites with sitting areas with a small kitchen. They are all lovely and cozy decorated elegantly but with a Victorian country charm.

A smaller corner room catches my eye. It has a wood burning fireplace and a canopy bed with a fur rug on the floor.

“Is the corner room…the one called the ‘Snowflake Suite’ available?”

“It is.”

“Great. I’ll take it.”

“And how many will be traveling in your party.”

“One. Just me. It’s…just me.”

“No problem.” The woman maintains her professionalism. “Any special requests?”

“Yes. Can you make sure my room is decorated for the holidays…with real garland and a real tree?”

“We only use fresh Oregon greens to decorate.”

“Good.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Can you book me a different spa treatment for every day of my stay?”

“I can…but our spa staff is off on Christmas Day.”

“Right. That’s it then.” Picking up my purse, I slid out my wallet. Rattling off my credit card number, I give all my information to book the room.

Satisfied with my decision, I wash the makeup from my face, put on my pajamas, and grab my Louis Vuitton suitcases from the closet.

Shit.

I don’t even own a snow coat or a pair of winter boots.

Although I have plenty of money, I’m usually quite frugal with it despite the dollars I dropped trying to look good for Grant.

I pack what I can, toiletries and such knowing I’ll treat myself to my own Christmas presents on the way out of town at ‘The Grove’. It’s a high-end outdoor mall that will have everything I need. I always wanted a pair of Ugg boots, but they just never seemed practical.

I climb into bed, turning off the lights and Google Springdale Oregon. What I find would have me dreaming of more than a white Christmas.

News article after news article mentions the local bad-boy/hero biker club, CREED. I lick my lips as pictures of tatted men with bulging biceps fill my screen. ‘These bad boys have hearts of gold,” is the title of the article. I read on. It’s dated from last summer when the ‘bad boys’ of Creed opened up their two-hundred-acre property surrounding a lake to underprivileged and at-risk youth for a week of camping and adventure. They paid for the kids transportation and through a local YMCA arranged for their property to be transformed into a type of summer camp. The article states the MC had been doing this for the past few years.

I sigh, scrolling through articles more scrumptious than the next. But I shiver when I read the MC was questioned by local police after a shoot-out occurred during a freak summer storm. No one was charged, but the reporter’s thoughts were clear: the MC isn’t all bad boys with hearts of gold, but that they are dangerous criminals hiding behind good deeds.

I keep scrolling. Then click on another one. “President of local MC weds local girl, Shanna Flynn.”

Holy hell. The man in hot.

I fan myself, jealous as hell at the way he stares at his bride. The lens of the camera captured all the lust and fire of his love as he gazed down at his bride.

I want that.

Springdale here I come.

Jenny is right. I’ve been dating the wrong type of man over and over. It’s time for a change and the New Year is right around the corner. This year, all I want for Christmas is a bad boy biker from Creed to jingle my bells and make me come under my tree.

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