Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

She poked me in the chest and cut off any further distraction attempts. “Why the hell are the cups of kombucha beer so damn small? We agreed on eight ounces. You’re passing around shot glasses like a Costco taste tester. We need people feeling good they got all dressed up for tonight, you understand me? A cheapskate dribble of beer in a red Solo cup ain’t gonna do it!”

  Apparently the good female citizens of Hell were impervious to my charms. I’d have to try honesty, which quite frankly, made me shudder. What was the fun in that?

  “This batch came out strong, Hazel. I can’t be handing out eight ounces or they’ll be drunker than those weird goats that do the yoga dealio just outside of town. Though I’m not sure if they’re drunk or just stoned,” I mused.

  Hazel grabbed her headset and listened to something that made those brown eyes go code red. My balls beat a hasty retreat inside my body.

  Her gaze came back to me, and she drilled me in the chest again with that finger. “I don't care about your excuses, Prescott. Eight ounces or I will personally see to ruining your hooch business before it’s even up and running. We clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The salute was over the top, based on the way her face flushed and she looked ready to explode. But she did finally leave in a twirl of bright red ball gown like the tiny devil she was. I shifted to let the boys dangle freely now that danger had been averted.

  Hazel’s anger must have been contagious as I was starting to feel a little hot under the collar myself. Everyone knew you couldn’t lower the alcohol content of a batch of beer by simply watering it down. This batch had gone a little nuts, topping out over twenty percent alcohol. My normal batches of kombucha beer were hovering right around five percent, which would have been perfect for this event. A little alcohol to make them feel generous, but not enough to have them drooling in their starter salad.

  I’d moved to Hell to start my new business, Kombrewcha, where land was a little cheaper and my sister, Penelope, assured me the politicians were letting in a lot of questionable businesses. If the mayor liked questionable, I was his guy. I swiped a hand across my forehead and scrambled for a solution to my little problem. If I ruined the ball, I doubted even the lenient mayor would look the other way.

  The fermentation process took about five weeks. This kombucha beer I was serving tonight had been in the works for two months. I couldn’t just scrap it and start over. I also couldn’t figure out what the hell made it so much stronger than normal. I was an alcohol aficionado with a lazy penchant for entrepreneurialism, not a scientist with a degree in fermentation.

  “If that stupid scientist had just called me back, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I muttered, thinking back on the three long-winded messages I’d left for the head scientist over at the FART facility. Yeah, that’s right. I did a double take too when I first heard the name for the facility in Auburn Hill. Technically, it was the Fragrance & Aroma Reformulation Testing facility, but that was quite a mouthful. Round here, we just called it FART. Naturally.

  Large groups of citizens were still pouring inside the huge white tent in Bennett Park. They set all of us vendors up in large booths on the perimeter, leaving the center of the tent for the tables and chairs and china and crystal.

  I rushed to top off the cups I had waiting, filled with a paltry half finger of Kombrewcha. I didn’t go as much as eight ounces like Hazel demanded. Figured six would be a nice compromise. Maybe I could come up with a slogan about how you have to sip it, not slam it.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor Bennett. Mrs. Bennet.” I nodded to the couple as they strolled by my booth, each grabbing a cup and sipping as they went. A trickle of sweat dripped down my spine. I needed to get on that slogan before anyone else took a cup.

  Maybe Made for sipping; this isn’t a frat party. No, too offensive to frat partiers. They were my brothers in spirit. How about Sip that Kombrewcha, or the alcohol will getcha! Dammit. No, that was too preachy and questionable in the rhyming department. Sip, don’t slug or you’ll be sick as a bug. Okay, the slogans were getting worse. I was disappointed in myself. I could do better if there wasn’t so much pressure from a crazed Hazel.

  “Kombrewcha. Hmm. Sounds familiar,” a quiet voice said from across my booth. I lifted my gaze, surprised to see a youthful woman dressed in a light blue dress that went to mid-calf, a sweater covering her shoulders. Despite the overly conservative garb, she was pretty. You know, if you liked the nerdy kind of girl. Which I didn’t, not because of how they looked, but because the smart girls always rolled their eyes at me, dismissing me as the idiot I was most of the time.

