Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  "What's up, Baby?" The man says and pats Ashton on the back. "Go ahead," he tilts his head.

  "Bet. Good looking out." Ashton shakes the man's hand, then glances at me and mutters for me to follow him.

  Music blares, and soon all the noise from outside disappears. We inch further inside the club. Lights flash off the walls as bodies move against each other on the dance floor. On our left is a bar where we find a place between a guy who's swaying and a small group of girls who look to be about Ashton's age.

  One of them notices him, her eyes lighting up, but her smile instantly turns into a confused frown when she sees me. He doesn't notice her, though, never even glances in her direction. He leans over the bar, waving to get the bartender's attention.

  The young lady looks up at him, her face just as bright as the other girl's. It’s not surprising he's popular with the ladies. I smile to myself and settle beside him. He chats with the girl behind the bar, and I take a moment to survey the room.

  It looks like any club, filled with bodies, drinks, overhead lights—the basics. Except they've decorated, and most of the workers wear Santa hats, but the bottle service girls wear elf costumes.

  There's a small crowd near the entrance, so I look to my right to see what it's about. My brows raise in surprise at the gorgeous men entering the club. It's three of them, dressed in slacks and blazers.

  As they walk in our direction, the guy in the middle calls the man's attention in front of him and says something to the one behind him. The man separates from his friends, making a beeline toward us.

  I watch the others approach a heavy curtain and pull it back to reveal a door in the far corner. The man with a ring on every finger punches something on the keypad then they disappear behind the black barricade.

  "Stupid." The one who separated approaches, slapping Ashton on the back so hard I hear it over the music.

  Ashton curses and spins around, his fist balled tight. But he breaks into a laugh when he recognizes the guy. "I was about to fuck you up," Ashton threatens.

  "You weren't about to do shit," the guy retorts, then looks at me.

  He's handsome, a bit taller than Ashton, with deep brown eyes and a low beard that showcases his jawline. He's Latino, and from the way his suit fits, he's muscular.

  "Who do we have here?" he asks, looking between Ashton and me.

  Ashton glances at me and slides closer to me. "Ivy, this is Emilio, one of my brothers."

  "Nice to meet you, Ivy. You're way too beautiful to be here with my pisshead baby brother." Emilio reaches for my hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.

  “Likewise.” I can’t keep from smiling.

  "Get the fuck out of here," Ashton orders and shoves his brother away from me.

  "All right." Emilio pulls Ashton into a manly hug, pats him on his shoulder, then turns to me again. "But wait. Ivy, you wouldn't happen to dance, would you?"

  I frown at his question. “Excuse me,” I snip.

  Ashton moves in front of me, his back to Emilio, blocking me from his brother. “Em.” Ashton shakes his head. “Not this one,” he says over his shoulder.

  Emilio doesn't say another word as he turns and walks away, disappearing through the same door as the men he came with.

  "Don't mind, my brother. He’s a creep.”

  “He’s an asshole, is what he is. A stripper. Really?”

  “Naw. This is his spot, and he hires dancers."

  "And what’s the difference?" I shrug.

  He sighs and props an elbow on the bartop. “They don’t take anything off here. They do wear next to nothing while they do it, but it’s not the type of place you’d typically think of.”

  “It sounds like stripping. Hell, the bottle service girls aren’t too far off with those skimpy little outfits.”

  “You’re not going to turn into a prude on me now, are you?”

  I’m taken aback by his words, and though I want to say something, I come up short. The only thing I can do is suck in a breath. Ashton must notice the brief change because he offers me a smile.

  “I’m just fucking with you, and my brother didn’t mean anything by that. But if it’ll make you happy, I’ll kick his ass next time.”

  “Next time,“ I repeat with a smirk.

  He nods with his brows raised, steals a cocktail straw from behind the bar, and sticks it in his mouth. “What are you drinking?”

  “A Cabernet and, there won’t be a next time.” I turn so that my back is to the counter. “Besides, I don't need you to fight for me."

  “No—to the Cabernet.” He pauses. “And why not? Because that’s your husband's job?”

  My eyes grow wide, and I straighten my spine as nervousness washes over me. I’m not sure why. I am married; I guess I just didn’t expect him to ask.

  “The ring.” He tips his head toward my left hand, answering the silent question of how he figured it out.

  Of course, that’s how he knows. I’ve worn this thing so long; it’s a part of me now. I don’t even realize it’s there myself half the time. That’s what happens when you sleep and bathe with it on. I play with the silver band, twirling it around my finger and getting lost in my thoughts. Thinking back to the time I lost it. Jerry wasn’t happy, and I wore the bruises to prove that for a week. I never took it off again, not even to shower or lotion my hands.

  “Yeah, well. You aren’t my husband,” I say and look straight ahead to avoid his gaze.

  He’s staring at me again, almost as if he’s attempting to read me. Like he has questions and probably even the answers to them himself.

  “If I were, you wouldn’t be alone at some stuck-up ass faculty party. Now, try again with that drink choice.”

  I squint, trying to wrap my mind around his words. “Why?”

  “Because my woman will be wherever I am,” he says casually.

