Page 29 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

“Yeah,” I answer him.

“How will you know what’s going on?”

With a pathetic laugh still laced with sadness, I explain, “Because that’s the beauty of Hallmark movies. There’s not too much to follow. It’s just a…feel-good show.”

“A feel-good show, huh?” He arches his brow and doesn’t look very convinced. “Well then, would you mind explaining the premise to me so I can catch up?”

“Sure.” I smile. “The heroine is burned out from her career and wound up in this small town for one reason or another, most likely to help push her career forward in the job that she hates. Anyway, she meets a sexy, small-town guy, who’s likely wounded in one way or another, and he’s about to show her the true meaning of Christmas.” Then I take a big bite and savor the crunch of the lettuce with the tang of the condiments and the savory seasoning from the hamburger. Oh my goodness, this tastes delicious.

“That’s it?” he questions, still hooked on the plot while completely ignoring his lukewarm burger that tastes like heaven.

“Yup.”

“Well, alright then.” He scoots back into his chair and unwraps his dinner. “Let’s see if he can teach me the real meaning of Christmas while he’s at it, eh?”

I chuckle. “For that, you need to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmmhmm,” I hum before taking another bite. An amused grin is plastered on his face as he watches me chew. Once I’ve swallowed the small bite, I take a quick swig of water, then add, “Unless you’re willing to fall for a small-town baker or an innocent nanny, but they don’t really seem like your type.”

“And you know what my type is?” he challenges.

“Easy.” I decide with a definitive nod. “I think you like easy.”

“Physically or emotionally?”

“Both.”

“Hmph,” he grunts. But he doesn’t bother to argue with me before stealing a fry from the white bag and popping it into his mouth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We both focus on the movie playing in the background and the storyline that’s just like all the others. I soak up the familiarity like a dry sponge while glancing over at D every few minutes to find him just as invested in the story as I am. We eat in silence while the big city girl kisses the handsome country boy. The snow falls around them in a picturesque scene that brings a smile to my lips.

“Is that what you want?” he inquires, riveted by my reaction to the sappy kiss.

Confused, I turn to him and ask, “What do you mean?”

“The guy next door and the PG-rated kiss in a small town. Is that what you want?”

“I, uh, I don’t really know what I want.”

“Is it what you wanted…before?” he presses.

Before.

It’s weird. To break down my life into two separate segments. The before. And the after. I look back at the screen. A Golden retriever runs through the snow toward the happy couple and wags its tail when it finds its owner to have found true love during the Christmas season.

“Tell me,” D pushes, distracting me from their happily ever after.

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think guys like that would be able to handle my kind of messy after…”—I swallow thickly—“after everything I’ve been through. Hell, I’d be lucky to find a gigolo who would want a broken girl like me.”

“That’s bullshit,” he calls me out, his voice rising with frustration. “You know that, right?”

I’ve pissed him off. I’m just not sure how.

“Wait. Are you mad at me?” I ask.

His trimmed fingernails scrape across his chiseled jaw as his eyes turn toward the ceiling. “You know what? Forget it.”

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