Page 14 of Holly Jolly July

The inside is drab, smelling of stale beer and the lingering odour of cigarettes despite nobody legally smoking indoors since the eighties. The carpeting is some weird mix of green and brown, the bar is battered and stained, and half of the old boxy TVs are playing keno games while the others repeat sports highlights. There is absolutely nobody in here but me and the bartender, some old guy with a “piss off” attitude who keeps to himself at the other end of the bar cleaning a shelf of dusty liquor bottles.

It’s perfect.

The ice clinks in my glass as I tilt it to and fro, the juniper and citrus notes of my gin and tonic tempting me to have another. Not smart. Even though Mom and Dad’s place is only a ten-minute drive from here, I know better than to risk driving while impaired—even if being impaired will help me cope with being back in that house. Maybe I’ll swing by the liquor store on the way home.

I’m about to call it quits and flag down the bartender for my bill when his crotchety old voice breaks the silence.

“Hey, Jax,” he says, giving a nod to someone on his right.

My ears perk up, and my gaze follows. My heart stutters when I see him and I forget to breathe.

Offuckingcourse I’d drive out of my way to be alone and end up running into someone from high school. And not just anyone from high school, oh no. One of the popular jock assholes who barely acknowledged my existence, aside from teasing me about my large-for-my-age tits. Like almost all the other girls—and some of the guys—in my grade, I had a massive crush on him. He was impossible not to like.

I watch him through my peripherals as he makes his way behind the bar while surreptitiously checking him out.

And damn, there’s a lot to check out. He may still go by his childhood nickname, but everything else about him is very,veryadult. A tight black V-neck hugs his well-defined chest, wrapping tightly around thick biceps, tapering loosely around his middle and giving the impression of washboard abs beneath. Above his body is a face that matches in decadence: square jaw, perfectly trimmed light beard, and luscious wavy brown locks that settle upon his shoulders. His thick brows frame his face and accentuate his dark eyes in a moody way, with a straight nose and thin lips pressed firmly into a serious line.

On top of that, he radiates BDE, carrying himself with a straight back and a confident stride. Despite myself I’m immediately drawn to him, straightening my own posture in response to his presence.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, his deep voice rich and smooth.

I feel his eyes upon me but don’t return his gaze, keeping my attention firmly on the empty drink in front of me. As the two men go over the day and swap out cash drawers, I’m hanging on to every word that comes out of Jax’s sensual mouth.

The old man, Mike, leaves through the back and Jax stays behind. If only I’d left ten minutes earlier.

Maybe he won’t recognize me. I hardly recognize myself; I look nothing like I used to.

I made sure of it.

Besides, it’s not like we spent any time together—aside from being in the same grade since he moved here in grade six. And when we sat next to each other in eighth grade English class. And when he dated my “best friend” Bethany in grade eleven.

Other than occasionally ogling my breasts, Jax didn’t really acknowledge my existence.

“Can I get you another?” he asks, his forearms resting on the bar.

“Thinking about it,” I reply, gracing him with a flash of eye contact.

“Sorry it’s so dead in here,” he says, not moving from his place. “There’s a Christmas movie being filmed downtown, and everyone’s over there trying to catch a glimpse of some famous actor.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m guessing you don’t like Christmas,” he says.

I huff a breath through my nose. “Nope. I’m a Grinch.”

“I hate Christmas, too.” He has a playful half smirk on his face, just enough for the right-hand corner of his mouth to twitch up. He continues, “The only good Christmas movie is—”

“Die Hard,” we say at the same time.

Jax smiles, and I can’t help but bite my bottom lip as we regard one another. He nods at my empty glass. “What are you drinking?”

“It’s okay. I was just about to grab my bill.”

He reaches for the till, then pauses, leaning back on the bar. “Wait a second...”

My heart hammers in my chest. Facing the inevitable with as much grace as I can muster, I lift my chin and look at him head-on.

His eyes search mine, shifting right to left. Then his brows shoot up, eyes widening as realization dawns. “Maria?”

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