Page 45 of Unwrapped

“What!?” I shriek.

“Anyone can see you’re wound tight.”

“I’ve never even smoked a joint.”

“You have a spa appointment today. It’s on the house.”

“Fine,” I snap.

“It was just a pinch,” she straightens the tangles sheets on the floor.

“No more. Instead of helping me sleep, all it did was give me nightmares.”

“The kind that make your skin flush? I’m old not stupid. You were yelling Santa’s coming!”

“Was not.”

“I knew you were a believer,” she smirks.

“Har-har. I need to shower.”

“Yes. you do,” she smirks as she walks out.

“What?” I ask the empty room.

“EEEK!!!!” I scream, catching my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a rat’s nest of knots. Yesterday’s mascara is streaked down my sticky face. My lips are swollen from biting them so much and my nipples are the points of two blades poking holes through my sleepshirt.

The deep laugh booming from somewhere down the hall has my eyes thinning to slits.

He will pay. I will make his Christmas hell and be the one waving him goodbye with my middle finger as he packs his bags and rolls out. This roof isn’t big enough for the two of us. Heck, neither is this town. Or this country. Maybe the entire world. Or the universe. He packs an ego to match his size. His swagger is sexy as all hell. He smells like pine soap and new money. Crisp. Sharp. Hungry.

My palms smack the tiled shower walls. Why? Why do I always want the bad ones? The ones who treat me like shit and walk away without a second thought?

Not this time.

I won’t let it happen. If only I could find a way to get the man out of my damn head. Maybe I’ve already found a way. Humming,Joy to the World, I lather up rinse and repeat.

I have the perfect plan to find trouble that doesn’t include him.

14

Dare

“SOMETHING SMELLS DELICIOUS,” I smile warmly at Sally as I enter the kitchen. I avoided the She-Devil for the day by snowshoeing for a few miles then unwinding in the hot tub only to lift weights and sink into a tub full of ice after. It’s how the Russian’s train. I feel invigorated. Reborn. Ready to battle.

I swirl the heady merlot in my glass and note the time as the twinkling Christmas lights catch the face of my Tag Hauer watch. A fire’s blazing. Bing Crosby is crooning in the background. I swear Sally is up to something.

“It won’t work.”

“Hmmm?” She turns from the oven, holding a roasting pan.

“What you’re doing?”

“Cooking a roasted chicken?”

“You know what.” I swallow my wine at the sound of heels tapping on the wood floor.

She walks into the kitchen.

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