Book Title: Sexted By Santa
Author: DJ Jamison
Cover Artist: Cate Ashwood
Release Date: November 18, 2021
Genre: Contemporary MM romance/holiday romance
Tropes: App hookup to lovers, neighbors, single dad, reluctant Santa, age gap
Themes: Choosing love over regret, found family, holiday feels, love and acceptance
Length: 83 500 words
It’s set in the Thrust into Love universe, but with no real overlaps.
The book does not end on a cliffhanger.
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Christian Kringle: College professor, reluctant Santa, and…fake dating my neighbor?
Blurb
I’m a grinch and proud of it–but this year, there’s no avoiding the Christmas cheer.
First, I get roped into playing Santa. Shudder. Then, while trying to dodge a setup with my boss’s brother, I somehow promise to attend a holiday party with my boyfriend–who doesn’t exist.
Next thing I know, my (soon-to-be former) best friend has set up a profile on a hookup app to find me a date. With the username of….wait for it…SantaWantsYourChimney.
Go ahead and laugh. He sure did, the traitor.
Before I can delete the profile, I match with an easygoing guy with amazing photos. His teasing about Santa kink makes me laugh, and blush, and feel things I haven’t since my divorce. For the first time in years, I look forward to dating.
Until we meet, and he turns out to be my neighbor. My very young, very off-limits neighbor who I’ve clashed with for years. Only now I know just how sexy, charming, and sweetly devoted to his daughter he is.
I should walk away, but I still need that fake boyfriend. The only problem? Jaxson’s so convincing I can’t tell where the pretense ends and real feelings begin.
Falling for him is easy. Loving his daughter? Effortless. Trusting that I can keep them is the hard part.
It’ll take the magic of love, family, and yes–even Christmas–to teach this old grinch new tricks.
Sexted By Santa is a standalone holiday romance set in the Thrust Into Love universe.
In the following scene, Jaxson meets the guy he’s been flirting with online, SantaWantsYourChimey, for the first time.
JAXSON
I entered the tapas bar where I was to meet my date after dropping Tori by Shirley’s with a promise to return in no more than two hours. My eyes strained to pick him out in the low lighting, but he’d promised he’d bring the Santa hat so I could find him.
The room was a collection of glass-topped tables and metal stools that looked more stylish than comfortable, Latin art, and wine-red tapestries. I finally spotted the hat on the edge of a table in the corner, behind a large, noisy party seated around a buffet-length table that held three nearly empty pitchers of sangria.
I waved off the hostess approaching to seat me and made my way toward the table, eager to finally learn Santa’s identity. His back was to me. He had great posture, a little rigid maybe, but there was something elegant about the way his charcoal gray suit jacket clung to his shoulders. This was a man who knew how to dress. A little formal for my usual tastes, but I liked it on him.
“I still think you should have worn the hat,” I said as I strolled up.
He looked at me. “I told you, I…”
I took in the salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard, the flare of recognition in his eyes, and smiled ruefully at my luck.
“Professor. We meet again.”
He flicked out his tongue to wet his lips, and I watched a little too closely for my comfort. Yes, the professor was handsome. Distinguished.
Stern, though. Judgmental.
Christian finally found his voice, sputtering, “Jaxson. What are—You can’t be…This isn’t poss—” He huffed. “You’re not thirty-five!”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m twenty-six.”
“Exactly!”
“I’m…sorry? Do you want me to leave?”
Christian looked tempted, but then he slumped and waved a hand to the seat across from him. “No, I’m sorry. I imagine your evening is ruined as well. You might as well get some food out of it.”
Flatterer.
I pulled out the chair and sat across from him. He smelled nice, like a forest after a fresh rain. He’d trimmed his beard. Dressed up for this date. I felt a flicker of disappointment. He really was a very handsome man.
“Why are you angry about my age?” I asked.
“I set the age filters for thirty-five and up, and your profile marked you as older. I’m sure of it.”
I smiled sheepishly. “Ah, yeah, I lied on my account.”
Christian stared at me. “Most people lie to appear younger, but you did the opposite?”
“I did.”
He looked at me as if I were a puzzle he’d like to solve. I felt heat rising in me, along with the tug of an inconvenient attraction that would no doubt horrify him.
“You don’t want to be targeted by people looking for young men. Why?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve got an eight-year-old daughter, Professor. I feel thirty-five. I don’t have patience for most people my age, much less college guys.”
He gave me an appraising look. I felt as if he could see right through me. I hated being reminded of the life I almost had. Not because I regretted Tori, never that. But because I wished I could have graduated before she was born and offered her an easier life.
“Call me Christian,” he said.
“Really?”
“You can’t go around calling me professor all night.”
All night, huh? Maybe I’d misread the situation. Would he want to hook up? Did I want to? We were neighbors and not entirely amiable ones.
I tested the waters with a little tease. “I could always call you Santa.”
“Oh Christ,” he muttered. His eyes sharpened. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Do you want me to be?”
The server arrived before Christian could answer. He ordered a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and I asked for a Dos Equis beer. Christian also pointed out a selection of tapas.
“Bring us the Empanada de Cebon, Alas de Pollo, Tabla de Quesos, Patatas Bravas.” He paused and looked at me. “Do you have any food allergies or major dislikes?”
I shook my head. “I’m easy.”
A slight flaring of his nostrils gave away his dirty thoughts. He cleared his throat and returned to the menu, rattling off a few more orders. Given that I didn’t know Spanish, I had no idea what would be arriving at the table, but it sounded like he’d ordered enough for the larger party behind us. Granted, they could probably use more food to soak up all that sangria.
When the server walked away, a loaded silence fell between us.
“So, do you meet a lot of dates here?” I asked. “You seem to have the menu memorized.”
“You’re not my date,” he said quickly. “We’re just two neighbors having dinner.”
The words were out before I could think them through. “Just neighbors, huh? Neighbors who sexted.”
Christian inhaled so sharply he started coughing. Our drinks hadn’t arrived, but there was a pitcher of water on the table. I filled a glass and pushed it toward him.
He took a couple of swallows, wheezed, then cleared his throat. “Good grief, did you have to go there?”
I grinned, not even a little repentant. There was something fun about getting under Christian’s skin.
DJ Jamison writes romances about everyday life and extraordinary love featuring a variety of queer characters, from gay to bisexual to asexual. DJ grew up in the Midwest in a working-class family, and those influences can be found in her writing through characters coping with real-life problems: money troubles, workplace drama, family conflicts and, of course, falling in love. DJ spent more than a decade in the newspaper industry before chasing her first dream to write fiction. She spent a lifetime reading before that and continues to avidly devour her fellow authors’ books each night. She lives in Kansas with her husband, two sons, one snake, and a sadistic cat named Birdie.
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