Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  Rechecking my watch, I notice how late he is. Resentment is already spreading through me like a disease. He's the reason I'm here. The reason I've left my family and friends behind. The least he could do is to be at this depressingly stuck-up event.

  I dig my phone out from my wristlet, my disappointment thickening when I see there are no messages from him. People sway around me as I walk blindly to the furthest corner of the room. I'm not paying attention to where I'm going, grunting when I run into someone.

  "I'm—" I pause for a beat, drawing in a breath when I make eye contact with the tall, obviously young man whose chest is flush against mine. "Sorry." I swallow a shaky breath, pushing away the thought of how attractive he is.

  He's just as out of place as me, in a pair of black joggers and an oversized t-shirt with the potent smell of weed coming off him. The boy stares at me for a beat, a hand lingering on my waist to keep me from losing my balance. Then he drags his gaze over my frame, licking his lips when he meets my eyes again.

  "All good."

  He moves me, so my back is to the door. It only lasts for a second, but for some reason, it feels a bit longer. Another staff member strolls past us, the brief distraction jogging my memory.

  I give him a forced smile and step backward into the hall, turning when I reach the threshold. My phone feels heavy in my hands, but I forge forward anyway and scroll through my contact for his number. My eyes involuntary close, and I take a moment before dialing him.

  The ringing is low, growing louder when I finally bring the phone to my ear. I stroll further away from the room, the music fading into the distance. It rings several times before there is an answer, and I'm about to give up when I hear the other line click.

  “Where are you, Jerry? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” My words are strained, an attempt to mask my frustration, a trait I've mastered over the years.

  "And I'm busy. What have I told you about questioning me? Do you think my days are supposed to revolve around you? Or are you trying to upset me?" he seethes.

  I can hear the frown as it forms on his face. I know because this is standard for us. Scowls, angry words, and macro-aggressive forms of deflection are what my life has become. But he wasn't always like this. There was a time when all he did was make me smile—a very long and distant memory it is.

  “No,” I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself. “Sorry." I huff. "I know you’re busy. It's okay. I'll see you later. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

  That doesn't end his rant. Nothing ever does, and like always, I start to tune him out. I shut my eyes again and point my nose to the sky. Fresh air fills my senses, and I realize that I've wandered outside. Tension fills my body, and tears prick the back of my eyes.

  "Okay," I choke out, even though I'm not even sure what I've agreed to. Somewhere along the last few seconds, I've completely shut him out.

  The keys click when I end the call and sniffle back a cry. I pull my shoulders back, mentally telling myself not to get upset. It'll ruin the night, not that I want to be here now any more than I did a few moments ago. But that doesn't mean I want my new colleagues to recognize me as the broken bitch that cried at the holiday party.

  When I open my eyes again, the guy from earlier, the one who couldn't fit in with this crowd if he wanted to, the boy with the eyes that seem to slice right through me. That one. He's standing only a few feet away from me, walking backward toward the steps, a plate of hors d’oeuvres in hand.

  I drop my gaze to stow my phone in my clutch, all the while stealing glances his way. Embarrassment is already claiming me for fear of how much of my conversation he's heard. By the way he's lingering about, my guess is he heard it all.

  "Can I help you?" I ask after a while. Letting my shoulders relax, I try to make myself appear larger than I am at this very second.

  "No," he quips, then bites into a party wing.

  I scoff, drop my hands at my side and look away, turning slightly, only to freeze in place. Light from the ballroom pours out into the hall, the dread I have making it seem as if the pathway is miles away. I glance over my shoulder, studying him, and he raises a brow, almost as if he's challenging me.

  It looks like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he walks over to the trash and tosses his plate into the bin. He pulls something from behind his ear while descending the stairs. For the first time, I spot the Yamaha R1 parked in the middle of the courtyard.

  He's a rebel.

