Page 8 of Merry Mischief List

“Merry freaking Christmas.” She slants her drink towards me, and we clink glasses.

“Any of your family still down here?” I ask, knowing Jess always raved about her holidays at their vacation cabin in Virginia.

“Nope. They all flew out earlier this week.”

“That’s too bad.”

She orders another glass, and I consider asking for my check to get the hell out of here, but for some unknown reason I stay.

“Any friends who stayed on campus for the holidays?” I ask.

“Not a single one,” she replies. “I was seeing this girl, but last week I dumped her in the middle of Salty Pete’s after she wouldn’t stop accusing me of being an attention whore because I like to have a good time. I mean, what’s the point of going out if you can’t let loose and shake your ass on the dance floor? Is it my fault she sits in the corner like a bump on a log?” I fight a smile at her information dump. “She said I’m exclusively ‘fuck buddy’ material because all I want to do is go out or get it on. But what’s wrong with that? There’s no shame in having a good time or liking sex! Who wouldn’t want to have orgasms daily? It’s like a basic human right.” She stares at me intently, and I struggle to determine whether or not it was a rhetorical question. Either way, I have no answer.

“I mean,” she continues, “is there really something so wrong about rolling with the vibes of wherever we’re at? If we go out, I’m gonna have a good time. If we go to the beach, I’m gonna relax and enjoy some fun in the sun. If we fuck, I’m gonna make sure we both come till we see stars!”I’m struggling to see the problem here.“Does that really make me such a monster?”

“I’m sure you’re a very nice person,” I say, still attempting to move past the details of her clearly very satisfying sex life. Details I shouldn’t know or be focusing on.

“Well,thank you,person who forgot I exist,” she replies, pulling me back to the present.

“I know everything seems super messed up right now.” I swirl my drink. “But it’ll get better.”

Andi’s eyes slide to mine, the same color as the liquor in my glass. “Are you Dr. Phil’ing me?”

“I’m surprised you know who he is,” I tease.

“I may be young, but I’m notthatyoung. I grew up watching Dr. Phil, Jerry Springer, and Maury like the rest of ‘em.”

“Okay, okay.” I laugh. “I get your point.”

“How am I supposed to deck the halls in these conditions? We’re in the most humid, un-festive place on Earth. I was really looking forward to going full Buddy the Elf.” She drops her face against her hand and groans. “The snow. The cabin decorated top to bottom. All of it… magic. The only positive to any of this,” she slurs, tipping her glass toward me, “is I don’t have to hear how freakingfantasticJess’s perfect life is.” Her mention of Jess catches me off guard.

“So sorry you and your fuck buddy broke up,” she sasses in a high-pitched impersonation, assumedly of her sister. “When I met my pro-football-playing husband, Devon, I knew it was right. Someday you’ll meet someone and just know.” She huffs a laugh, returning to her normal pitch.

Wow,this conversation is an absolute dumpster fire.

“The only thing she knew was how much his status in the NFL would help her climb the professional ladder,” she scoffs. “Who wouldn’t want to hire the wife of a pro athlete to be a sports reporter? They know she can get an inside scoop to half the team by proximity alone.” Andi’s eyes widen, mouth parting open. “Shit. I’m sorry, that was super insensitive of me. And Devon’s really not that great.”

“Heisgreat,” I say, smirking, thinking of one of my old teammates from Tampa. Sure, it hurt how things went down with Jess, but I’m not gonna mope over her for the rest of my life. And Andi’s right. Jess was too busy chasing the next story to give a shit about her personal life… or me.

“Ugh, yeah, he really is. Still, sorry for bringing her up.”

“It’s ancient history,” I say, waving her off. Partly to make her feel better but mostly because it’s the truth.

“You guys mind cashing out?” the bartender asks. “We’re switching servers.”

“Aww, you’re leaving us, Mr. Bartender Man?” Andi grumbles.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. “We should probably get out of here anyway. It’s getting late.”And she definitely shouldn’t have another drink, that’s for sure.

“Fine,” she concedes with a huff. “Put the buzzkill’s drink on my tab.”

“Absolutely not,” I say, reaching for my wallet.

Andi places her hand on my forearm, soft brown eyes boring into mine. A breath catches in my throat, and I swallow it down. “I just drunk vented to you about our exes. It’s the least I can do,” she argues.

“How aboutIpay foryourdrink as an apology for my lack of advice?” I counter.

“How aboutIpay and you forget every embarrassing thing I said?”

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