  “Yep, we’re new in town. If you like to combine imbibing with your health goals, we’re your best bet. The health benefits of kombucha and the sanity-restoring characteristics of a beer.” A little long for a slogan, but it would do for now.

  One eyebrow winged above her dark glasses, like she wasn’t quite convinced. Then her expression cleared, and she snapped her fingers. “Hey, are you that guy who called my office and left weird messages about bacteria taking over his lifelong dreams?”

  I winced, knowing immediately who this woman was. I guess I’d gone a little overboard in my voicemail to the FART scientist, but in my defense, I panicked. If I’d known she was that young and inexperienced, I wouldn’t have sought her help. Not that she gave it to me anyway.

  I felt my face heat and hated her for it. “No, sorry, that had to have been my ridiculous brother. I would never do something like that.”

  Her smile froze as if she were suspended in time, judging whether or not I was telling the truth. “Will I be taking my life in my hands by sampling the goods?”

  Holy hell, bespectacled woman. She offered it up on a silver platter. I had to take the bait, the smirk second nature and uncontrollable. “Oh, you can sample the goods any time, sweetheart. I guarantee an orgasmic result.”

  She didn’t blush like I’d hoped, or flirt with me back like I dreamed. Her upper lip trembled and for a brief second in time I thought she might cry, the guilt of being a jackass already building in my chest. But after a second of trembling, that lip climbed into a healthy sneer.

  “How original,” she drawled. “I think I prefer your brother’s ramblings. At least he had a dose of respect in his tone.”

  She snatched a cup off the table and walked away, tilting her slender neck back to swallow down a healthy gulp. I gulped too, but for different reasons. Be still my heart. The science nerd was hotter than Poppy, the mail deliverer, oversharing about her latest sex toy from The Hardware Store in town. Sounded like I had a fetish, but even old, overweight women were hot when they embraced their sexuality and I wouldn’t apologize for it.

  I’d never gone for the conventional hot girls, anyway. I usually went for the women society labeled as clumsy, odd, had a screw loose, one fry short of a Happy Meal. The outcasts. Those unassuming, untapped vessels of hotness were my catnip.

  And by swiping back at me, Nerdy Science Girl had just become my newest obsession.

  2

  Jazzie

  These functions were stupid. I’d rather just dig through my desk at home, find my dusty checkbook, and write out a zero or two to save some balls. I was all for testicular cancer research—those fragile fuckers were important—but I could do without the dressing up, socializing, and then sitting down to figure out which fork to use to shovel in the sorry excuse for serving sizes they offered at these things.

  I stumbled, but caught myself, turning around to glare at the flat ground. Huh, I could have sworn there’d been a stumbling hazard. I glanced down at the Kombrewcha in my hand, seeing the white bottom of the cup instead of the faintly red brew I’d been sipping in a furious pace. My encounter with the owner had been even more annoying than this Jingle Ball. Maybe I should slow down on the wicked stuff.

  “Jazzie!” a voice called out from behind me.

  I spun and stumbled two steps to the left. Holy cannoli, the whole tent was spinning. Maybe this year’s event would be fun after all. I sa
w Amelia Waldo approaching, her dress making me instantly envy her fit body and perfect curves.

  “Hey, ’Melia,” I responded, wondering why that sounded funny to my ears.

  Her smile turned to a frown as she put her hand on my arm. “You okay, girl? You seem a little…loose.”

  I shook my head and immediately regretted it when the twenty-foot Christmas tree in the center of the tent went fuzzy around the edges. “Nah, I’m good. I was just about to get another drink before they call us in to our assigned seats.” I leaned in close, jumping back when my chin clipped her shoulder. “What are the odds Hazel will have seated me next to Grandma Yedda?”

  Amelia winced and chuckled at the same time, an amazing feat for just one face. I went to applaud the effort, but found that damn Solo cup still in my hand. “Odds are high, young one. Yedda won’t rest until all legal adults are paired up and living their best love life.”

