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“Oooh, this poor thing,” she says. “It’s missing half the branches on one side.Excellentchoice, Trevor. I—ergh—approve.”
She tugs.
I adjust my stance and grip her hips tighter. Her ass is right in my face, andgood god, does she have a nice ass. Firm and round, like two glorious peaches that I want to—
“Oh, it’s stuck under another tree.” She leans over and shuffles something inside the dumpster.
If I hold her any tighter, I’m gonna leave a mark.
She leans deeper in. “Just…a little…more…”
“Meg—”
“Almost—”
“Meg—” I’m losing my grip, and—
A door bangs behind us. “Hey!What are you doing?” someone barks.
Meg shrieks.
And dives.
She fuckingdives, slipping right out of my grip and going headfirst into the dumpster.
MEG
I smell like a sour Christmas elf. My elbow is probably bruised. My shoes are beyond hope. And I don’t know what kind of eggnog was in the dumpster and that I don’t think I’ve fully washed from my hair, but my Christmas tree is up in Trevor’s living room, and it isbeautiful.
“You turned the lights on!” I throw myself at Trevor and wrap him in a hug before I process the look on his face. But even hisI let a weirdo talk me into desecrating my safe space with a mutant alien tree that might try to kill me in my sleepexpression can’t stop me from blabbering away my gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love it!”
“It has seven limbs.” He doesn’t hug me back, but he doesn’t push me away either. “It hasonlyseven limbs.”
“And those seven limbs will have thevery bestrest of their lifeever.”
“It has seven limbs andstilllooks like a full tree from this angle.”
He’s not wrong.
Those are some bushy green limbs. And when the tree’s trunk is pushed up into the corner, you can’t tell it only has limbs on like one and a half sides.
“We should hang your bobbleheads on it so it doesn’t look so much like a Christmas tree,” I say.
He pulls out of my hug, his face doing some weird acrobatics while his arms hang like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with them. “The heads would pop off.”
“That’s rude of them. They don’t make bobbleheads like they used to, do they?”
“You should go to bed.”
“Psh. Who can sleep when the world is magic?” Or when you’re worried that you’re about to get a phone call from your parents or brother who will somehow subliminally know that you were convinced you were going to get arrested for swimming in you don’t even want to know what inside that dumpster while on a mission to save a Christmas tree. “Utensils. We should hang utensils on the tree. Or—wait! I have a box of pasta shaped like lobsters that Zeus and Joey gave me. We can hang lobster pasta on it!”
“Why did they—never mind.”
I beam at him.
That’s basically the answer to anything that my employers do.Why do they—never mind. It’s them.
I’ve been to a lot of places where I don’t fit in over the years.
