ChapterOne
Nick
**Dear Readers…**
if you’re seeing this… hold up!
This is the placeholder version of Provoking Saint Nick and if you’re seeing it, that means the Zon screwed the proverbial pooch and sent you guys the placeholder version instead of the final version.
Never fear, this can be fixed!
First: Go to yourAmazon account
Second: UnderDigital content and devices, selectManage content and devices.
Third: On the right there is a setting box that says Deregister, Set as default device, and view device content. Select View device content.
Find my my book and look for the updated version there!
God grantme the serenity to not choke the wildcard of rich bitches.
Charlie fucking McAllister.
My best friend’s little sister. Tormentor extraordinaire. Star of my every trauma as a teenager.
Oh, the irony of the youngest daughter of the richest family in Bar Harbor standing with her jean-clad hip propped against the Eat the Rich sticker. The pithy act of defiance clung crookedly to the back of a rusted Jeep Wrangler.
Yeah, that was on brand for the little demon.
I bet Mommy and Daddy just loved that.
It was one week. I could handle her for one week.
When we were kids, she jacked my chili with pickling spices and when I gagged, she saved me by handing me a tomato juice laced with ghost pepper sauce.
When I broke my arm junior year and her mother insisted she help me pack for a trip to Boston, she cut the crotch out of every pair of underwear, shorts, and pants she packed in my duffel.
I flexed my fingers on the wheel, my one small show of anxiety because there was no way she didn’t notice me pulling in and the longer I sat here, the more ideas she’d get.
If I just kept her away from my food and my suitcase, I might just make it out of this unscathed.
Only, everything about her narrowed eyes and the smirk tilting those full lips at the corners told me she was waiting for me, and she was up to something.
I grabbed my cell and shot off a text to Chance. This was my last rant until I got pushed through the annual McAllister/McAdams Christmas ski week.
For thirty years, on the week of Christmas, our families inconvenienced all of us at the worst possible time by summoning our presence. This was the third year in a row Chance missed, the military making it hard as hell for him to be home. I got it… but I didn’t have to be happy about it.
Me: You’re a real boner for not being here this week.
Chance: Turned to shit already, huh?
Me: Your sister is here.
Chance: You’ll have to be more specific. I have two.
Me: Charlie, you asshole.
Chance: BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… good luck!
