Page 37 of Merry Me
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve flirted. At least a little. I might’ve tossed my hair, bitten my lip, leaned in. But right now? He might as well have been a decorative reindeer.
Absolutely nothing.
No spark. No flutter. Not even a flicker.
It was like Easton had short-circuited my entire romantic operating system and left nothing but static in his wake.
“Whatever has the most alcohol,” I said dryly, throwing back the rest of my original cocktail before propping my elbows on the bar.
He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, clearly not deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. “Rough night already? I thought you just got here?”
He winked, and it wasn’t even a subtle wink. It was one of thoseHello,I have been watching you since you entered the premiseswinks.
Normally I would love that kind of stalker behavior…It was kind of my brand. I mean, the fanfic I used to write in middle school…A lot of stalkers in those pages.
But clearly Easton Maddox had broken me in ways I hadn’t fully accepted yet. Because I feltnothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
The flirting bounced off my very dry, very unimpressed vaginal region like rubber bullets off a tank. There was a tumbleweed rolling through my pants. My hoo-ha had packed a bag and moved to another zip code.
“You have no idea,” I muttered as I stared at the rows of liquor bottles behind him, pretending to inspect them while really just avoiding everything else.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, reaching for a laminated drink menu with the sort of practiced flair that told me this wasn’t his first rodeo with sad girls in sequin dresses. “The bride and groom really went all out with the Christmas spirit. Let’s see what’s on tonight’s festive hit list.”
He cleared his throat like he was preparing to perform at Carnegie Hall. “We’ve got ‘Santa’s Slushy Surprise,’‘Reindeer Rum Punch,’ ‘Nog on the Rocks,’ and my personal favorite”—he paused dramatically—“‘The Ho-Ho-Ho-Tini.’”
I blinked at him. “Are…are those real?”
He tapped the menu solemnly. “Straight from the bride’s brain to this laminated piece of art.”
Of course. It was all very Paige. Only she could find a way to combine eggnog, puns, and alcohol into a theme.
I blinked at him, wondering how long it had taken my sister to come up with those names. “Which one will make me forget my life the fastest?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Reindeer Rum Punch.” The conviction in his voice was almost unsettling. “It’ll take you to the edge of oblivion and then back again just in time for ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’”
That…actually sounded perfect.
“As long as it doesn’t end with me sobbing into a plastic wreath or flashing the valet, we’re good,” I muttered, sinking onto the barstool like my feet had declared a mutiny. These shoes were not made for walking. They were made for standing still and looking hot.
Another reason why I needed to ride that fine line between drunk and wasted.
He winked again. Maybe something was wrong with his eye. He was doing that an awful lot.
He smirked as he grabbed a shaker and started working hismixology magic. “So,” he said, tilting his head as he tossed in a splash of something bright red and alarming. “Why’s a girl as pretty as you looking like she’s carrying the weight of the world? Hate the bride and groom? Hate Christmas? Secretly afraid of tinsel?”
I snorted. “None of those. It’s…just one of those nights.”
“Ah,” he said knowingly, tossing in another liquor with a little extra flourish. “Let me guess—man trouble?”
I didn’t respond, but I felt my lips twitch despite myself. He was persistent, I’d give him that.
A minute later, he set a bright red drink in front of me. “Here you go. One Reindeer Rum Punch. And there’s a bonus that comes with this drink.”
I lifted an eyebrow as I brought the glass to my lips and took a sip. Wow. That wasa lotof rum. And some other sweet flavor I couldn’t really identify but was actually delicious. I kind of loved it.
“What kind of bonus?” I finally asked, lifting the glass to my lips and taking another long sip. Honestly, I only wanted a bonus if it came in the form of a tranquilizer dart or three more shots of tequila.
The bartender leaned in like he was about to whisper sweet nothings into my soul. “My number.”
