Page 1 of The Christmas Mistake

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NICHOLAS

Everyone wants to get laid at Christmas.

That isn’t just a theory, it’s a provable fact. Look at any workplace Christmas party and you’ll clearly see the sheer horniness on display right before your eyes. It’s like – and as easy as - observing animals in a zoo. Come on, it’s hard not to notice the girls glancing at the guys, and it’s really hard not to notice the guys trying to play cool in front of the opposite sex even though they’re simply gagging for a chance to schmooze the one girl in the office they’ve fancied all year. It’s so blatantly obvious; everyone – and I mean everyone - wants to get into everyone else’s pants at a workplace Christmas party.

And who can blame them? Christmas is a time when normally restrained singleton work colleagues go absolutely wild and carelessly throw all abandon to the wind in a desperate attempt to not feel so lonely at the most festive time of the year. It’s the one time of the year when it is practically socially acceptable to drop all pretenses of civilization in the noble pursuit of a fuck.

Call me cynical, if you’d like. I’ve been called a lot worse.

Everyone wants to get laid at Christmas, and this year I am no different.

But am I going to do anything about it?

Fuck no.

I am not that guy. You know the type I’m talking about. The leery drunk at the workplace party who waits until the most uncomfortable moment to awkwardly slide into an ongoing conversation to slur some god-awful pickup line to the poor girl who sits three desks away that he’s never spoken to. Sure, I want to get laid at Christmas like any other horny single man on planet Earth, but I ain’t going to embarrass myself in order to do so. That isn’t me.

Nope. Not Nicholas Carter.

I’m a classic introvert. I keep myself to myself. And that is especially true considering this is my first Christmas at this company. I am not one for showy-offness or for drawing attention to myself.

Instead, I strategically stay by the alcoholic punch by myself and observe the usual Christmas workplace party mating ritual presented in all its glorious form in front of me.

To appear like I’m enjoying myself, I take a sip of the disgusting punch made by Sharon - one of the spinsters in the office and reigning gossip queen – and take in the sights.

I watch as Aidan – the guy who sits on the desk opposite me – drunkenly takes off his shirt and waves it around above his head in some bizarre way to grab everyone’s attention. It is certainly working. I’m surprised he hasn’t started singing yet. Only a matter of time.

Despite his antics, Aidan is an alright guy. He was my inductee into the office and treated me like one of his bros the moment I entered on my first day just a few weeks before this party. Yeah, I rolled my eyes too at his sheer bro-ness, but we actually get on as pals. Mainly because of our shared love of sports and of the same always-losing team.

I take another sip of the punch, trying hard not to scrunch up my face in disgust at the taste. I know Sharon is watching from her perch with the other spinsters from across the room for any sign of trouble, and I am the silent new guy. I don’t want to make a bad impression at my first Christmas party.

And then Aidan starts singing.

Come On Eileen.

Of course it’s that song.

“Everyone definitely wants to get laid at Christmas,” I mutter amusingly to myself as the rest of the office joins Aidan in the chorus. It’s a wall of unharmonious noise.

“You just gonna watch?”

Someone’s sidled up beside me next to the punch and I don’t notice them until they’re yelling into my ear in order to be heard above the chorus of drunk voices. I flinch back in surprise and take a look at the person who’s being so goddamn loud.

I might be the new guy who’s still learning everyone’s name, but I know who the culprit is right away.

Chastity Wilde.

The person I dislike the most in the office, that’s why I know her name.

“Yes, I’m going to watch,” I reply to the girl, wishing hard for her to just… evaporate.

“Come and join me,” she coos. “Let’s have a little sing-a-long.”

“I prefer not to embarrass myself,” I retort.