Page 92 of Holiday on the Rocks
TAKING CLINT OUT
I stood in the hall for a good five minutes attempting to put out the wildfire that was jumping through my veins.
They were in the bathroom.
Together.
Kissing.
I was quickly running of reasons to not grab the frozen leg of lamb that sat in the kitchen sink, bludgeon someone to death with it, and then eat the murder weapon to get away with the perfect crime.
Somebody = Clint.
Because he had to die, right? There was nothing else that could happen if he stayed in this house one more hour.
I walked into the kitchen while everybody was chomping on cookies. Even though the room was filled with symmetrically decorated treats, red and green Christmas tablecloth, and more damn holiday carols ringing through the air, my blood ran like mud through my veins.. The only thing that didn’t suck was the beer pong table and cups set up in the corner of the room.
She only wanted closure with me, nothing more. Did she want Clint back? I’d burned the bridge to any relationship with her long ago. What if I pushed the closure thing more, keeping her “okay” with me, while working on warming her up to the idea of me forever and ever and ever? I’d make her see she didn’t want to be with dickhead. She wanted me.
Three of the four voices in my head thought this was a winning plan. The fourth said murder was the only way. I’d attempt to ignore that bastard.
I went to the cabinet next to the sink and had the first sense of calm hit me as my eyes wrapped around Jack Daniels. Yes, he could get me through this, right? He was loyal and always did what he promised; make me numb.
The room was too loud. The overabundance of talking and smiling made me want to whip up a salad with a side of cyanide. If you all would shut the fuck up, that would be just lovely.
I hadn’t realized the force I’d used to shut the cabinet door until I turned around and all eyeballs were on me.
“Sorry, did I hit the door too hard?” My laughter was lonesome.
I held the bottle with one hand and grabbed two glasses with the other. Whiskey would help me deal with Clint.
I sat across from assface and filled a glass as Kristina babbled on about something.
“Anybody like a happy hour drink?”
Royce grabbed a wreath cookie topped with green frosting and red sprinkles from the tray in the center of the table. “After losing a few hours of my memory today, I think I’ll pass.”
“What about you Clint?” I filled a glass. “You’re not a pussy, are ya?”
A hush fell over the room as his brow rose. “I’ll have a drink.”
I slid the glass over to him as I held mine up. “To you.” He clinked his glass against mine never knowing his evening was about to end early. There would be no repeat kissing for dickhead.
“Clint, how about a little pong with Jack?”
My eyes shot right to receive a warning glare from Allie which I ignored.
Kristina clapped. “I’ll play, too!”
An hour later Royce entered the room to learn, along with Clint, that I don’t lose at pong. Ever.
It was his turn, and he leaned sideways to get out of the kitchen chair he was on and fell to the floor with a thud. He was done and victory was mine.
Allie leaned toward me. “This is not cool, Levi.”
Kristina did a dance around the table. “This is totally cool!”
Evan walked in while his head shook. “Clearly we shouldn’t have left the room unsupervised.”
