Were dads even allowed to be that hot?
Paige
When I woke up Christmas morning, I didn't know if I'd been on Santa's nice list this year—or his naughty one. Thinking back to the prior evening's events, I decided it was definitely the naughty one. There had to be a mistake—I was always on the nice list. But the gorgeous, naked man snuggled next to me seemed to suggest I had a lump of . . . something waiting for me. Maybe the nice list was overrated. Or maybe naughty girls really did end up with coal in their stockings.
Grant
I was now on the "every-other-weekend and alternating holiday schedule" with my kids—one more thing about divorce that I detested. Attending my law partner's Christmas Eve party seemed like a better alternative to drinking alone in my boring beige condo, staring at my new pipe-cleaner tree with its new, shiny ornaments. The last thing I expected was to be propositioned by a former PTA president. Or to wake up Christmas morning not wanting to leave her bed. But you don't get to be our age without plenty of baggage. The question was, did ours match?
Contains mature themes.