  He makes it to the bottom and the few feet to his bike, spinning to look at me again. I watch as he removes something from his pocket, learning what it is when he puts a joint to his lips and lights it. He inhales deeply, his face tilted up while still staring at me over the bridge of his nose. The moonlight hits him at an angle, its rays illuminating his features.

  Ink coats his forearms, peeking out past his sleeves and collar of his t-shirt, the ends of one stopping just before it reaches his neck. His features are darker, as is his low-cut hair and neatly trimmed beard. And his eyes, interestingly enough, are the subtlest parts of him. Maybe it's the color of his eyes or the drinks I've had tonight. Hell, it's probably the frustration from my call with Jerry. But it's definitely the way he's peering into me.

  Several rings of smoke float into the air when he releases the drag he took, the smell of marijuana teasing my senses. Not once does he break eye contact as he takes another pull of his joint.

  Then I remember I'm now a member of the teaching staff here and should probably reprimand him.

  "Seems like I'm the one who can help you?" He lets out a puff of smoke.

  "That's three things you've done wrong tonight," I say, unsure of why I'm inching forward instead of heading back inside.

  "Excuse me?" He forms the question, but I don't think he means it, let alone cares.

  "I'm pretty sure you're violating a code parking your R1 in the middle of campus, especially when we have a parking lot for that."

  His brows raise like I've surprised him, and I take another step.

  "I'm positive you just crashed the faculty event on top of smoking an illegal substance on school grounds."

  He huffs, his chest rising and falling sharply. Scrubbing a palm over his mouth, he leans against his bike then smiles at me. Then the little asshole brings the joint to his mouth again, disregarding everything I've said.

  "You can't smoke that here," I exclaim and cross my arms over my chest, trying to wrap my mind around why I'm even bothering.

  It's not like I care who he is or what he does. And while I'm technically an authority figure here, I don't start until the Spring. So, then why am I entertaining this right now? I should leave, put on my big girl persona, go back to that godforsaken party, and act like the dotting wife of the city's newest District Attorney.

  That's what needs to happen.

  Despite how miserable I am in this suffocating life, I'm supposed to stay in line. No reactions, no fights. That is the unspoken agreement, some hidden scripture in this sham of a marriage of mine. We all have roles to play, right?

  “Yeah?" He grips his wrist with his other hand, and the joint is pinched between his fingers. "Who's going to stop me?”

  Arrogant, I note.

  "I could have you arrested," I threaten and mimic him by grabbing my wrist to hold my arms in place in front of me.

  He laughs a full-on roar that feels more like he's taunting me. "You could. You won't, though." He puffs again, blowing the smoke out and inhaling it back in through his nose.

  I frown but quickly let the expression fall. He's right, and I don't care what he does. But standing here, talking to this boy who is way too young, is the highlight of my night. Hell, the highlight of the year.

  "And what makes you think I wouldn't?" I'm at the edge of the top of the stairs now.

  He runs his gaze down to my thighs and trails them back up slowly. A chill races down my spine, forcing me to breathe. I can tell he notices by the slight tilt of his head
as he continues to stare at me.

  It's intense, and though I know it shouldn't, it makes me feel alive. More alive than I've felt in a long time.

  "Because it looks like you need it more than me." He holds the weed out toward me. "I'm Baby."

  I freeze for a moment, contemplating whether I should take it. A part of me wants to, it's been forever since I've indulged, my freshman year of college, and even then, it wasn't really my thing—something I did to take the edge off from the first-year jitters.

  Taking the stairs one at a time, I stop in front of him, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflection of his motorcycle. I did put in an effort tonight. A black A-line dress that stops below my knees with quarter sleeves. The neckline reaches my collarbone, no cleavage, and light make-up. I even wore my kinky curls down for the evening.

  I take him in again, his green eyes bouncing between my brown ones, but neither of us speaks. A brief minute later, I snatch the joint from his grasp and bring it to my lips. I hold it between my fingers like a cigarette, then inhale deeply, dropping it when the cherry burns my skin.

