Page 20 of Knot what I want for Christmas
She takes another long draw on her straw, downing the whole cocktail, pushing it to one side, and waving frantically at Travis, who is more than willing to come striding back over to us both.
“Another two, ladies?”
“You bet!” Annie says, and I suck even harder on my straw, attempting to keep up with her.
By the end of our third cocktail, I’m pretty sure all that snow outside has melted and now the bar is floating on a body of water, or else I’m just swaying on my seat. Everything’s a little blurry around the edges and I’m finding it hard to keep up with Annie as she gives me the lowdown on everyone in the bar.
“And that’s Johnny,” she says. “He’s the one who rode his horse right inside this bar one time. And over there, that girl, see her, she got caught scratching penises into the paintwork of her ex-boyfriend’s prize Cadillac.”
I nod along, and Annie’s just pointing out someone else in the crowd when she freezes, bouncing up and down on her chair and clapping her hands.
“Oh my goodness, Hollie, do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I say.
“The song,” she says.
I listen carefully. It’s a Christmas classic, “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
It’s our all-time favorite.
The first Christmas we were in college, we played it non-stop, back to back, singing it as loudly as we could at every opportunity, while clutching hairbrushes and chugging eggnog that came pre-made in cans. It was like our own mini theme song for the holidays.
Annie yanks me off the stool, and then, before I know what she’s doing, she’s jumping up onto the bar, pushing away the empty glasses with her boot and signaling me to follow.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
“It’s our favorite song, Hollie, get your ass up here.”
Maybe if I hadn’t had so many drinks I’d think twice about clambering up onto the bar in my miniskirt in a town where I’malready an outsider and there’s a good chance I’ll fall off the bar and break my head. But the drink and the alcohol are making everything seem like a fantastic idea tonight, so I don’t even hesitate. I scrabble up after my best friend, and soon we both stand together on the bar, arms wrapped around each other, singing our hearts out at the top of our voices.
Probably everyone is looking at us. Then again, I think most of the rest of the bar is singing along to the song too. There’s definitely lots of people swaying beneath us. We’re just getting to the climax of the song where it gets really high and neither of us can quite make the notes, both of us dissolving into fits of giggles as our voices crack.
When I glance down, there’s an angry Alpha standing below us, hands on hips, scowl on his ridiculously handsome face. Clay Jackson. Again. Of course.
He’s glaring up at us so fiercely that if I wasn’t so drunk I’d be a shaking, blubbering mess. As usual, he looks mightily unimpressed. I hope that isn’t because, from this angle, he’s peering right up my skirt. I am, after all, wearing my best pair of panties and I had a wax before I left Rockview.
“What the hell are you doing?” he booms above all the music.
“Singing,” his little sister says, following it up with a middle finger.
“Get down,” he says.
“Nope,” she says, shaking her head, clearly delighting in antagonizing her brother.
“You could break your neck,” he calls back.
She grins even wider and does a little shuffle along the bar.
Clay’s furious gaze finds me next, and, despite the alcohol-soaked state of my blood, I can’t help but freeze under the force of it.
“Get down,” he barks at me.
He’s not my big brother. I’m not his little sister. But I am an Omega and he is an Alpha, and a command like that is instinctively difficult to disobey. My body wants to take a flying jump right off the bar in response to those words – preferably into his waiting arms. But I dig the heels of Mrs. Jackson’s lucky cowboy boots into the bar and adopt Annie’s brattish persona, mirroring the Alpha with my hands on my hips and shaking my head.
“Do you own this bar?” I ask him.
“No,” he says.
