Better Not Pout

DOES THIS MAKE ME A MISTLE-HO?

LACY

I lost a bet. But to be fair, I haven’t been trying too hard to win the bet either. Of course, I wasn’t trying to lose per se. Let me start over. Exactly nine Christmases and three hundred sixty-three days ago, I was drunk on a combination of mimosas, eggnog, and tequila with my older brother and his best friend. Everyone else had gone to bed.

Christmas Day had started with mimosas and unwrapping gifts, then eggnog in the afternoon, and as the night wound down, we sat around the dining room table talking bullshit and taking shots of tequila. The specifics of the conversation that ensued were lost to hangover fog and the years between that moment and now don’t help. But my brother’s best friend—Dalton Ford—owns my ass this holiday season.

It was only after I sobered up sometime on the twenty-sixth that I was informed of the rules. Basically, I bet this man I’d be married with two kids by now. Because in the arrogance of my youth, I had a ten-year plan I was certain I would achieve. And he said something like, “In ten years, if you haven’t achieved your goals, you spend Christmas to New Years with me so I can remind you how badly you failed.” I’m paraphrasing, of course.

And then we shook on it. Actually, we spit in our palms and then shook on it like germy heathens, but the tequila was calling the shots at that point. Pun intended.

My brother, Ryan, offered to get me out of it, but I refused. I mean, at the time, I had ten years to win. Ten freaking years. And guess what? I’m not married or even engaged. Hell, I don’t even have a boyfriend. I don’t have kids, unless you count my bearded dragon, Drogo. Personally, I do. But for the sake of the bet, I don’t think his cute little ass counts. I also don’t have my dream job yet. I haven’t purchased my first home. And my savings account is nowhere near where I said it would be. I’m pretty much failing on all points. My life is in shambles compared to where I said I would be right now.

I’ve been packing my bags for the past hour, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Aside from staring at this pair of bright red Christmas socks that arrived with a note earlier this morning, I haven’t been able to put much into the suitcase. Of course, I blame my ADHD for that. I’d also be lying if I said I hadn’t read that note like twenty times.

Lacy,

I hope you’re ready to pay your debts.

xo,

Dalton

It’s a well-known fact to pretty much everyone in our circle that Dalton and I have always had a certain… tension between us. Sexual tension, that is. Ryan and Dalton are only two years older than me, so our friend circles collided early on. In fact, Dalton was my brother’s best man when he married one of my best friends. I was the maid of honor. So it’s not as if Dalton and I haven’t been around each other over the past decade. He’s been to plenty of family holidays, we’ve taken friend vacations, and we even attended his grandmother’s funeral years ago. The point is, we’re intertwined, so it’s not as if I’m flitting off to spend the holiday with a stranger.

I stop staring at the socks long enough to shove them into the suitcase, along with a week’s worth of outfits and two week’s worth of panties. Why do I do it? Hell if I know. But I also know I’m not the only woman who does. I don’t know if we think we’re going to shit our pants every day of our trip, but I do know we are prepared if it happens. Judging by the location I was given, along with the note, we’re going to be in the woods at a cabin, so I packed a variety of options.

But if you want to know the truth, I would be perfectly happy to spend the entire time naked. That’s right, I said it. I’ve done my best to completely ignore the tension between us since I’ve known him. He’s my brother’s best friend, and it felt weird at first. But after those feelings subsided, it was just never the right time. One or the other of us was always dating someone. I’d gone off to college a few hours from home. And so on.

Honestly, I don’t know what he means by “pay your debts,” but what I do know is that if Dalton Ford wants me to get on my knees and suck his candy cane, I definitely will. I might also let him stuff my chimney. Unwrap my presents. You get the picture.