Page 201 of Screwged for Christmas

Bright light flooded the small area. Stark white walls with rich coloring in the hand towels lined the top of the chest positioned opposite of the sink. Forest green and royal blue and a hint of gold in the fixtures.

Everything had a space and place with nothing cluttering the counters except an odd hand-carved bear.

The blanket pooled around her feet and within a minute, she swayed under the hot streams of water and relished the steam filling the small room as it eased the ache of the cold away. She wished the ache in her chest would melt away just the same. For a moment there, while Damon had his arms around her, that’s exactly what happened.

She’d forgotten about everything except him, how his massive body felt against hers and how his lips felt when he’d claimed her mouth with such a powerful kiss. Dominant.

Fact: One kiss from Damon was like a thousand shots of whiskey, and she wanted more of both.

CHAPTER 3

After feeling slowly returned to her body, Ivy made quick work of washing and left the bathroom in the same clean order she found it in before joining the crowd.

Her sister was in the back corner next to a line of booths squished between her two men, each with a hand resting on the bump that would be her niece or nephew. Several others stood by them, and the one she knew as Drake wore a bright red Santa hat and had his arm around a pretty brunette with a matching hat and a big smile as she looked at her husband.

Wondering if she could catch a glimpse of her moody golden-eyed host, she pushed through the throng of people and spoke to several patrons wishing her congratulations and thanking her for de-thronging the one and only Ethan Savage.

Even her newest festive sweater paired with jeans and mid-calf black boots got a few thumbs up. This one featured two of Santa’s busty elves sliding down a candy cane pole with a caption that read: Let me lick your candy cane.

She couldn’t wait for her sister to get an eye full of this one. Traditions sometimes didn’t suck.

She laughed at her own thoughts.

Several men standing in the middle of the ever-shifting crowd held up their mugs and called out for Damon. She followed their line of sight and zeroed in on the man with damp hair who stood solo behind the bar slinging mug after mug of ale to anyone within reach. Several bottles filled the shelves behind him, rimmed with more garland and lights, as staff collected the drinks and passed them out to the happy patrons. Busboys cleared empty mugs as fast as people could put them down.

“Looks like you could use some help.” Ivy eased behind the counter and took quick note of where everything from the mugs, highball glasses, and ice were located and dove right in without a second thought.

Clad in a long-sleeved gray tee with a red plaid button-down shirt that hung free around his hips matched with black snug cargo pants, Damon sent three more mugs down the polished wood before he reached under the counter and tossed her an apron.

“Drinks are on the house tonight in honor of the winners. Lots of people like free.”

“Good policy.” She slipped the ties of the black leather apron around her waist and got to work. She fell into the old groove of whipping up everything from frilly concoctions to screwdrivers and the favorite with the old and new generations alike...beer.

“Heelloo, my mistletoe angel,” crooned an aged voice that belonged to an older gentleman with solid silver hair and warm eyes. “How about a refill but of good stuff, beautiful?”

Okay. So let the fun begin. As an on again off again bartender when money was scarce—which was more often than not with her mounting bills—Ivy was used to getting hit on, talked to, and even bitched out on occasion when she told me to go screw themselves after they got too pushy.

She glanced up. Deep wrinkles creased his cheeks, the skin around his chin soft and slightly slack, but his eyes didn’t look a day over thirty. Beneath gray scruff rosy cheeks poked out, due no doubt to the brisk wind kicking up beyond the front windowpanes, and the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

She canted her head to one side. “Sure, thing,amigo. What would that be?”

“Sweetheart, whatever it was Damon gave ya to getcha behind that bar with him, it had to be somethin’ special for a special lady.”

“I don’t think I really gave him a choice. Did I do something wrong?”

“Not if you’re still here, you didn’t. You’re special.”

Ivy reached up to fix her sliding ponytail, the ends still slightly damp, before she did something that would give away her growing curiosity.

“Nothing special at all, old-timer.” She spied his glass and noticed he favored the same whiskey she’d downed earlier. She looked to Damon, who stood at the other end of the bar talking to a group of ladies. All of them doe-eyed and flirty and fawning over the stud muffin pouring them dainty little drinks with umbrellas. She bet one of them thought she’d get lucky tonight. Who knew? Maybe all three of them would.

“There hasn’t been another soul behind that counter for four years.”

She brought her attention back to the old man. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s possessive over his bar. Many are. Besides, there’s nothing special about slinging beer or me.”

“Well, I think you proved to the whole town I’m right. You just wait and see.”

She smiled “So what will it be? Another whiskey?”

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