God grant me the strength to survive mistletoe and the barnacle of boardroom princesses… Holly f*cking McAdams. My best friend's little sister and pint-sized menace. Thanks to her lost luggage, a surprise snowstorm, and a conveniently "full" hotel, she's the little spoon for the night. Her so-called brilliant plan to avoid accidental spooning? A catastrophic failure, in case you were wondering. There's a code-a bro code I take very seriously-but some kind of mistletoe-fueled voodoo hijacked my better judgment. Maybe it's the possessed mistletoe playing matchmaker with a demonic flair. Could be the manifestation panties I can't get out of my head. Or her cute little librarian glasses invite me to her stacks, if you get my drift. And you'll never convince me that the thigh-high striped socks she wears to "keep warm" are anything less than a tactical maneuver designed to leave me putting a book over it-and I'm not a big reader. Everything about her is a snake charmer's symphony, conducting a full-scale assault on my co-er, anaconda. When Nick asked me to give his baby sister a ride… did he really expect me to survive her thigh-high socks and my rapidly deteriorating self-control?
