His Candy Cane

  His Candy Cane

  A Holiday Bad Boy Romance

  S.E. Law

  Copyright © 2019 by S.E. Law

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Also by S.E. Law

  The Boyfriend Diaries

  Mommy’s Ex

  Mommy’s Boss

  Mommy’s Landlord

  Daddy’s Christmas Gift

  Daddy’s Holiday Baby

  Daddy’s Love Child

  Daddy’s Valentine’s Baby

  Sweet Treats

  His Candy Cane

  Standalones

  You’re Mine

  Boss of My Panties

  Naughty Relations

  About Last Night

  About This Morning

  About That Evening

  About My Daddies

  Playing with Them

  Playing with the Doctors

  Playing with the Criminals

  Playing with her Priests

  Healing Hands

  Dr. Feelgood

  Dr. Man Candy

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  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Maisie

  2. Maisie

  3. Patrick

  4. Maisie

  5. Patrick

  6. Maisie

  7. Patrick

  8. Maisie

  9. Patrick

  10. Maisie

  11. Patrick

  12. Maisie

  13. Patrick

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek: Daddy’s Christmas Gift

  About the Author

  About This Book

  My growly, gorgeous personal trainer gave me equipment to work with that was long, thick, heavy, and hard.

  I’ve been teased about my large size since I was a kid.

  So this Christmas season, I decide to take matters into my own hands.

  The gym has always been my personal hell, but not anymore because I’ve hired a professional trainer.

  What I didn’t expect is for my trainer to be so … huge.

  Patrick Walker has muscles that go on for days, a six pack that bulges, and a glint in his eyes that says come and get your bad boy.

  Plus, he keeps giving it to me non-stop.

  The sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups are killing me.

  I strain and stretch, hoping to rid myself of my curves by December 25.

  But what if my gorgeous trainer says he likes my hills and valleys?

  What if he says I look ripe and plush and ready for a candy cane because of them?

  Will we do the taboo? Or will my trainer’s candy cane go uneaten?

  Curvy girls unite! Maisie learns to love her curves in this fun-filled tale of slick sweat, Christmas ornaments, and candy canes. Don’t worry – she doesn’t lose her curves and instead, learns to love them with the help of OTT alpha male Patrick Walker, and his hard, sweaty workouts. Even better – Patrick gives her a bouncing baby by the end! No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always an HEA for my readers.

  1

  Maisie

  My mom strides into the kitchen with her hands behind her back.

  “Oh no, what is it?” I ask, instantly suspicious. Today’s my birthday and I’m turning twenty-five. It’s a little bit disheartening, to be honest, because in my twenty-five years I haven’t accomplished much. I have my job as an assistant at a vet’s office, but it doesn’t pay very well, so I still live at home. I also have my beat-up old Jetta circa 1999 that has over two hundred thousand miles on it. Even if it’s ancient, at least it’s mine, and it still runs just fine.

  But now, I eye my mom as she walks over with a big smile on her face.

  “Daddy and I got you something special for your birthday,” she says a little too brightly.

  I stare at her.

  “But why don’t you give it to me tonight, when Aunt Mildred and Uncle Bertrand are here? I thought we were going to have dinner together for my birthday, with a cake and candles too.”

  My mom nods.

  “Yes, but this is a very special gift, so Daddy and I wanted to give it to you beforehand, without anyone else to see.”

  Uh oh. I brace myself for something bad.

  “You don’t even want to wait for Dad to come home?” I ask weakly. “I’m sure he’d like to participate.”

  Lorraine shakes her head.

  “Nope, Daddy and I talked about it, and we want to give this gift now because it’s a special present from us to you.”

  Uh oh. Those words bring up bad memories. It reminds me of the time my mom got me a Harvard sweatshirt for my tenth birthday. I loved the maroon color with the Lux et Veritas motto on the front, but I couldn’t help but feel terrible because even back then, I knew I wasn’t going to Harvard. I’m not an Ivy League type of girl, and sure enough, after high school, I enrolled in a two-year program at my local community college. It worked out fine because I got an Associate’s degree in Veterinary Science, and got hired as a vet tech almost immediately after graduation.

  But I feel bad letting down my parents. They’ve always wanted me to do something magnificent with my life, like re-invent the Internet or fly to the moon. The problem is that my dreams are small by comparison, and Lorraine and Henry don’t realize that I’m happy the way I am. Maybe I’m not going to be an international super model or a Nobel-prize winning scientist, but at least I contribute to the world. The sick and injured animals that come to my workplace need my help, and I’m always happy to lend a gentle touch and a loving hand.

  Unfortunately, my parents don’t exactly see it that way.

