Page 10 of Jingle Devil

SEVEN

Tessa

Crawling out of bed while Mick sleeps is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He looks so relaxed, so happy, even in his sleep, and I want to snuggle with him forever. Which is part of the problem. Mick doesn’t date. This was a one-night deal, and that’s what I had.

As tempting as it would be to stay plastered to his side with my head on his chest, I know I won’t be able to bear the rejection that would come in the morning. The awkwardness that would inevitably fall around us when he woke up and asked me to leave. Or worse: the agony of watching him struggle, unable to ask, while we stared at each other until I made some excuse and high-tailed it out of here.

Either way, this thing would end with my heart being ripped in two. So even though it’s eating me up inside to leave, I have to go.

For both of us.

That’s what I tell myself as I slip on my dress from last night and gather my purse, with one last lingering look out the penthouse window. The crowds are gone now. Tucked into their warm beds while I sneak out into the cold air to sulk back to my apartment all alone.

The first tear slides down my cheek after I settle into the back of the cab, and they don’t stop. Not when the driver gives me pitying glances from the rearview mirror. Not when he offers me a few tissues. And not when I step into my tiny apartment, locking the door behind me, and throwing myself down on the couch.

It’s my own fault, it really is. I agreed to the date. Convinced myself I could go back to work after a night with Mick and pretend nothing happened.

Stupid.

I’m so stupid.

There’s no way I can pretend this night didn’t mean everything. That Mick didn’t mean everything.

I can’t even say I’m not experienced in the protocols after a one-night stand because I’ve had a few and walked away completely unscathed. I’ve never felt this stabbing pain in my chest or the gut-wrenching despair that has my insides twisted.

A sob bubbles out of my throat, and I wipe away the fresh batch of tears before pulling my phone out of my clutch. I have a message from Jazz, telling me how nice it was to see me tonight and wishing me a Merry Christmas. Nothing from either of my parents. They were radio silent last year, so I can’t pretend to be surprised even though it adds to the hurt. And nothing from Mick. I didn’t expect anything from him either. He’s probably still asleep in his giant comfortable bed, spread out like a starfish, glad for his space.

I was so stupid.

Knowing it’s Christmas and I’m going to spend the day alone yet again, fills me with a longing I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe next year I’ll start dating. Try to find someone who can fill the Mick-sized hole in my chest.

Who am I kidding? Next year isn’t long enough to get over what happened last night. If I want a chance to push him from my mind and find someone else, there’s only one solution. I can’t see him every day. I can’t go back to normal. I can’t live in a world where I can forget how he and I fit together so beautifully. I just can’t.

Not when I… Shit. Not when I fell in love with my boss. So much for keeping things uncomplicated.

I fire off a quick text to Jazz, hoping she has her phone on silent, and turning off mine. After changing into some pajamas, I snuggle up on the couch with an oversized fuzzy blanket and start my Christmas movie marathon. I burrow back into the couch cushions and tighten the blanket around myself imagining it’s Mick’s arms.

I let the ghost of my memories comfort me just this once as I drift back to sleep.

EIGHT

Mick

I wake to rays of morning light streaming across the sheets and the muted sound of Christmas carols coming through my speakers. Not entirely ready to wake up, I reach out toward Tessa to pull her against me, only to find an empty bed and cold sheets.

Shit.

I sit up, letting the sheets pool at my waist, a faint sheen of sweat breaking out around my temples and the back of my neck. She could be in the bathroom or the kitchen, no need to panic yet. I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie and begin my search. With each step, my heart beats louder and faster, and the knot in my stomach grows tighter.

I search all the rooms in the house, even the closets, but it does me no good. With each step I take, the knot inside me gets tighter and tighter. And then I step into the living room and see it. Or rather I don’t see it. Her green dress—the one that drove me so crazy last night; the one that hugs her curves so perfectly; the one that made me envious of a piece of fabric—is gone.

She fucking left.

And if the cold sheets on her side of the bed are any indication, she’s been gone for hours.

I didn’t talk to her last night. I didn’t tell her that I had no intention of letting her go. That she was the best thing since the invention of ice skates.

Stupid.

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