  Baby lets out a small laugh and picks it up from the ground. A cough erupts from me, and I pat my chest to help open my airways. Not that it works, but it's something people do.

  "I'm Ivy," I say when I finally get my breathing under control.

  Baby holds the joint like a pro, not once letting the lit end of it touch him. “You don’t smoke, do you?”

  The coughing finally subsides as I shake my head.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  I don't offer him a response, not that I have one for him. This is already crossing the line, so I do what I should have done when he first presented himself. I prepare to leave, satisfied with that one hit. I couldn’t care less what he thinks, and I just needed to ease my tension. One millisecond of an escape, a brief lapse in judgment that I’ll cherish because I know Jerry would hate it.

  Baby stops me with a hand on my wrist, and I stare down at his touch.

  "So you're just going to smoke my shit and roll."

  I exhale and speak over my shoulder. “It’s been a long day. I’m frustrated and angry, and… I don’t even know. But, what I do know is I shouldn’t be in a school parking lot smoking Mary Jane with someone who barely looks old enough to drive. So, yes.”

  He smirks. “Mary Jane,” he mocks. “You know no one says that anymore, right?”

  I wait for him to question my age, but he doesn't. All he does is peer at me with a lot more than hilarity in his eyes. His gaze turns dark, and I swallow at the obvious signs of attraction etching itself in the lines of his face.

  Baby pushes off the bike, standing to his full height, towering over my five-foot frame. I hadn't realized how tall he was before, but it's unmistakable now. His size is looming and taunting—it's bad. Very bad.

  "Get on," he demands with a tip of his head toward the bike. "Let's get out of here."

  I frown, unable to hold in my shock. "No. I don't know you."

  He stands tall, his confidence never wavering. "Don’t tell me you’re afraid of strangers?” He chuckles. “If I were going to hurt you, I would have done it by now."

  Glancing behind me, I stare through the glass doors, knowing I need to get back inside. I've played around long enough, and the last thing I need is for my absence to get back to Jerry somehow. He is the reason I have this job, which means the people here are folks he's built connections with.

  "I can't go anywhere with you," I deadpan.

  “But you want to, don’t you?” He releases his hold on me and reaches behind him for his helmet, holding it out to me. "Come on. Judging by that phone call earlier, you need some fun. And don't worry, I won't try to stick my dick in you unless you ask me to."

  I gulp so hard the lump I've formed lodges itself in my throat. Throwing my gaze to the building again, I contemplate my thoughts. It's pointless. The only choice is to walk away and avoid knocking on temptation's door.

  He isn't wrong, though. I deserve some fun. I deserve to let go and forget about the dysfunction of my life. I should live, even if it's only for a night—even if it's forbidden. Because whether I take this boy up on his offer or not, Jerry's already pissed, and he'll be waiting for me when I walk through the door.

  "What do you say? No funny business, just let me help you let go," he shrugs.

  I don't move right away, but then I slowly take the help. Baby grins, and I can see the cockiness rolling over his features.

  "Where are we going?" I ask and bring the helmet to my chest.

  "To loosen you up, get that stick out your ass," he teases.

  I can't help the smile that wants to creep onto my face. So I move the conversation along. “Baby can’t be your real name.”

  He smirks. “It isn’t, but it’s what everyone calls me.”

  “Tell me your real name, and maybe I’ll put this on and slip behind you on that bike.”

  “Ashton. Ashton Ciccone.”

  Chapter 2

  Ivy

  Crazy is the word I would use for this situation.

  I'm a thirty-five-year-old married woman who should not have her arms wrapped around the waist of some young college student. This is dangerous, a fire I'm not sure I'll be able to put out.

  Yet, I go with it anyway.

  It doesn't matter that I shouldn't. Something in me wouldn't allow me to walk away. The part of your brain that processes right from wrong never kicked in, and the next thing I knew, the helmet was on, and I was straddling the bike.

  For the first time in ages, I'm doing something reckless, something for me. What that thing is exactly, I'm not sure, but I guess I'll find out soon enough.

