“More like men and their double standards.” I sigh. “He can play the hero, but I’m the one everyone’s whispering about today.”
Jo shoots me a side glance. “Let them whisper, babe. At least you gave them something to talk about.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. “You’re the worst influence.”
“Please.” She flicks her crazy curly hair out of her face. “Sweeten up, princess. You’ll see him again—this town’s too small not to.”
“I don’t want to see him again. That’s the problem.” I’ve made a fool of myself too many times. With his son and now with him. “I’m tired of being the one who gets left behind, Jo.” Tears pool in my eyes.
I sink into the seat, clutching my drink to warm my hands, my thumb tracingJo Venisonwritten on the cup in black marker—the name of the one person who hasn’t disappeared or moved on without me. I cling to it like it might keep me from falling apart.
“Oh, honey.” Jo reaches over the centre console and holds my hand. She’s a little older than me and like the big sister I never had. My work colleagues are the only friends I have now that everyone else has gone off to college and forgotten about me.
I sniffle and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I’m all right. I think everything’s just getting to me. I think it’s the time of year, you know. The first Christmas without Nanna.”
Jo lifts her drink from the cupholder and takes a sip as she drives towards the restaurant. “I know, honey. It’s a hard time of year for many people.”
“And Chief was the only person I had left who I thought cared about me, and I had to ruin it by stroking his dick.”
Jo chokes mid-sip. The car jerks slightly as coffee sprays across the dashboard in a fine mist of cinnamon and panic.
“Holy mother of peppermint mocha!” She coughs, dabbing at the dash with a napkin. “Sera! You can’t just drop a dick confession mid-sip.”
I wince, half laughing, half mortified. “Sorry. It slipped out.”
“So did he, apparently.” She wheezes, still coughing, cheeks bright red.
“Oh my goodness, stop.” I cover my face, dissolving into giggles. “You’re going to crash.”
She laughs so hard she’s crying. “You did what now?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, voice cracking between laughter and shame. “I mean—it kind of was—but I stopped. Well, he stopped.”
“He finished, you mean.” She fans herself with a napkin.
“I don’t think he did. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have been so grumpy.” I groan, sinking down in my seat, clutching my cup as if it can erase the memory. “Can we please never talk about this again?”
Jo snorts. “Oh, we’re talking about this every day until Christmas.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I have to get my kicks somewhere.” Jo flicks on her blinker and turns into the Dockside Grill parking lot, sliding neatly into one of the staff spots. “So…” She grins, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Was it big?”
“What?” I blink, feigning innocence.
She rolls her eyes. “You know. The chief’s hose.”
“Jo,” I hiss, choking on a laugh. “I didn’t exactly see it—I just…” I lower my voice, glancing around even though no one’s there. “Let’s just say my fingers didn’t reach all the way around. The man has girth.”
Her mouth drops open in mock horror, then she fans herself with a crumpled napkin again. “Sweet cinnamon swirl, no wonder he’s grumpy—he’s been walking around armed.”
“Can you not?” I groan, covering my face. “I thought you were picking me up for work, not a confessional.”
She opens her mouth to retort but freezes, eyes flicking towards the entrance. “Oh, sweet heavens.”
“What?”
Her grin turns wicked. “Speak of the devil. Looks like Christmas has come early.”
