Page 3 of The Christmas Mistake

There was that stupid word again that means nothing. Fun.

“It isn’t.”

Chastity gasped dramatically and turns her whole body towards me. She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me on the spot.

I am so surprised that I don’t even react.

“Come on, loosen up that big muscular body of yours, Nicholas. It’s Christmas, after all.”

I lean back to free myself of the woman and tut at her. She smiles at me infuriatingly. She clearly has no concept of personal boundaries at all.

I know now that getting angry at her will only fuel her insistence on me having… fun. I don’t understand this woman and I don’t plan on getting to.

Trying to restrain my frustration at her, I raise the glass of punch to my lips and shake my head.

“I hate Christmas.”

I don’t know what kind of dangerous cocktail of alcohol Sharon has put into the punch, but I am definitely getting tipsy. No, more than just tipsy. I am getting drunk.

Chastity opens her mouth at me in melodramatic disbelief.

“You hate Christmas?”

“Yep.”

I want this conversation over. Now.

“No one hates Christmas, Nicholas. Don’t say silly things.”

“I do.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“I really do.”

That’s actually true. This is my least favorite time of year.

Chastity leans forward so that her face is mere inches from mine. She is obviously drunk, but then again so am I.

Thanks, Sharon.

Chastity takes a moment to study my eyes. We both go quiet.

“You really do hate Christmas, don’t you?” she asks solemnly.

“Yep.”

Chastity sighs. “You know what you are, Nicholas?”

“What am I, Chastity?”

She grins. “You’re the Grinch.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, the movie. Jim Carrey. The children’s book. Dr. Seuss.”

I grimace and take another drink.