Page 43 of War on Christmas

She hands off a pint glass to Tiffany but never takes her eyes off Freya, looking her up and down. “Girl, you look amazing. Like, ah-mazing!”

Tiffany’s jaw opens and closes like a fish gasping in air, desperate for it to be water. She’s still sputtering, her eyes fixed on Freya, as Becky studies the three of us and smiles with understanding.

“Oh, shit. You two are on a date,” she pieces together. Her hand shoots to Tiffany’s elbow, and my stomach unclenches when I realize she’s going to drag Tiffany away and put a stop to this nightmare. Thank Christ. I always did like Becky. “It was good to see you, Jeremy. Freya. Maybe—”

“You’re on a date with Freaky Freya?” Tiffany sputters, interrupting Becky and ripping her elbow out of her grasp. “But you twohateeach other.”

Her words land like shrapnel, and a moment of silence ensues as I absorb each tiny sting. Next to me, Freya goes rigid at her old moniker, and in response, I feel myself drawing up to my full height. There’s no missing the malice in Tiffany’s voice or in her curled lip. She’s every inch the bully she used to be.

I’m shifting myself between her and Freya, physically blocking off Freya with my body, when Becky erupts into a loud guffaw.

“Hate each other?” Becky snorts, then takes a long pull from her drink. “Tiff, you didn’t start the whole Freaky Freya thing because theyhatedeach other. You started it because you caught him ogling her in the lunch line that day she wore those cut-off shorts and fishnets.” She throws a grin at Freya and me. “They’vealwayshad a thing for each other. Why do you think he dumped you as soon as he heard you call her that stupid name?”

My chest tightens, and instinctively, I reach back, grabbing Freya’s hand. Becky just casually dropped a handful of bombshells like they were common fucking knowledge, and I’m stuck standing in the wreckage as they explode around me.

I knew Freya had a rough time in high school. I wasn’t dumb. I knew about the Freaky Freya nickname. But I didn’t hear it often. The first time I heard it was from Tiffany, and I broke up with her almost immediately afterwards. She was the most popular girl in our grade, and she’d used her considerable social influence to punch down at Freya.MyFreya. It was gross. But I never knew that Tiffany hadstartedit. That she’d started it because of jealousy. Because ofme.

Three and a half years of high school race through my memory. Three and a half years of whispers and innuendos and snickering behind Freya’s back. And I didn’t even hear the worst of it. My new friends—mypopularfriends—knew I was protective of Freya in my own weird way. After all, Thad was my best friend, and Freya was his twin sister. Sure,Icould argue with her endlessly and tease her into dozens of trips to the principal’s office, but it was always in good fun. And nobody else better do it.

But if my friends shielded me, what did Freya endure that I don’t even know about?

Tiffany, Becky, the entire fucking bar…they cease to exist. I turn my back on them, so I’m facing Freya, her body trapped between me and the tabletop. I’m reeling, my stomach churning with a sticky, overwhelming guilt, and I cup her face in my hands, tipping her eyes up to mine. Freya’s gaze is steady and cool.

“I didn’t know, Frey,” I say softly, my words only for her. Two minutes ago, we were all games, sparring for the upper hand in this labyrinth of friendship and attraction. Now, all I want between us is honesty. I want to fall on my knees, bury my head into the softness of her, and beg her forgiveness. I need her to understand how sorry I am for my part, however unintentional, in what happened to her. “I didn’t know Tiffany was behind all that stuff. I know you and I had our differences, but I wasnever—”

“Shut up and listen to me.” Her red lips barely move as she talks, and her hands are on my chest, pulling me close. I go willingly, fitting my body to hers, my thigh sliding between her legs. Behind me, Becky lets out a long, low wolf whistle. “Two options. One: Pretend we’re mature grownups, tell Tiffany to get lost, and have our date as planned.”

“Or…” I prompt. Because for the life of me, I cannot fathom a second option.

Freya, it turns out, has a better imagination than me. “Two: Invite these two to join us, then you fawn all over me like I’m goddamn Gal Gadot, complete with Wonder Woman costume, until Tiffany’s so jealous sheliterallybarfs.”

I choke on a laugh and cover it up with a cough. Even though I’m thoroughly sick of Tiffany and her mean-girl antics, I’ve always kept things civil with exes.

“Um…” I run my hand up and down Freya’s back. “Doesn’t it seem pathetic enough that she even still cares? I mean, shouldn’t we be the bigger—”

“She bedazzled ‘Freaky Freya’ onto a giant pair of granny panties and taped them to my locker during gym class,” Freya hisses at me, her eyes sparkling with the thirst for vengeance.

And just like that, I’m all in. Fuck the high road.

“Let’s do this, Sunshine.”

Twenty-Nine

FREYA

I’vealwaysbelievedinthe powers of my own evil genius, and tonight…tonight just proves how very right I was. Because right now, I’m curled into Jeremy Kelly’s side, his big, muscular arm draped over my shoulders, and he’s staring at me like he wants to rip off my clothes and have his wicked way with me on our tabletop.

And Tiffany Ebner looks positively green with envy.

Look. I get it. I’m a grown-ass woman, and the mature, empowered thing to do would be to move on. Enjoy my nice date with Jeremy McHottie and let bygones be bygones. This little ruse to make Tiffany jealous is petty as fuck, and it should be beneath me.

Except…I’m enjoying every fucking minute.

“So, I heard a rumor about you...” Becky, who’s been delightful, leans across the table with a cheeky grin, her dimple flashing. My memories of her mostly involve being lab partners in chemistry and her excitement when I helped her pull an A both semesters. She’s still petite and blonde, but the sparse, wiry frame she had as a teenager has softened and rounded, and she’s traded her low-rise jeans and crop tops for leggings, an oversized sweater, and boots.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I caution her, then grin back. “But it’s probably true.”

Jeremy, who’s showing an admirable commitment to his role, appears to barely be listening to the conversation. Ever since we sat down, he’s been plastered to my side, his hands roving over my curves as we talked over drinks and dinner.Possessive—that’s what he’s been. Fingertips trailing down my arm. Soft kisses dropping along my neck. His hand teasing along my thighs, playing with the edge of my skirt. He even started a game of feeding each other, each of us offering bites of our meal to the other.

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