“You might get lucky. If not, it’s for a good cause.”
“Fine,” I said, handing him five bucks.
“Oh my gawwwdddd,” I heard a woman drawl loudly, “can I touch your axe?”
I glared and looked around.
But the woman wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to Brody, who had his flannel shirt completely unbuttoned to show off his chest to his gaggle of admirers.
“Only professionals are allowed to touch my axe, ladies,” Brody said, swinging the axe around, “but I have something else you can grab onto that might be more your style.”
“You’re a fucking piece of work,” I snarled at him.
Several of the women catcalled when they saw me.
“Take it off!” one woman yelled drunkenly.
“Is this all you do?” I said, furious at him. “Lead women on, destroy relationships, sow chaos?”
“They know exactly what they’re getting into when they get in bed with Brody the lumberjack,” the dark-haired man stated, flexing his pecs. “Isn’t that right?” He winked at the women.
“Too bad Merrie wasn’t like her mom,” Brody continued. “She was too frigid. She didn’t recognize greatness when she saw it. Not that I want anything else to do with her or her crazy mother. I was only with the mom to get to Merrie.”
“Of course you were,” I said, seething.
“Especially since her mother is hosting yet another Christmas party tonight,” Brody sneered. “As soon as she told me I was out of there. It’s probably going to be as low class as the last one.”
“Says the man who sells firewood and sleeps with other people’s girlfriends.”
“You’re just jealous,” Brody declared.
I gave him a chilling look. “There is absolutely nothing about you that is better than me. And if you come anywhere near Merrie ever again, I’m going to the police to let them know you’re stealing wood from private property.”
It was an educated guess but the correct one.
Brody blanched then protested. “I didn’t—that’s not—you can’t own a tree.”
“Yes, you can literally own a tree if you own the property it’s on,” I replied. “And you need to stay off my land.”
“You and Merrie deserve each other.” Brody made a disgusted noise, wrapped his arm around a giggling woman’s waist, and disappeared into the crowd.
“Number 1290,” came the announcement over the loudspeaker. “If that’s your ticket, please come and claim your prize.”
I needed a plan to win Merrie back, but what could I do? Just showing up and crashing her mom’s Christmas party probably wasn’t a great idea. I absently pulled out my ticket and checked it.
“Dammit.”
“Did you lose?” a man next to me asked.
“Unfortunately not.”
“Number 1290, I know you’re out there because I sold that ticket.”
“Right here!” the man next to me shouted out. “We have a winner.”
I slowly made my way through the crowd, hoping whatever the raffle prize was wasn’t something as ridiculous as the snow globe that Morticia had given a prominent spot right in my bedroom at the Wynter estate.
Unfortunately, it was worse.
