CHAPTER NINE
I’m lying on my back on the polished bar in Connelly’s Pub. Cans and bottles of Sprite line an entire shelf above various bottles of liquor. Music plays through invisible speakers; after a minute I realize the song is “Where the Streets Have No Name”, one of my all-time favorites. The music mixes with the sound of voices, although I don’t see anyone.
I’m about to push myself off the bar when Hugh appears. He’s wearing his red velvet Santa jacket and white beard. As he moves closer, the beard disappears and the jacket is replaced by a worn leather one with a gray henley underneath.Rawr.
He approaches the bar. Without a word, he slowly lifts my shirt up. His fingers brush against the sensitive skin of my belly, causing my entire body to break out in goose bumps. His lips curve slightly, but he still doesn’t say anything and neither do I.
Leaning over me, filling my nostrils with his winter-fresh scent, he reaches for an open bottle of Sprite. “Ever do belly shots?”
I shake my head. Time blurs and skips until the moment he’s about to lower his mouth to my skin. His eyes meet mine as his head descends. His breath is hot. He opens his mouth and—
Bzz bzz. Bzz bzz.
My eyes pop open.No. No, no, no. I slam my eyelids shut again, desperate to return to the dream, to see where it goes from there. It’s no use. The buzzing continues, so I sit up to search for the source, blearily realizing it’s coming from the folds of my fluffy blue duvet. My phone.
As I reach for it, I see I’m still wearing the shirt I wore yesterday. I lift the comforter; no pants, just underwear. A quick feel of my chest tells me I’m not wearing my bra. Did I do the old bra-off-under-the-shirt trick or take my shirt and bra off and then put this top back on instead of my pajamas? During my dazed pondering, my phone stops vibrating, then almost immediately starts up again.
“Whyyyis someone calling me so early?” I groan, finally fishing the phone out from where it’s buried. I normally turn it off before bed, but then again, I normally don’t throw it on the bed to get lost in the sea of my comforter. Or go to bed half dressed. Or get drunk and stay out past midnight. The image on the display shows Bridget’s face, along with the time: ten o’clock. Not so early after all.
“Hello?” I croak.
Bridget lets out a surprised laugh. “Ivy?”
I clear my throat and try again. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Why do you sound like you suddenly took up smoking a pack a day?”
I flop back on my pillows, wincing when the movement makes my head throb. “I went out with some people from the Village last night and I guess I had too much to drink.”
“My little lightweight.” Bridget’s voice is full of affection. “I don’t suppose you feel much like going out if you’re nursing a hangover.”
I close my eyes and massage my forehead with my free hand. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I made good progress last night fixing the project, and I should be able to finish Monday. It’s too late for breakfast with Santa, but I was wondering if we could go to Santa’s Village. You could show me around and we could have lunch.”
I stifle a groan as images of last night—specifically my conversation with Hugh when he dropped me off—flood into my mind. The last thing I want to do is spend my day off where I work, especially if there’s a chance we might run into Hugh.
“Ivy?” Bridget says again.
This time I do groan because I’ve just remembered my car in the Santa’s Village parking lot. I could have Bridget drive me there and then suggest we go somewhere else, but I know she’s dying to check out the Village. She’s a fiend for Christmas, and places like this were made for people like her. “Why don’t you pick me up around eleven?”
*****
My phone buzzes again as I’m heading out the door. This time it’s a text from Meredith.
Hey girl! Had so much fun last night. Need help getting your car?
I had fun too! Today’s hangover = not so fun. Still don’t know how you do it. Bestie is picking me up in a minute and I’m going to show her around SV and grab lunch.
Nice! I’m working in Santa’s House today. Will you bring her by so I can meet her?
Of course she’s working in Santa’s House. So much for avoiding Hugh. At least he’ll be in character and we won’t be able to talk about last night. Not that there’s anything to talk about. Apparently we both think the other is hot. No big deal. I think lots of people are hot. Tom Hiddleston. Colin Firth. Gerard Butler. Who, incidentally, also happens to be a hot Scot and has that sturdy, slightly scruffy thing going like Hugh does. That doesn’t matter, though. Hugh is just another name on the list. I shoot off one last text to Meredith telling her we’ll see her in a bit, and head downstairs to meet Bridget.
Despite feeling slightly more human after a long shower, two glasses of water, and a cup of strong coffee, I could kiss Bridget when I see she’s brought coffee from our favorite café. “Bless you, my friend,” I say once I’m settled in the car with my seatbelt on and have my hands wrapped around the steaming cup. I take a cautious sip, but it’s had time to cool to the perfect temperature. “This smells like heaven and tastes even better.”
Bridget turns her attention from me to the street as she pulls away from my building. “You look pretty good for someone with a hangover.”
“The wonders of under-eye concealer and a blow dryer.”
