Page 22 of UnLucky Christmas
“Sweet, huh?”
I put the photos back on the shelf and move closer to the couch where Grant is sitting.
“Yes,” I reply. “He’s funny, and obviously your sister adores him. Why do you ask?”
He holds his hands up innocently. “No reason. I’m just making conversation.”
“Really?” I retort. “You should probably work on your conversation skills.”
He raises his eyebrows.
I guess those two glasses of wine have given me some extra courage because I continue talking.
“Chad is handsome and very enjoyable to talk to,” I add. “And he’s not a grinch.”
Grant chuckles under his breath. “That’s right. You’re one of Macy’s merry followers. I’m surprised you’re not wearing an ugly sweater, or a necklace made of Christmas lights. Maybe you and Chad can get matching holiday outfits.”
I put my hands on my hips and move to stand in front of Grant. He props his elbow on the arm of the couch and stares at me.
“What’s your problem?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Actually, you do,” I snap. “You’re rude and uptight. Who hangs out by themselves at a Christmas party?”
An amused smirk spreads across his face, and I think he might be enjoying this.
“You’re feisty,” he says. “I thought merry followers were supposed to be full of Christmas cheer and sugarplums.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Whatever. I should probably get back to Chad.”
He gives me a nod. “Yeah, you probably should.”
For some reason I don’t move. Why am I letting him bother me?
Grant rises to his feet, puts his hands in his pockets, and moves toward me.
I fold my arms against my chest as I look up and lock eyes with his.
“You don’t want to keep Chad waiting, right?” he asks softly.
“Right.” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
I quickly rush out of the office, my heart beating quicker than I expected it to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I wake up, my room is still dark. Ugh. I was hoping to be able to sleep in this morning, especially because my head is pounding. I never seem to learn my lesson that wine and I just don’t mix. It’s a shame, really.
I roll out of bed and hobble to the kitchen to get a drink. My beautiful, flocked Christmas tree has lit up my living room, giving off the best cozy season vibes. I fill a glass with water, take a few ibuprofen, and sit down on the couch next to where Dasher is curled up in a ball. I cross my legs under me and lean my head against the back of the couch.
Despite the headache, I had a wonderful time at Macy’s. Before I left, Chad asked for my number, and we’re going to dinner next week. Macy was so thrilled when I told her I agreed to go out with him you’d think she was a proud parent.
The only thing I didn’t enjoy about my evening was my interaction with Grant. The crazy thing is I don’t understand why I let him bother me so much. I feel like he enjoyed every second of pushing my buttons, and that bugs me. Although I think that’s a normal occurrence for him. Macy has made several comments about him not being social. And it’s obvious there isn’t any love lost between Chad and him.
I reach over and begin to pet Dasher, who barely stirs other than letting out a few purrs.
I can’t get over how completely opposite Macy and Grant are. My brother and I are different, but we have some similarities. I haven’t seen any with the two of them.