  I groaned. “Definitely need more Komboo—Kabooomka—Ka—you know what, I’m calling it weird beer. Way easier to say, am I right?”

  Amelia just laughed and pushed me toward the weird beer booth. I made it over there on rubber legs. A very small, unassuming voice in the back of my head tried to call out a warning. Not sure what she said. Honestly, the thing was too damn quiet for my own good. Ignoring the annoying man behind the table, I reached for another full cup of the red stuff.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re not giving out seconds.” His voice—the one that made me want to bare my teeth, not in anger or warning, but to nibble on his ridiculously muscled body—made me stop in my tracks.

  “Say what now?” I jammed my hands on my hips, an empty plastic cup bouncing off my side and flying to the ground where it rolled under the table. “Where’d that thing come from?”

  “Your hand?” Annoying Man offered dryly.

  Huh. Guess I’d asked that question out loud.

  “Precisely!” That also came out of my mouth, louder than I intended and making absolutely no sense.

  His brow furrowed, and he tugged on the neck of his shirt. “Hey, you might want to keep it down,” he mumbled, gaze darting about the tent.

  “Listen, Annoying Man, I want more weird beer, so hand it over. My invitation said open bar.” Ha! I knew I had him there. That one phrase was literally the only thing that had gotten me to put on this dress and come tonight. Well, that and the wrath of Hazel if I hadn’t shown up.

  “It’s Prescott,” he said, that dang voice running through my veins, lighting fires everywhere.

  “Pres-cott,” I tried the name on for size.

  He shook his head once. “No. Prescott. Like biscuit.”

  “Pres-COTT,” I said again, purposely mangling the pronunciation just to see that flash in his dark eyes again.

  He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and those little fires turned into infernos when I saw the ink that covered the back of his hand, the design disappearing into his fancy shirt cuff. “You know what? Forget it. Doesn’t matter. Just go sit down and drink some water or something.”

  “Hey, Prescott. Nice to see you again.” The voice to my left cut off my less-than-pleasant retort to being dismissed.

  Lucille and Bain Sutter approached the weird beer booth arm in arm, looking like the perfectly in love couple they always did. Lucille gave me a hug while the men did some primitive back-slapping ritual.

  “You look gorgeous, Jazzie,” Lucy said, putting her hands on my shoulders and giving me a once-over.

  I genuinely liked Lucy, so I didn’t hold it against her that she made me feel short by doing that. I mean, I was short. Five foot four was considered average in America, yet everyone I knew my age was taller than me. By a lot.

  “Thank you. So do you! How’s little Roxy?” There, that sounded normal. Maybe that weird beer had a short-lived aftereffect.

  Lucy’s eyes sparkled like a proud mama. “She’s wonderful, but not so little anymore. I miss her being a tiny baby.”

  I elbowed her gently. “Might be time to try for another, then, huh?”

  Her face turned devious, and I saw how a woman like her could handle a hard-ass prison warden like Bain. “I may or may not have plans for that husband of mine tonight. We have a babysitter and Lenora ordered me some new handcuffs.”

  I put out my hand for a high five. “Get that sperm, woman.” Again, probably a little too loud based on the way Bain and Prescott whipped their heads over to stare at us.

  Lucy, God bless her, just giggled and high-fived me.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Hazel’s voice flowed through the speakers set up at various intervals throughout the tent. “Welcome to our forty-second annual Auburn Hill Jingle Ball!” Everyone clapped and a few whistles joined in. “Let’s all start to take our seats so we can serve the first course. I’ll be back shortly to get the auction started.”

  Lucy and Bain said their goodbyes before moving off to find their table. I took the distraction as a gift from the universe and snuck another cup of weird beer before Prescott noticed me. Hiding the cup in front of me, I wandered off to find my table. I finally found my name card at table twenty-six, not next to Yedda, but across from her. I’d have to heavily engage my seat mates in conversation to keep from getting dragged into her latest matchmaking scheme.

