Of course, just my luck. Is there anything that isn’t tainted by the mask of fake happiness and togetherness?
I switch channels, flipping through them over and over. Everything is seasonal. Everything is green, red, and Santa Claus.
God, I can’t stand it.
Changing my TV’s input, I grudgingly slink out of bed. Guess I’ll put on a movie—that way, I can guarantee it won’t be Christmasy.
As I pop in the movie, I realize I probablyshouldturn my front light on again for the delivery person. I swear though, if I get any more solicitors, I’m covering my front porch in spikes.
Heading downstairs, I flip the light switch back on. I don’t even make it halfway up the stairs again before there’sanotherknock at my door.
Don’t these people have lives? Somewhere more important to be? Like, not my house?
I unlock and open the door, and to my surprise it’s my food order. The delivery guy stands there holding it, a sheepish smile on their face.
He’s rather short, his skin a shade of yellowish green. With low-hanging, pointed ears, I can tell right away he’s a goblin.
“I selected contactless,” I inform him, my eyebrows furrowing.
He hands me the bag. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. My boss, well, he said to directly hand everyone their orders and to spread Christmas cheer.”
Well, they won’t be getting my business again if they’re going to blatantly disrespect my decision. What if I had a super-contagious disease and that’s why I chose contactless? What if I celebrate a different holiday and don’t acknowledge Christmas?
“Tell your boss that he can shove his Christmas cheer right up his ass.” With that, I close the door, locking it and turning the light off.
I hold the bag limply at my side, heading toward the kitchen. With little thought, I toss the bag in the fridge.
Now my appetite is completely gone, and my night has been ruined.
All thanks to stupid Christmas.
CHAPTER 2
FELIX
“Do Christmas partiesusuallyhave strippers, Joy?” I ask, raising a brow at her.
She shrugs, just beaming at me. “I don’t know…butthisone will.”
A laugh escapes me as I shake my head. “I’ll run it by the others, but I’m not sure what they’ll say.”
“I can almost guarantee that you’ll all be tipped very well.” She continues her attempts to convince me. “Since you’d bevolunteeringyour time in the name of Christmas.”
I laugh at her. “What day is it, again?”
“Friday, December 6th,” she tells me chipperly. “We’re having it soon so that our boss can’t change her mind.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask, “Why is it again that she’s so against the party?”
“It’s not just the party—it’sChristmas. She hates it for some reason.” Joy leans against my kitchen counter. “She’s tolerablethroughout most of the year, but November and December? Avoid at all costs.”
It’s so weird to hate Christmas. It’s such a happy time of year. Everyone is kinder, more joyful, more generous. What’s not to like? Plus, gift giving is one of my favorite things, and Christmas is a great excuse.
“Will she be at the party?” A plan is beginning to form in my brain.
If her boss is at the party, maybe some good old stripping—from a sexy man like myself in a Santa costume—is just the right thing to change her views.
Joy shakes her head. “She already told me to tell her what day it is so she can avoid it. So, definite no.”
