At least Ingridlovedmy first 12 Dates of Christmas article. Ryan was right about one thing—Crypto McDoucheFace made for a super entertaining story. Ingrid made it clear she’s eager to read the next story pronto, so I’m off to make it happen.
Honestly, I was drunk enough that I don’t remember Logan that well, and part of me wishes I could cancel. Unfortunately, I’m in a real time crunch, so here I am, walking to a nearby bar famous for their over-the-top tacky Christmas decorations.
The wind howls again, whipping my short skirt and making me question ever choosing to wear it. Dammit, why did I have to let Ryan get in my head?
I managed to miss seeing him all day. He was still asleep when I woke up, so I took the train home. I spent the day hiding in my room, shining a laser pointer around for Waffle to chase. After trying on a few outfits, I decided for an outfit Iknewmade me look sexy as hell. An off-the-shoulder long-sleeved shirt, my black wool miniskirt, and my thigh-high boots that make me feel like a cross between a super spy and a Victoria’s Secret angel. Under it all, I had lace-lined thigh-highs held up with a garter belt.
Not that I was planning on letting Logan see the garter belt, but it made me feel hot.
Unfortunately, Ryan was camped out in the living room, pounding an energy drink while he watched something trashy on Sequel. I was gratified to see he looked like shit, his eyes bloodshot and his hair even messier than usual.
“How’s the hangover?” I said, deliberately loud.
He glanced over at me, watching me zip up my boots. “Wow, you should wear a shorter skirt,” he said sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes. “You should wear a ball gag, so I don’t have to listen to you.”
At the time, I thought it was just Ryan coming up with a reason to give me shit. But ever since I left the house, the short skirt has been bugging me. Was it slutty-short? Was Ryan right? I mean, he never has been before, but there has to be a first time.
I tug the skirt down again and resolve to keep my knees closed tonight.
When I arrive at my destination, I’m greeted with the scent of cinnamon and gingerbread. The bar is the definition of Christmas tacky-chic. Giant light-up snowmen, the kind you normally see on lawns, are propped up in the corners. Sparklyfake snowflakes and shining Christmas ornaments hang down from the ceiling, and there are bowls of candy canes at every table. I love it immediately.
Logan’s waiting for me already, reading his menu. With his dark hair and slim frame, he reminds me of a young Adam Brody. He’s dressed in a black cashmere sweater and black trousers, both of which look really expensive. I’m guessing he bought them new off the rack instead of digging through thrift store bins, hunting for hidden gems like I do.
Overall, he looks way better than he did in his pictures. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
He grins when he sees me. “Looks like you got the dress code,” he says, gesturing at our all-black outfits.
“I feel more like the goth who didn’t get the uniform for the job at Santa’s workshop,” I say, gesturing to the decorations around us.
“Hey, you don’t need to look like Will Ferrell inElfto be a master toymaker. Put a wooden hammer in your hand, and I bet you could bang out some great toy cars, or whatever kids want this year.”
I slide into the seat across from him and grab the menu. It’s full of cocktails with cute Christmasy names.
“Would you judge me if I ordered the eggnog espresso martini?” Logan says. “I know it’s girly, but it sounds great.”
“I fully support a man’s right to drink girly drinks, and I’ll only judge you if you don’t give me a sip.”
He chuckles. “What are you getting?”
“I might go for the hot buttered rum. I need something to warm me up after walking here. I love Christmas, but I get tired of the cold weather pretty quickly. It makes me want to go somewhere hot and sunny.”
“For sure. How did you like the Bahamas?”
I pause, cocking my head. “How did you know I went to the Bahamas? I didn’t think I put that in my profile”
He hesitates. “I guessed when I saw that picture of you at the beach. It’s just the first place I think of when I think of a tropical vacation, you know?”
Huh. A little uncanny, but maybe it’s just a coincidence. “I mean, what’s there to complain about? It’s the Bahamas. Let me sit on a beach and drink a piña colada and I’m happy.”
“She likes piña coladas. I’ll make a note,” he says.
“And getting caught in the rain.” He looks blankly at me, prompting me to add, “You know, like the song.”
He laughs. “Oh, yeah. Right. So, tell me about yourself. You’re a writer forBelladonna, right?”
I raise my brows. “Wow. You did your research on me, huh?”
