Page 51 of My Not-So-Secret Santa

“She already got fucked over by her boss in Canada.I cannot be another guy who breaks her trust.So I’m gonna stay her funny little pal Jonesy who’s too shallow and inconsequential for her to remember once she’s out of here.”The pain I should be feeling over that is dulled by the Patrón, which probably explains why I tip the bottle back again.

“Do you know the way to fix all your problems?”I look up to see Gabe holding out the club and designated golfer hat and haul myself to my feet, swaying a little.I’ve had significantly more tequila than chicken tonight.

“Time machine,” I say.“I’ve already considered it.”I tug on the designated golfer hat and line myself up in front of the tee.I can’t keep wallowing in my own misery.Not on Golfmas.So I toss my head like a show pony, knowing it’ll jingle the tiny sleigh bell pin that Sebastian brought as his price of admission to the group.Then I squint at the tee, like I have a chance in hell of figuring out sight lines and angles and wind speed, close my eyes, and give the ball a blind whack.When the guys start to trash-talk, I risk looking and see that it cut to the left and vanished into the bushes that separate the driving range from the rest of the course.

“Laugh all you want.”I take another swig of tequila and prepare to go again.“But don’t forget that I’m famous for another type of ball control at work.”As I hoped, it makes them dissolve into guffaws.

The three of us took very different lessons away from our time at the golf course.Wyatt learned how to schmooze with rich men and is the only one of us who actually golfs now.Gabe learned how to care for plants and other living things thanks to his grounds crew assignment.And me?My tenure at the golf course was shorter than the other two, and I learned how easy it is to let your boss down and lose a job you love.

Pushing the thought aside, I draw the club back and bring it down as smoothly as I can.The ball goes skidding across the grass like I’d tried to skip a stone on water.

The guys crack up again, so I whirl on them.“Sure, you can all put a ball in a hole, but can you do a dozen body rolls in a row while women shove cash in your thong?”I start to gyrate as I speak, dropping it so low that my ass practically brushes the ground.My life’s a mess, but at least I’ve still got moves.

Gabe scoffs.“Can I body roll?”He breaks into a smooth slide, spin, roll routine, his technique surprisingly good.“How do you think I got Darby to agree to marry me?”

“Dude, no!That’s my sister!”Sebastian yells.But he’s also drunk and laughing, and even though his attempt to mimic me and Gabe is halting and a little jerky, he commits to it, and I give him snaps for effort.

After watching the three of us, Wyatt—serious, stone-faced Wyatt—says, “Is that all there is to it?”and holds a nine iron over his head with both hands while he swivels his hips with such an intense look of concentration that I collapse in tequila-fueled hysterics.

“Gabe I can work with.The rest of you, back to the kiddie table,” I wheeze.“Watch and learn, motherfuckers.”

I gyrate my way over, dancing up on them like they’re paying guests with fat stacks of cash.Well, I dance up on Gabe and Sebastian.Wyatt wards me off with a single arched eyebrow.

“Goddamn,” Sebastian says when I’m done, his face flushed red from laughing.He reaches into his wallet and fishes out a twenty that he stuffs in the back pocket of my jeans.“Worth every penny.”

“Why, thank you!”I pull it out, kiss it, and tuck it away again.“I’m gonna use this to take your mother out for a nice lobster dinner.”

Sebastian squawks in outrage.“You leave Margaret St.Claire out of this!”He lunges toward me, intent on taking his twenty back.“Margaret St.Claire is a saint!”

Laughing, I dodge away, but his pursuit only makes it as far as the blanket we spread near the club’s giant outdoor heaters.He stops to grab another piece of chicken, and I flop to the ground with a shiver.Even though it’s December 15, it’s in the fifties tonight thanks to a weird little global warming uptick in our usual temps—hello, climate zone 6a—but it’s still cold enough that I’m glad I threw a coat on over my Golfmas tee.

“No, but seriously,” Gabe says when he wanders over to sit next to me.“There’s an easy answer to many of your problems.”

“Hit me,” I say.

“Quit your jobs and come work with me.”

“Okay.”

“I just think that it’s past time for you—uhh, come again?”

“Okay,” I repeat.“I’ll quit my jobs and come be the H in HG Landscaping.”I sit up so I can see his slack-jawed look of surprise up close.“You did say I could start on January 2, right?Or was that a one-time offer?”

“The offer is still very much on the table.”A grin spreads across his face.“Are you for real right now?”

I nod, and he throws his head back in a victory whoop, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me so hard the bells jingle on the designated golfer hat that’s still on my head.

“Fuck yes!Next step, global domination.”

“Let me know if you need an MBA along for that ride,” Wyatt says.

Sebastian raises his hand.“I’ll pilot your private jet.”

Eventually, we all end up on the grass, staring up at the winter sky.The stars are bright diamond points in the crisp night air, but the tequila we’re passing around is doing its job keeping our insides warm.

“Not that I’m not grateful for your New Year’s resolution, but what brought this on?”Gabe asks.“Liv?”

It’s a good question, and I stall by grabbing the chicken bucket and digging through it until I find a drumstick.If I’m actually giving up dancing, it means I can have another goddamn piece of chicken.I’m not fucking around with that fruitcake though.

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