“Do not mention that name tonight,” I warn her and finally swing myself and the garland over to the curved entrance to the kitchen. I pull out a step ladder and climb up to hang the garland from the little hooks I’ve already placed there. “This is about getting my mind off him, remember?”
I glance over my shoulder and see Ellery’s big brown eyes land on the scarf. The garish yellow wool monstrosity he gave me as my last Secret Santa gift. Well, not last ever. As the rules go, I probably have one more horrible thing to endure before the big party, which signals the end of our gift exchange.
“Right. So we aren’t allowed to talk about how you two have enough sexual chemistry to melt all the ice in the arena my dad owns,” Ellery says frankly and then takes a slow sip from her martini as I glare so hard at her I almost fall off the step ladder.
I manage to right myself before tumbling and finish hanging the garland before jumping down and reaching for my own martini on the coffee table. If she’s going to insist on talking Nolan Duggan, I definitely need a drink.
“He’s torturing me,” I mutter. “On purpose. And I’m retaliating. How is that hot?”
“Tell me you don’t think he’s sexy, even just a little bit,” Ellery lifts a pale eyebrow and quirks her lip over her martini glass. “The grumbling, the brooding, the frowning. You don’t think it’s kinda like foreplay. The way he singles you out for his best worst attitude?”
“No.” I say it firmly, but then I bite my lip. “I don’t think it’s foreplay but… I mean the man somehow makes it work. The grumpiness. Sometimes. Rarely but sometimes… it’s mildly intoxicating.”
Ellery woops so loud I can’t hear Bublé for a second, so I immediately gulp down some of my tart martini creation and lick the spicy sugar from the rim off my lips before adding. “But I’m vulnerable to just about anything nowadays. I’ve been single far too long. I can find just about anything sexy at this point. It’s called desperation.”
“You are far from desperate. You’ve purposely avoided men like the plague and rightfully so,” Ellery reaches over and squeezes my knee, which is covered in my favorite Christmas pajama bottoms. The ones with extra-long wiener dogs tangled up in Christmas lights all over them. “It’s been what now? Two years? You definitely need to put yourself back out there.”
“Two years on Christmas day. And yeah, maybe I do,” I admit because what I haven’t told anyone, not even my best friend Ellery, is I had a vibrant sex dream about Nolan the other night that had me panting when I woke up. I had to masturbate to the memory before it faded. I’m not proud, but I couldn’t avoid it. It felt way too good. And I don’t even like him. I can’t imagine what fantasizing about someone I’d like would be like. Someone I could actually date without wanting to punch. I look at Ellery again instead of staring at my half-decorated Christmas tree. “But the thing is, I don’t have time to date. I love my job and devote a lot of time at the office. The idea of giving up what little spare time I have to go on awkward first dates with randos I meet on the internet is not appealing.”
“So date a hockey player,” Ellery smiles.
“Do not say —”
“Nolan Duggan is single.”
“You are evil.” I declare and Ellery laughs manically. “You shouldn’t encourage inter-office fraternization within your father’s hockey franchise.”
“Why the hell not?” Ellery demands and sips the last of her martini. “It’s not against policy for a reason. My dad met my step-monster because she was head of marketing for his tech company remember?”
“And you call her step-monster, and the marriage lasted forty months, so what does that tell you?” I reply.
Ellery sighs. “The divorce proceedings lasted longer than the marriage, but all that really tells you is that my dad has terrible taste in women. Don’t let that make you afraid to try.”
“I have my own reasons to be afraid remember?” I mutter, and Ellery’s gaze softens. She remembers just as well as I do, after all she was supposed to be my maid of honor but instead, she spent my wedding day handing me tissues and letting me literally cry on her shoulder.
I pluck her empty martini glass from her hands, down the rest of mine and get up off the couch. “Another?”
“Do you have to even ask?” Ellery replies.
“Alexa, play that song again,” I call out, and Michael Bublé’s “Holly Joly Christmas” starts over. Ellery groans, but I sing along as I make the martinis. Until my phone starts playing “Jingle Bells.”
“Alexa pause!”
The music stops, and Ellery, who is peering at my phone on the coffee table in front of her, glances up at me with a furrowed brow. “It’s your parents.”
“Shit.”
“Ignore it,” Ellery suggests with a sympathetic smile.
I sigh and carry over her martini. After handing it to her, I reach for the phone. “I can’t. They’ve already called twice today, and I’ve let it go to voicemail both times. I can’t outrun them, unfortunately.”
Ellery looks as annoyed as I feel. She gets along great with her dad but has never liked any of his wives, so she’s sympathetic to my family drama. However, these are my actual biological parents, not a step-parent. They’re happily married and totally in love… with my ex-fiancé. I drop down on the couch beside Ellery as she lowers the music, and I hit answer. I close my eyes and keep my tone light. “Hey!”
“Oh good. You answered, finally,” my mother’s voice fills my ear. “It’s your mom.”
“And your dad!” I hear Dad’s cheerful baritone and realize I’m on speaker.
“I know. I have call display,” I explain. “You would too if you got cellphones.”