  “You’re twenty-five, and you have a degree,” my dad said just the other day. “You should be able to buy yourself a new car at least. Your old clunker’s not looking so good.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “I know, Dad, but that’s the thing. I want to save money and maybe donate some funds to our local animal shelter once I amass enough. My car works just fine, and besides, I like the rust orange color of my Jetta. It’s cute, and you can’t see the scratches because of the color.”

  My mom shook her head, her eyes puzzled and sad.

  “But Maisie, we want more for you. We want you to go out and explore, and to see the world. Every day, you go to work, come home to eat dinner, and then go to bed before repeating the cycle all over again the next day. Why? For what? You have so much to offer, and you’re not meeting your maximum potential.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, sticking my chin out. That’s the kind of phrase my parents are always using: maximum potential. Being a dreamer. Reaching for the stars. It really gets under my skin because pop psychology doesn’t work. I swear, Lorraine and Henry read books of affirmations non-stop, and listen to recordings of motivational speakers all the time. I want to shake them until their teeth rattle while screaming, “It’s bullshit! My dreams are small dreams, and I’m happy with that okay? Why can’t you be happy for me too?”

  But my parents will never be satisfied. They’re still wondering what they did wrong in bringing up a daughter with quote-unquote “no ambition.” That’s part of the reason I’m afraid of the gift that Lorraine has behind her back. I’m sure it’s something like a daily journal so that I can begin memorializing my loftiest goals, or some kind of
guided video with the latest guru so that I can start plotting how to take over the world.

  Lorraine’s now standing before me at the kitchen table, practically quivering with excitement.

  “Okay Mom,” I say tiredly. “Let’s have it.”

  She frowns for a moment.

  “You know, Maisie, you could be a little more grateful. Your dad and I thought long and hard about what would make for a meaningful birthday gift, and I think you’ll really enjoy this one.”

  “You mean, like the time you signed me up for Astronaut Camp one summer, and how much I appreciated that?”

  Lorraine frowns at the memory because when I was twelve, my parents thought enrolling me in NASA’s Space Camp would be beneficial. Hopefully it would “expand my horizons” and I’d become a junior astronaut in training. Unfortunately, not only were the math and science classes way over my head, but the so-called pilot simulations made me sick. For a week straight, I came home with vomit on my clothes. The experience was ugly, smelly, and completely revolting in every way.

  So I fix my mom with an exasperated look.

  “Okay, let’s have it,” I say. “What is it?”

  My mom’s expression brightens and her blonde bob bounces up and down as she pulls her hands out from behind her back.

  “Ta-da!” she sings. “Here you go!”

  I stare at the laminated plastic card in her palm, squinting.

  “Mr. P’s CrossFit? What is that?”

  She laughs joyously, her eyes dancing with enthusiasm.

  “Haven’t you heard of CrossFit sweetheart? It’s the newest exercise routine. Evidently, there’s a real focus on strength training and muscle building, and Daddy and I think you’ll really like it.”

  I stare at my mom.

  “But I hate working out.”

  Lorraine rolls her eyes and blows air from her nose in exasperation.

  “Yes, I know, sweetheart, which is exactly why we got you this gift for your birthday. This will inspire you to exercise more because we signed you up for one on one training session with Mr. P himself. You’re going to work with a personal trainer once a week for the next couple months so that you come out a lean, mean, sexy machine.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.

  “Is this about my weight again? I swear, Mom, haven’t you and Dad given up on that by now? Especially after sending me to chubby camp?”

  I’m referring to the summer when I was fifteen, and my parents shipped me off to a campground in Maine where I was supposed to lose thirty pounds in two months. I hated it. All we did was exercise for six hours a day, and I got so hungry that I ate like a crazed woman at every meal. Instead of losing thirty pounds, I put on fifteen, much to Lorraine and Henry’s dismay. I think they might even have asked for their money back. But in my opinion, it was just another ill-fated attempt by my parents to push my life in a direction in an inadvisable way.

  When will they understand that I’m a twenty-five year-old woman who doesn’t need their guidance anymore? When will they give up trying to turn me into someone I’m not? After all, I’m fine financially, and I’m happy with my job, my social life, and my little Jetta. I suppose since I live at home, my parents think that they still get a say in my life, which I guess they do to some extent. But still, their nosiness and attempts to help are so annoying.

  I stare at Lorraine.

  “Mom, CrossFit is for insane people, haven’t you heard? The women come out of it looking like muscleheads. It’s okay for guys to get really pumped and huge, but do you want me looking like a female bodybuilder by the end?”

  Lorraine giggles, her blonde bob bouncing.

  “Of course not, honey. It’s just that your father and I want you to stand on your own two feet, and we thought CrossFit would help you get there.”

