Page 60 of Holly Freakin' Hughes

Esthersat down next to me, raking her hands through her wispy white hair, and withthat gesture, it hit me. I dug my hands into my sweatshirt pocket and pulledout the little slip of paper Brandon had given me.

“What’sthat?” she asked, glancing over as I eyed the digits scrawled onto it.

Itook a small sip of wine. “Brandon gave me his number today. I’ve known the guyforsolongand he g-gave me his numbertoday. Why thehell would he dothat?God, he’s such a fucking …” My voicetrailed off, looking at the number through booze-bleary eyes.

“Sucha fucking,what?” Esther’s mouth twisted into a little toothless smirkthat told me she knew exactly what he was.

“He’sjust … afuckinggood kisser.God, he’s a good kisser. He shouldkiss Benny and … teach him.” I smacked my forehead before taking another gulpof wine. “He kissed me last week. Did I tell you that?”

Estherkept her expression indifferent. “He kissed you again?”

Iclosed my eyes and nodded, emphasizing my movements. “Yep, he did.”

“Ithought he just wanted to be friends?” She raised an eyebrow.

Mymouth twitched into a smile, and I opened my eyes to look at the number in myhand. “Yeah, well … Fucking m-mistletoe.”

“Holly,get off my couch and out of my house.”

“Why?”I whined, snuggling into one of the throw pillows with every intention offalling asleep.

“Because,”she said patting my leg, “you’re going to go call him and leave me the hellalone.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

BRANDON

Achoir of clacking keysfilled the dimly lit room, providing an addedmusical element to the Red Hot Chili Peppers album blasting through my laptop’sspeakers. My fingers danced across the keyboard as I watched the blank spacesof the word processer fill with the story brewing in my head, and hot damn, itfelt good. I couldn’t yet decipher if what I had been writing was any good orif my editor would later tell me to chuck the entire thing into the fire andset it ablaze, but the important thing was that I was writing andthatfeltgood.

Iglanced over at my empty mug, put my thought process on hold, and pushed awayfrom the heavy wooden desk. I walked across the rug, and took the curvedstaircase two steps at a time, turning the corner into the dark kitchen,illuminated by only the streaming light from the porch.

Alreadyplugged in and ready, I shoved my mug under the spout of the Keurig and gavethe machine the OK to start brewing. While waiting for my liquid nourishment tofill the cup, I took my eyes for a trip around the gourmet kitchen to asoundtrack of pumps and grinding from the coffee machine. It felt impossible towalk in there and not instantly be struck with the morose heaviness of thestale air. The granite countertop was cluttered with boxes; things I had alwaysmeant to put away, now weighed down by years of dust and bitter neglect. Thecabinets hung empty, the refrigerator held nothing but takeout leftovers, and Icouldn’t begin to explain how to actually use the electric stovetop—because Inever had.

TheKeurig spurted the remainder of the boiling hot coffee into my cup, and thatwas my cue to leave until the next refill, all too eager to go.

Withmug in hand, I stepped onto the bottom step’s tread, all set to get back towork on the long-awaited love life of my truest friend, when a vibration camefrom the pocket of my pajama pants. I waited to see if the vibrating persistedor if it was just the one-time buzz of a text message to be ignored until Ifelt like answering, but it continued. Intrigued by receiving a phone call onmy personal number, I fished the phone from my pocket, initially surprised thatI didn’t recognize the local number and then remembered that I had given Hollymy number.

Withoutanother moment of hesitation, my thumb swiped across the screen and the phonewent to my ear. “Hello?” I sat down on the second step, looking ahead at theheavy wooden door and its stained-glass window. My gut buzzed with nerves,waiting for a reply on the other end, and I put the mug down next to me,freeing my hand to run through my hair.

“Itreallyfucking sucks drinking alone.”

Aspredicted, Holly’s voice came through the speaker, sounding farther away than Iknew she really was.

“Yeah,I could have told you that,” I laughed uneasily. God knows I wasn’t a strangerto the old One Man Drinking Party.Another me, another life …

“So,you busy?”

Myheart jumped, and I glanced upwards towards the office, envisioning the glowingcomputer screen and imagining Breckenridge cursing me for once again tossinghim on the backburner. “Nah, not really.”

“Doyouwannacome over and watchBreakfast atTiffany’s?”

Shedidn’t have to ask me twice. I bolted upright at the invitation and leaving mymug on the bottom step, I ran back up the stairs. Despite my hurried actions, Ikept my tone from sounding too eager. “Sure, but what about your boyfriend? I’mnot sure he’d be too thrilled with you spending your night with another man.”

“OhGod, fuckingBen.” She said the name with a disgusted emphasis,and I had to say my thoughts reflected her tone as I fit the man she had beentalking to with his name. “He’s just sostupidwith his kid, and ohGod,the crockpot.”

“Crockpot?”I laughed, hoping that it wasn’t innuendo for something else.

“Yes!God, why did anybody have to set me up with a guy with a kid? Why does he wantme to evenmeetthe kid when we agreed to be nothing serious? And then,then!He told me today that my job isn’t a job. My job broke myfreakin’face,Ben.” There was a pause. “That’s whyyou’rethe goodfriend. You don’t say my job is stupid. You don’t make me dress up and go tostupid parties, like a doll. You like me for me, like that song. Who singsthat? Blessed-something, right? I liked that one …” She sighed. “And you knowwhat?”

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