  I sat down and sipped my beverage while I waited for the rest of the table to fill in. Having grown up in Auburn Hill, I would know everyone, of course. I didn’t know most people well, given my introverted nature, but I could participate in awkward small talk for an hour to two when forced. I nodded hello and voiced pleasantries about the unusually cold winter to each person who sat down. Unsurprisingly, we were all without a plus-one at this table. When Yedda joined us like a queen taking her throne seat, we all inhaled a collective breath to fortify ourselves.

  Finally, only one seat remained empty on my left. Servers moved about the tent, depositing our salads in front of us and whisking away to fulfill our drink orders. I’d asked for champagne, quite enjoying the fizzy nature of my weird beer and wanting more of it. Plus, fizzy rhymed with Jazzie. Kind of. Close enough.

  A whiff of cologne had me turning my head to see a wall of red sitting down in the chair next to me. My insides went on a roller coaster of lust and intense dislike.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Oops. That rolled right through my brain and came out my mouth.

  Prescott leaned over and whispered, “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Jazzie Michaels.”

  I shivered, literally shivered at the sound of my name on his lips. “That’s Professor Michaels to you and your brother,” I snapped.

  He winced, and I frowned. Surely my weak attempt at pushing him into a more professional space didn’t affect him enough to cause his face to react. My first impression was that he seemed to be slicker than an oil spill, impervious to verbal jabs from an amateur.

  He cleared his throat and looked away. “I don’t actually have a brother.”

  It took more time than I’d like to admit due to the weird beer consumption, but I finally put two and two together. The big, handsome devil with the tattoo addiction currently causing a situation in my lower region had lied to me.

  “Your pants are on fire.” I snickered when he looked down at his lap in confusion. His head popped back up with a sheepish grin.

  “Wanna put out the fire, Professor Michaels?” A sexy wink had me squirming in my seat. That was more the response I expected from Mr. Annoying Man and Quite Handsome.

  Listen, I was introverted and a bit of a science nerd, but I was not unfamiliar with the ways of the human body when it came to sex. I’d had sex exactly two and a half times. I counted the half because it involved fellatio but no penetration. The way I figured it, oral sex should count in my tally, but not as a whole sexual experience. My stats proved I wasn’t opposed to sex for the purpose of releasing tension. Perhaps if I put my moves on Mr. Flirty over here, he’d take me home tonight and release the valve of bottled-up pressure that had been buildin
g for two years. Ever since that half an experience left me with an itch I couldn’t scratch.

  I stabbed at my salad and took a bite, mulling over the lines I could throw out there to get this flirt ball rolling. My greatest hope lay in letting him take over with things once I got it going. He seemed far superior to me in the one-night-stand department.

  “So, what made you move to Hell?” I asked Prescott after I swallowed.

  He took a sip of water and answered me, “My sister lives here already and she said Auburn Hill would be a good place to start my new business.”

  I shoved another bite in my mouth. The dressing was remarkably tasty, though I didn’t care for the pieces of weeds they threw in salads at these fancy things. What’s wrong with a dependable heart of romaine salad? Or heaven forbid, a little iceberg in there for eatability? I suddenly knew how bunnies felt, chewing forever and still being hungry.

  I dabbed the napkin to my mouth and gave up on the salad, incredible dressing or not. “So, is this when you tell me you don’t actually have a sister?”

  His mouth hitched up on one side. “No, I do actually have a sister. Penelope Fines.”

  It was at that inopportune moment that I took a sip of the weird beer to wash away the weed aftertaste. The fizzy liquid made a quick escape out my nasal passages, leaving a significant burn in their wake. My eyes watered and I tried to cover the choking with a cough and a swallow. Dear God, he was related to Penelope?

  “You okay?” Prescott leaned over, his dark eyes assessing whether or not I needed the Heimlich maneuver.

  I waved a hand in the air to let him know I was okay, delighting in the cool breeze that hit my red cheeks. “I’m good,” I choked out.

  Prescott reached over and whacked me on the back, startling me so badly I lurched forward, my breasts hitting the place setting in front of me and rattling the whole table. All eyes went in my direction as everyone rushed to steady their drinks. I pasted on a smile and eventually they all went back to their weed salad, though Yedda kept glancing between Prescott and me, a dangerous sign.