  “But how?” I ask with puzzlement. “CrossFit will help me get in shape, but it’s not going to help me become more of an adult, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  My mom sighs, easing herself into the chair across from me. Lorraine has always been slim, and she’s probably at least forty pounds less than me. To her credit, she doesn’t compare our body types because I take after my dad, with his round, stocky frame.

  “Well, Maisie, your father and I want what’s best for you, and you’re still living at home. You’re twenty-five now, and it’s clear that your job as a vet tech is never going to pay enough so that you can afford to move out on your own. As a result, we want you to slim down a bit so that you can find the right man. Maybe you’ll hit it off, and you’ll be able to move in with him, get married, and have a family.”

  I hold up a hand, palm out.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mom. You’re going at lightspeed here. Who said anything about having a family?”

  My mom merely sighs.

  “It’s not about grandbabies per se. It’s just … well, have you seen that movie Failure to Launch, honey?”

  I stare at her.

  “You mean the one where Matthew McConaughey plays an adult man who still lives with his parents?”

  My mom smiles and brightens.

  “Yes, that one!” she nods. “I’m just saying that Daddy and I don’t want you to be like the Matthew McConaughey character. We want to get you out there and do something with yourself. The world is your oyster!”

  I stare at her.

  “Mom, this sounds like a thinly-veiled attempt to kick me out of the house.”

  Lorraine shrugs.

  “Would that be so bad, Maisie? Finding the love of your life and moving in with a nice man is a natural progression for a young woman, and your dad and I want you to have these experiences. It’s not that bad, Maisie. I did it. You’re just stuck in a rut right now, and going to boot camp will help push you out of that stuck space.”

  My mom’s reasoning makes my head spin, and this conversation is beginning to sound scarily like her pep talks for Astronaut School and Fat Camp.

  “Mom, I’ve never done well at the things you sign me up for. I always do best at the things I choose for myself, like vet school.”

  My mom makes a pshaw noise with her mouth.

  “Maisie, the vet tech thing is fine, don’t get me wrong. But you make … what, thirty thousand a year? Forty thousand?”

  “Twenty-five,” I say in a tight voice.

  “Exactly!” Lorraine says triumphantly. “Twenty-five thousand is a pittance, and you’ll never be able to afford your own apartment unless you earn more. Unfortunately, the career progression for a vet tech doesn’t seem to be very promising, so Daddy and I figured helping you find a guy would make more sense. Maybe with your combined incomes, you can find an apartment together!” she sings brightly.

  I stare at her again.

  “Mom, seriously. Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Immediately, Lorraine’s expression grows innocent.

  “Of course not, honey. Daddy and I love having you live with us, but enough is enough, don’t you think? Don’t you want to have your own space? Privacy is a luxury in this economy.”

  The truth is that of course, I’d love to have an apartment to call my own. Imagine that: getting up in the morning without having to share a breakfast table with my parents. I could even adopt a rabbit, a cat, and a dog, which I’ve been longing to do for ages. My dad is allergic to any kind of animal fur, so we only have our one bird, Cookie, who’s addled in the brain if you ask me.

  I fix my mother with a look.

  “Of course I’d love to move out, but isn’t this a roundabout way of doing it? You think that by slimming down, I’ll meet someone, fall madly in love and then find my own apartment?”

  My mom nods.

  “Yes, precisely,” she says with satisfaction. “It all starts with you getting healthy, Maisie. You’re too big the way you are, and too many boys are taking a pass at dating a bigger girl. Don’t get me wrong, honey,” she says quickly. “Your dad and I think you look fine, but CrossFit is just the thing to shock your s
ystem. We did some research, and it’s a difficult routine, but don’t worry: working one-on-one with Mr. P is going to make it bearable. He’ll whip you into shape in no time, and soon you’ll have a dozen men asking for your hand.”

  I merely shake my head because it’s useless to argue at this point. My parents have been trying to slim me down now for over a decade, but to no avail. Fat Camp didn’t do it, nor did the diet shakes nor Weight Watchers. I think they wanted me to enlist in the Army after graduation in the hopes that Basic Training would help me shed some pounds, but I put my foot down there. I wasn’t going to risk the chance of going off to war just to lose some weight. No thank you to bullets and missiles, although I highly appreciate the dedicated service of our vets.

  But there’s no way to get my point across to my parents. They’ve been this way for as long as I can remember, and the rah-rah aspect of their personalities is annoying but also well-meaning. As a result, I merely take the membership card from my mom and smile weakly at her.

  “Thanks. When does the personal training start?”

  “Tomorrow is your first session,” Lorraine says happily while folding her hands. “Mr. P is expecting you after work at 6 p.m. I already told him that you work until five every day, so he was willing to tack on some after-hours to see you personally.”

  I smile sourly.

  “Great. So I’m already indebted to him before we even begin.”