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“Important to you like Kevin and Ryan and Heather are important to you?” I venture, testing the waters. “Because we all work here?”
Say no. Please, god—please say no. Tell me I’m different. Special. Tell me I’m more. Because you want me. Here, now, on the table, over the couch, against the wall, and later, in your bed . . . in your life. Forever. Just say no.
“Yeah.”
Shit!
The Christmas spirit goes up in flames—like a Christmas tree catching fire from a faulty lights wire.
“I guess.” Jace looks toward the lockers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kind of.”
I hop up from the chair, so he won’t see my disappointment. And I shove the Naughty List in my back pocket so I can stick it in Heather’s locker. But then Kevin pops his head through the door, making me spin around fast.
“Hey kiddies! The slopes closed ten minutes ago and the bowling league championships just finished. It’s a madhouse out here.”
“I’m coming now,” I say, bending down to pick up my apron from the floor.
As Kevin disappears from the doorway, Jace moves to stand in front of me—a solid warm wall of muscle and desirability.
“We all good, Evie?”
“Yep. Sure. Totally.” I reply, a little more chipper than necessary. I tie the apron behind my back and look up into those incredible eyes.
“I’m heading out.”
“Yeah.” Jace gazes back at me. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
I nod. Then walk through the door to the bar, and get to work.“Are you sure you don’t have it?”
It’s after closing—after what turned out to be a crazy-busy night. The floors are swept, the chairs are up, Ryan is wiping down the kitchen and Kevin and Jace are closing out the register, and restocking the bar. Heather and I are ready to head home . . . except for one massive sticking point.
“I’m sure-sure,” she says, down on her knees looking under the couch. “Retrace your steps. When’s the last time you definitely had it?”
I blow a strand of wavy brown hair out of my face. “Here, in the break room. I was talking with Jace after the “Mustang meltdown” and I could’ve sworn I picked it up and put it in your locker . . . .”
But it’s not in Heather’s locker. It’s not anywhere—we’ve looked.
The Naughty List is M.I.A.
My deepest secrets, my dirtiest fantasies . . . poof. Gone. In the wind. Maybe mailed off to Santa’s fucking workshop—who the hell knows.
I cover my face with my hands. “This is so humiliating.”
Heather squeezes my shoulder. “It’s not that bad. I mean . . . you didn’t put your name on it, did you?”
“No.”
But I sure put Jace’s name on it. All the hell over it.
What a nightmare. Move over Grandma—let me get run over by a reindeer.
“Then you’re fine!” Heather says all cheery-like. “It probably fell on the floor and Kevin swept it up. You know how OCD he can be.”
That’s true. Kevin is pretty anal when it comes to clutter or dirty floors.
“And besides, even if someone read it—they won’t know you wrote it.”
Also true.
And the panic that’s been squeezing my lungs since we realized the survey wasn’t in Heather’s locker, finally starts to loosen and dissipate.
Because wherever the Naughty List ended up—whoever’s hands it may have landed in—they’ll never know I’m the secret someone who wrote it.
Right?No matter how carefully you plan, the final days before Christmas are always dead-ass crazy. Time goes by in a blur of wrapping, working, grocery shopping and grabbing last minute gifts that you meant to buy a month ago. Heather’s family is in New Mexico and since she didn’t go home this year either, our Christmas Day plan is to cook a small ham and spend the day in fuzzy socks and pajamas watching cheesy holiday movies on the Hallmark channel.
Most likely, while feeling tremendously hungover.
Because . . . the Christmas Eve party at the Black Diamond Bar.
It’s a tradition, a total blowout—an awesome bash. Jace spares no expense. Top shelf liquor, tons of food catered by The Willow, one of the best restaurants in Colorado, and all kinds of sweet, beautifully decorated treats from Flo’s Bakery. It’s an invite-only party—open to employees, locals, regulars and their families.
That’s where I am now, looking goddamn adorable, if I do say so myself.
I’m wearing my “I like big balls” t-shirt, snug black jeans, high boots, dangly green jingle-bell earrings, and a fur-trimmed red Santa hat over my long, glossy, straightened hair.
I’m out on the dancefloor, shaking my groove-thing with little Charlie Butters Jr, to Ryan and his band’s punk version of Silent Night. It’s a pretty cool rendition, but not easy to dance to—so Charlie and I basically just bob our heads and jump around a lot. When the song ends, the band leads right into a rock-n-rollasized Up on the Rooftop. Heather dances just behind me, swaying her head, arms raised, giving Ryan the “I’m going to screw your brains out later” look as he sings.