  “No. That’s not what I meant,” I breathe out.

  “Right.” He nods. “The wine. You’re loosening up, remember. You’re going to need something a lot stronger than Cabernet.”

  I'm quiet for a beat, then turn toward the bar with my elbows resting on the hard surface. Ashton moves closer to me, his forearm brushing up against mine. I laugh and let out a huff, pressing my lips together, contemplating if I want to go along with this. I'm already throwing caution to the wind by being here. What's one strong drink? It's not like I don't fucking need it.

  “Fine. You pick,” I dare him.

  He smiles and cocks his head to the side. “One more thing,” he adds.

  I’m nervous to know what he has to say, but I motion for him to keep going.

  “Trust me. For the rest of the night.”

  “I-” I start to protest, but he holds up a finger.

  “Hear me out.”

  I sigh.

  “You’ve clearly got shit going on, or you wouldn’t be here. And look, I don’t give a shit that you're married or about your husband. But tonight, you’re with me. Which means, whatever you’ve been holding onto that has you so wound up, let it go. Do whatever I say from this point on. Then tomorrow, you can go back to your miserable life.”

  It takes me a moment to gather my words. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” I prepare to step away and dig through my wristlet for my phone to call an Uber.

  He grabs my wrist. “Ivy.” We stare at each other. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want to do something crazy, and I’ll take you back to that party myself.”

  I’m quiet for several minutes while he hovers over me, waiting for an answer. The response should be no. It's what I’ve drummed up in my head, but when I open my mouth, it’s not what comes out.

  “I’m not fucking you.”

  “I told you...I won’t try unless you ask me to.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  He nods, but I can tell by the cock of his brow that he doesn’t believe me. “Okay.” He waits to see if I’ll say anything else and when I don’t, he waves down the bartender again. “Marla.�
�

  "What can I get you, Baby?" she greets.

  A pinch of jealousy washes over me, and I know I shouldn’t care what she calls him, but I do. Then I remember it’s the name he goes by, and suddenly I’m more relaxed with their interaction. It shouldn’t matter to me one way or the other, but it does. Already in the short time I’ve known him, he’s paid more attention to me than the man I married.

  Maybe that’s it.

  Maybe it’s the attention he’s given me that has me going against everything I stand for. Unhappy or not, I am off-limits to anyone who isn’t Jerry. I know that, and so does he, but something tells me he isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t care.

  "Two glasses of Fuerte on the rocks. Make them a double.”

  The girl nods and gets to work on our order.

  "What's Fuerte?" I question.

  "My brother's Whiskey line."

  Marla sits the glasses in front of us, and we reach for them. We bring our drinks to our lips simultaneously, but he waits for me to try it first. It's rich and smooth, something Jerry would like.

  “It’s good,” I say after my second sip. “I’m not a whiskey girl, but this one is nice.”

  Satisfied with my reaction, Ashton gives me a subtle grin, then finally takes a large gulp for himself. I watch his throat bob as the liquid makes its way down, my eyes moving to the tips of his tattoo. Mentally, I trace the pattern, secretly wanting to know what the complete design looks like. Then I glance back up at his face. Considering how edgy and confident he is, it’s probably something bold and borderline obnoxious, like his face or name.

  Ashton is staring at me when I focus again, obviously enjoying how intrigued I am with him. Aside from the facial hair, he’s got a babyface, no frown lines, dark spots—not even a pimple. And suddenly, I’m reminded how young he has to be.

  "Can you even drink legally?" I tease.

  "Ouch." He sucks in a breath and grins.

  I shrug. "Hey, you deserve it after that Mary Jane line."

  He nods and brings his glass to his mouth but doesn't drink. "I'm old enough,'' he says.

  I press my lips at him, silently indicating that I don't believe him.

  "I'm nineteen."

  "And nope," I let out and set my drink down. "I do not need to be here."

  "Never judge a book by its cover. Besides, you've already broken the rules when you hit my joint."

  He's not wrong.

  "Well, you're certainly not drinking while riding me around on the back of that bike." I take the glass from him, and he doesn't protest.

  "Then it'll go to waste."

  With my shoulders back, I pour the rest of his drink into my tumbler. “Problem solved,” I say with a tilt of my head in his direction.

  Ashton smirks and props his elbow back up on the hard surface.

  "So, the Yamaha.” I switch the conversation while holding up a hand to count off every point I want to make. “We walked right up to the front of the line, which makes sense now that I know your brother owns the place. You all own a distillery. And you’re a ladies' man. What are you guys? Town royalty or something?” I say to make small talk, anything to change the subject from me to him.

  “Or something." He pauses for a beat. “The bike is mine, but the club and the whiskey are my brother’s.”

  “But you benefit from it.”

  “Of course. Just like I benefit from my other brother’s jewelry store and—”

  “How many brothers do you have?” I cut in. I don’t know why, but I find myself curious about him, and I guess that includes his siblings.

  “Six and one sister.”

  “Wow,” I look up at him with wide eyes.

  “Yeah, my pops wanted a big family. We’re all adopted.”

  “And let me guess...you’re the baby.”

  He nods.

  “Makes sense.”

