Page 1 of The Holiday Hookup

Chapter One

December 22nd

“Stillanoshow?”Dave, the bartender I just met tonight, says to me with that hideous look in his eyes. That look I know so well—pity.

“His loss, right?” I say flippantly, hiding the true dismay I feel while I twirl the festive red straw around in my fancy gingerbread-something drink. Maybe he couldn’t leave a holiday party early, or had to attend to family. It is December 22nd, after all.

He would have rescheduled, dumbass. He just didn’t show.

“Damn right. I’d never stand a pretty girl like you up,” he says with a flirtatious wink. If he wasn’t so…notwhat I was looking for, his compliment might have cheered me up. He’s got to be in his forties, which is a bit older than my twenty-five-year-old self.

I’m all for love who you love, but I’ve personally never wanted a man that’s older. The no-show guy I met on Tinder claimed to be twenty-eight, but that remains to be seen. Or would have been, I suppose. I should have known by his name— Brad. It justscreamsfuckboy.

Maybe I’m being presumptuous. Or post-sumptuous, as the case may be. Either way, if I have to sit here sucking down this sugary excuse for a cocktail surrounded by Christmas twinkle lights for a second longer, I might gag. I doubt Dave wants to cleanthatup.

“I’ll go ahead and close out,” I tell the bartender as he finishes making a pair of drinks.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart. Better luck next time.” He rushes to get the drinks to a couple a few seats away, who smile cheerfully at him.

Maybe I should give older guys a try. At least they compliment me and buy me a damn drink.

“Thanks,” I say with a wave. Rising from the bar seat, I grab my purse from the chair back and adjust my clothing. I look damn cute tonight, too, with my tight black, high-waisted skirt that lands mid-thigh, showing off the exposed part of my long legs in black, knee-high boots.

My matching long-sleeved blouse with a white-and-black window pane pattern is tucked into the front of my skirt. The two buttons off the right collarbone help accentuate my curves and give voluptuous shape to my breasts. Paired with my hair in a tight bun and light makeup, I think I pull off classy and edgy well. I wore my square, black-rimmed glasses rather than my contacts tonight, thinking they really solidified the outfit.

Just a waste of time.

I glance around and realize in the thirty or so minutes I sat, waiting for no-show, fuckboy Brad, the place filled up. This bar opened a few months ago and it’s been a hotspot ever since, but I figured places like these didn’t fill up until 9 or 10 pm. I glance at my black leather wristwatch and confirm it’s only 8:30 pm.

I shake my wrist, adjust the strap on my shoulder, and move towards the exit. I’m about to make it out scot-free when I’m bumped on the shoulder. Irritated, I look over and come face-to-face with the exact reason for knowing the look of pity so well: my ex-boyfriend.

He hasn’t noticed me yet and I need to get the fuck out of here before he does. The last thing I need on top of being stood up is to deal with him.

But he never did make things easy for me.

“Well, well, well, look who’s actually out and about,” he says with a smarmy grin. It sets off the seething cauldron that’s been bubbling in the recesses of my body since I realized my date was a no-show.

“Fuck off, Trent,” I spit at him, turning back to the exit. But he speaks again, and I’m not sure if it’s the disappointment of being stood up, the fact that I’m seeing my lying, cheating ex, or a sick mixture of both, but I’m rooted to the spot at his words.

“Oh, I did that alright.” I turn my head to him slowly, unsure that I heard him right. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

Is he seriously blaming me for his indiscretions because I preferred staying home while he wanted to go out most days of the week? His eyes hold a menacing glare, and I’m about to retaliate when none other than thefuckinggirl he cheated with and left me for sidles up next to him.

“Hey, babe—” Gillian cuts herself off when her wide eyes meet my icy stare. Yeah, I know her name. I have this unyielding need to have answers to everything in my life. So when Trent broke up with me and told me he’d been cheating—hey, at least he was honest—I staked out his house until I saw her show up. A few social media searches later, and I had a name.

I didn’t do anything with the information. Just obsessed over who she was, what she studied, where she worked, and what friends she had. Anything to clue me in as to why she was better than me. Weeks turned into months, and a year later, I put Trent and his bullshit behind me.

I’ve dated on and off, but you know as well as I do how that’s gone. I was supposed to meetfuckboy Bradtonight. So yeah, it’s gonegreat.

But you know what? I’m not the same girl Trent left, and it’s time he damn well knows it.

WHAM.

My fist lands on Trent’s cheek before I can process what I’ve done. My knuckles ache instantly, but I shake them out with a malicious grin. Gillian’s eyes bug out of her skull, and she takes a few staggered steps back. Trent holds the right side of his face and pegs me with an incredulous look.

“What the fuck, you bitch!”

It would be more classy, and certainly clever of me, to give him a sassy, one-line response, then walk the fuck out of here like I own the place.

---