Page 23 of Elf-ish

[Angelica]

“That was brilliant,” Jude says, the second we approach the bar, where he pulls out a stool for me and holds my hand as I try to slip elegantly onto the raised seat while wearing a dress with a big slit up the front of the skirt. The material folds over itself, but when I take a seat, the folds gape a bit. When I cross my legs, the fabric separates, and most of my thigh is on display.

Jude appears to falter a second before looking at my face. “What would you like to drink?”

“What was brilliant?” I counter.

“That story about us meeting in high school.”

“It isn’t a story. We went to Immaculate Academy at the same time.” I point at him. “Popular jock.” Then point at myself. “Science geek.”

His eyes flick to mine, then away, for a breath. Long enough to register something like shame, before he chuckles, the sound almost bitter, definitely off-kilter. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“How I never saw you?”

“Has anyone ever told you you are a snob?”

“Yes. And often.” He offers a blinding smile. One clearly practiced and plastic, but holy elf on a shelf, the effect is dazzling as I’m certain he intended it to be.

“Now. Drink?” He arches a brow and tilts his head toward the bar. He hasn’t taken a seat but stands close enough that his front brushes against my hip on the edge of the stool. He holds up a hand to capture the bartender’s attention, who quickly appears as if sensing the authority in Jude’s presence. Or a large tip because that silver watch is on display.

I quickly scan the cocktail menu and pick a drink with cranberries and vodka plus a splash of Christmas, according to the description.

Once our order is placed, Jude leans against the bar and sets his foot on the rail near the floor. His side presses into the counter in a pose he’s performed a few times in his life. Only I’m not a conquest. He doesn’t need to try to pick me up because I’m already here with him.

“Stop acting,” I say.

Jude straightens his body, then smooths down his tie. “I’m not acting.” He pauses a second, glancing to his side before looking directly at me again and waving between us. “Actually . . . we are an act.”

“For them?” I glance toward that weaselly old man with his condescending attitude, currently giving me a leering look. “But not with each other.”

I’m not pretending around Jude.

“Okay.” He anxiously smooths down his tie again and gazes toward a group of older men gathered near the bar entrance. When he looks back at me, something settles on his face.

“So, science girl, huh? Is that why you are an EMT?”

“I’m an EMT because my mother was killed by a drunk driver, and I never wanted another little girl to lose her mom like that.”

The truth is hard and socks a punch when spoken so directly, but I’m not liking the vibe coming off Jude. If he can’t have sympathy for my loss, like that dickhead Walt, I’m going to have a tough time acting like I even like Jude, let alone date him.

My truth is difficult to share because I haven’t been able to save every victim I’ve encountered.

“My father died in a building fire. He was a fireman.”

Jude gives me his first honest look of the evening. One where those cold eyes melt a little bit, and I dare say compassion fills them.

“Okay.” Jude exhales, concentrating on my cheek for a beat too long. Then he sucks in a breath. “Let’s get the sad stories out of the way. My mother died in a plane crash, which is public knowledge.”

I didn’t know that.

“She was leaving my father, running off with her lover.” His tongue sarcastically rolls over the term. “I learned a few years ago my father had intended to leave her first . . .”

Our drinks arrive, so Jude pauses a second before picking up his glass. “And—”

He abruptly halts, leaving me on the edge of my seat. His life sounds worse than Aunt Gertie’s soap operas.