  He stares at me, a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The moniker, and I’m pretty convinced you’re spoiled.”

  “And a ladies' man,” he throws my words back at me, his voice snarky and playful. “That’s what you think, right?”

  I roll my eyes and down the rest of my drink before pushing away from the bar. For the hundredth time tonight, he peers at me as if he’d take a bite of me if I let him. It’s overwhelming how charming he is, but even more so that I like it.

  I’m sure it has more to do with my brokenness than him, but it’s nice. For once, someone looks at me as if I’m the only person in the room. I’ve missed that, the attention, the thrill of knowing someone wants you. It can be addicting, and furthermore, dangerous—for both of us.

  So I step away to busy myself, to do something other than standing around staring into his bedroom eyes. Dancing will help. It’ll distract us, even if for a second.

  “Where are you running off to now?” he asks, his tone laced in mockery.

  “To dance. Are you coming? Or are you going to stand there like you’ve got a stick up your ass?”

  He laughs and throws his head back. “I don’t dance,'' he says after a beat.

  I shrug. “Suit yourself,” I say, then disappear into the crowd.

  Chapter 3

  Ivy

  The air is hot around me, the effects of the liquor taking hold. People crowd my space, bodies dancing and swaying against one another. Lights bounce off the walls, illuminating a section at a time. When the dull fluorescent beam lands near the bar, it sweeps across Ashton’s face.

  He leans back on the bar with his eyes fixed on me. I close mine for a moment, letting the bass of the music radiate through me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone dancing or had any kind of fun. He’s right about tonight—I need this. I need to let go, even if only for a few hours.

  Tomorrow I’ll return to normal, in a life I’m drowning in. But right now, at this moment, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to break the rules because I’ll pay for it either way.

  Time seems to move in a blur to the point I lose track of the number of songs I’ve danced to. Sweat drips from my forehead, and my throat is dry, but I don’t stop. It feels too good to walk away from this—freedom, though short-lived, it’s rejuvenating.

  My back is to the bar, and I move my hips to the beat. It’s slow, seductive, and I mellow out. Surprise overcoming me at the feel of a hard body against my back. I know it’s Ashton—or Baby as he likes to be called from the smell of his cologne. It fills my senses, and my eyes close on their own accord.

  His hand is on my waist, his touch subtle at first. But then I brush my ass against him, still letting the music guide me. Now his fingertips are digging into the fabric of my dress. Ashton breaths against my neck, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he brings an arm around me, and I focus on the glass in his hand. “Figured you’d be thirsty by now,” he whispers into my ear.

  I take the frosted tumbler from him, condensation rolling from the glass to the floor. Without hesitation, I throw it back, swallowing the contents in one go. Turning to face him, I push the empty glass into his chest. He doesn’t take it right away.

  “Let’s go.” He leans in so that I can hear him over the music.

  I stop dancing and glance up at him. “Why?”

  “No questions. We’re doing whatever I say for the rest of the night, remember?.”

  I swallow a breath, recalling that I never actually declined his request. It scares me now to think of what he might have planned. But at the same time, he was right earlier. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my life, but tonight I can be whatever I want—do whatever I want.

  With my shoulders back, I release all the air in my lungs and nod, allowing Ashton to take my hand and guide me toward the exit. The line of people waiting to get in is just as long as it was when we arrived. I make a face to myself, impressed with how successful his brother’s club seems.

  I’m curious ab
out this family. I didn’t get to spend much time with Emilio, and I can't help but wonder if the men he came with are the other brothers Ashton mentioned. The club, the arrogance radiating through every member of their family that I’ve met, the secret backroom they disappeared into. There’s more to their story, and I’m dying to know what it is.

  I don’t ask, though.

  After tonight, I’ll never see this young man again. So it doesn’t matter what goes on in his life. We’re not friends, nor can we be. Besides, I met him on campus, and the school has strict rules about students and professors mingling outside of studies. Even if those regulations weren't in place, my personal life is one thing I’ve always kept separate from students.

  We reach his bike, and he throws a leg over it, then holds the helmet out to me. Still a little nervous about the next stop on his list tonight; it takes me a moment to accept the thing. It’s heavy in my hand when I do, the weight of it representing my nerves.

  “What are you waiting on?” he asks after a beat.

  I sigh with my fingers splayed around the helmet. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  I give him a playful frown.

  “Do you trust me?”

  "Strangely enough—yes. You’ve been nothing but great so far,” I admit and relax my shoulders.

  “Then get your fine ass on this bike.” He starts the engine and twists the throttle.

  A blush builds on my cheeks, and I quickly hide it by rapidly pulling the helmet on. Balancing myself on his shoulders, I climb behind him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He leans forward, releases the kickstand, and speeds away. We whip in front of a car, causing the driver to blare his horn at us.

  Adrenaline floods my chest, and I tighten my hold on him. I’m thankful for the warmth, especially this time of year. It makes the ride more enjoyable. As we coast away from the club and back across the highway, I watch the scenery as it flashes by. I’ve only been in this new city a few days, having arrived with Jerry this week. So I haven't had a chance to see all the things this place has to offer.