  We whip through the dark city, the wind biting at my thighs as it's the only part of me that's uncovered. It's hot out tonight, the heat nearly suffocating. That's not all, though. Being like this, out for a ride with a stranger—an incredibly attractive stranger—adds to the warmth flooding me. My body is full of adrenaline, and who knows how this will all feel when the high fades.

  I take him in for a moment, as much of him as I can in this position. He's slim but muscular at the same time. I know because I feel every ridge in his abdomen. His scent is strong, a mixture of the marijuana we smoked earlier and whatever cologne he's wearing.

  The motorcycle screams as he twists the throttle, sending us faster down the road. I tighten my grip on him when he takes a sharp turn onto the highway. There isn't much traffic, thanks to the many Christmas parties happening all over the city.

  The holiday season is usually my favorite time of year, but disdain filled me the entire drive to campus today. All the twinkling lights, the cheer—it's too much. Life isn't grand and full of happiness. It sucks, and it drains you dry.

  You do the things you’re supposed to. You follow the rules, marry the guy that makes sense on paper, and conform to whatever societal standard you’ve accepted. No one tells you that it’s all a lie. That rules are meant to be broken. And the guy that everyone loves is really a monster.

  You lose yourself, and then you end up like me. Alone even though I’m not. Afraid despite the risks I’ve taken. Weak when I’m the strongest person I know.

  So yes, this is wrong, and I’m probably going to pay for it. But for one night, I’m going to allow myself some fun. If Jerry can be off doing whatever the hell he’s doing that keeps him from a party I only attended because of him, then I can do this...whatever this is.

  We pull up to a building, the sound of our tires over the graveled parking lot being drowned out by all the voices. The bike shifts a little as he releases the kickstand and kills the engine. Ashton holds out a hand to help me off before he gets off himself.

  I’m staring at the crowd, taking in the surroundings and not paying attention when he steps up to me. I flinch from the unexpected closeness and peer up at him through the helmet. He removes it from my head then nestles it onto his bike.

  He looks at me, his stare making me uncomforta
ble. But not because I don't like it. I'm pretty sure I enjoy it, and that is very, very bad.

  To break away from his gaze, I glance to my right, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye—he smiles and runs his thumb over his bottom lip. Ashton steps back, a low chuckle humming in his throat. I look down at myself, my hands out at my sides as I compare my attire to that of everyone else’s. Most are casually dressed except for the girls in tiny dresses of various depictions of the holiday.

  "Why are we at a club?" I wave my hand towards the red-brick building then look at him.

  "To get that stick out your ass."

  I smirk and try not to let my smile break through. "Yeah, no," I protest when he grabs my hand to pull me toward the club. "I'm overdressed for this crowd," I claim while moving my hand away.

  "You're tripping," he mutters.

  His words are barely audible, so I ask him to repeat himself. "What did you say?"

  "I said you're tripping. Now, let's go. Or are we going to stand in the parking lot all night?" He tips his chin and stares at me inquisitively.

  I release a deep breath, staring between the club and my dress, unsure if I want to take that step. It's less about what I'm wearing and more about me being in a place like this around people I would never fit in with on any typical day.

  Ashton clears his throat, dragging me from my thoughts. "Your dress is fine. You're sexy in it."

  Another lump forms, trapping the low gasp that threatens to escape. My skin tingles at his words and the way he's watching me. It's much like before when we crashed into each other at the party. It's intense and focused.

  It's not until he takes my hand and tugs me forward does my mind finally clear. I shuffle along, tightening my hold on him, skipping to meet his stride. He's taller than me, his long steps equaling two of mine. I peer up at the sign, releasing a breath as the word Delirium flickers in neon purple.

  The voices grow louder the closer we get. Ashton pulls me so that I'm directly behind him, his muscular back pressed firmly against my chest. We fish our way through the sea of people to the front of the line. He whispers something to the bald bouncer.