Page 10 of Wicked Christmas Eve

6

Iglanced through the windshield at the near empty parking lot before turning my gaze to the front of my old favorite hangout, Wicked Grounds. The Open sign blinked neon red. The last time I’d walked through those doors had been the night of my twenty-first birthday, almost ten years to the day.

Unfortunately, my big plans to set the world on fire since then had fallen flat. I’d gotten my degree in political science only to be turned down by one law school after another because my grades weren’t good enough and my test scores not high enough.

Six months later, I’d settled into a legal secretarial position in the big city of Charlotte and a routine that made the next several years go by in a blur.

This year everything had been on track to a bigger and better future thanks to a pending promotion and I’d actually looked forward to the holidays.

We all know how that turned out.

With everything having gone from bad to worse since my arrival, I was now second guessing my decision to come home in the first place. So maybe it was my head that needed examined after all.

Between my ultimate walk of shame at the office, then my family insisting on giving their opinions on my life, not to mention the insanity of walking in on the man who took my heart and V-card more than a decade ago with a belt in his hand and a half naked woman draped across his desk… I needed one hell of an escape.

These were the constant stream of thoughts that had been pummeling my brain for hours on a non-stop loop as I asked for the world to give me a sign on what to do next. No sign had come.

Ready for a drink or twenty, I opened the car door and stepped out. It didn’t surprise me to find so few cars in the parking lot. Most people weren’t trying to escape their life on Christmas Eve.

My shoes clicked rhythmically on the soft pavement until I reached the door. All while I did my best to ignore the strand of floss—otherwise known as a thong—riding uncomfortably between my butt cheeks. A heavy sigh formed in my chest. Why hadn’t I changed before I came here? Because that would have meant returning to my mother’s house, that’s why. Another second there with my helpful family would have killed me.

I glanced around the parking lot again to make sure I was completely alone before I reached under my poufy skirt and grabbed the edge of those damned panties. I yanked them down my legs and stepped out of them.

It wasn’t as if anyone here would notice whether I wore anything under this frothy, overdone green skirt. I’d called it festive the day I bought it, now it stood for humiliation, embarrassment and pain.

What I wouldn’t give for a bland black business suit right about now. Or maybe even those jeans and ugly sweater from earlier. My life at the moment felt eerily like a series of low moments with no end in sight, so what would one little fashion faux pas matter at this point? It wasn’t as if I was here on a date. That made me snort. I wasn’t sure what those looked like anymore. I hadn't had a real one in a coon's age.

Jesus. Out of the city for a couple of days and I was already talking like a country bumpkin again.

I shoved the offending scrap of lace trying to lead me down some sort of rabbit hole to the bottom of my purse and straightened my clothes one final time. Much better. I wasn't here to impress anyone or meet a man. I had but a single mission tonight and it was close.

One more minute and I’d be happily seated at the bar. Thirty minutes after that, I'd be halfway to smashed if I had any say about it. As for getting home, I'd worry about that later—much later.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the warm foyer. Instead of the coat rack and stand filled with local brochures and advertisements I’d expected, a large man sitting on a stool in the corner looked up from the book he was reading.

“Evening,” he said with barely a grunt.

Taken aback by the presence of a bored bouncer on a night like tonight, I hurried past him without a word. The main room was dark, and I stopped to give my eyes a few seconds to adjust. On autopilot, I turned to the right and headed in the direction of the bar. There were only a few tables occupied, but a couple of people eyed me as I walked by. Thankfully there were no faces I recognized, so I didn’t deviate from my plan. I grabbed a stool at the bar and dropped my purse on my lap.

“Can I get a tequila shot straight up?” I asked the bartender.

His eyebrows rose, which I promptly ignored. It was my Christmas Eve, and I’d damn well do as I pleased, even if that meant getting sloshed alone in a bar. As for my drink of choice, fuck him. I disliked wine almost as much as I hated beer and I was not in the mood for one of those cutesy sugar filled drinks that would give me a headache in the morning.

This was about getting a buzz working through me as fast as possible.

“On second thought, make that two.”

The man behind the bar grabbed two small shot glasses and filled them.

“We have a two drink maximum if you’re planning to play tonight.”

My head shot up, meeting his gaze. “Play?” Why in the world would they limit drinks to their players? The men playing pool and darts were probably their best customers.

He picked up the glasses from the bar and used them to indicate somewhere behind me before he sat them in front of me. I scooped up one of the drinks and slowly turned the stool to investigate. The barroom was quite large with dark wood tables filling the space, but in the back corner, there were double doors propped open that led to a separate area. A large, private room filled with pool tables that either got rented out for parties or used for weekly tournaments if I remembered correctly.

Although what my gaze landed on certainly didn't fit what I expected.

My eyes widened.

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