"See you around."
He turned and headed back towards where some of his friends were standing. They were a mixed group and quickly matching up couples, it seemed he was there by himself, and not as half of a pair. Much to my delight.
I stuck his card into the folds of my purse then headed back to the condo, fully intent on jumping my boyfriend. Unfortunately for me, he was in the middle of one of his dry-heaving spells and that kind of put a damper on my plans.
So I loaded him up with Nyquil then drew a nice hot bath and had some quality time to myself and the jacuzzi jets. And the mental image of Jonathan Reilly between my legs.
* * *
That was almost twelve months ago. Egads, I didn't realise how much time has passed. Twelve freakin' months. This year has just flown by. Mom told me this would happen: graduate from college, get a job and the next thing you know; you're about to turn thirty. It hasn't quite been that long, but you know what I mean. The days do seem to run together.
Mom was wrong about one thing, though: I'm twenty-five and single. There were no apparent prospects as far as my love life goes. After the ski trip, Britt and I broke up. We were never that serious. I think we stayed together because we were bored. Still, neither of us fought very hard for each other, and when we broke up I was more relieved than sad. Of course, that meant that I had to get back "out there" if I wanted anything other than the single life.
Not that I'm complaining. I go out with my girlfriends. I've got a good job. I don't understand all those girls who think that within two years of getting their MBA, they have to be someone's wife and start making babies.
Me? I kind of like being single. Of course, in five more years when all my friends are married and have young families, I'll probably change my tune, but for now, I like my life the way it is.
"Got any plans for Christmas?" Annette asked me after the Thanksgiving holidays. She sits two cubicles over from me. She's in her early thirties and divorced with two kids. Her folks live in Louisiana and she goes home to visit them every year around the holidays.
"Nope," I replied. "This year's been a busy blur and I just don't think I've got the energy for a big Christmas."
"Aren't you going home?"
"Naw, now that my brother is off to the Air Force Academy, my parents are taking a Christmas cruise. No one will be home."
"Did they invite you?"
"Nope." I let out an envious snort. "They've got empty nest fever and are taking full advantage of us being gone to make up for all the years of family drama hell that follows us around this time of year."
"Why don't you come to Natchitoches with us," she offered. "The house is big enough."
"No, thanks," I smiled appreciatively. "I don't have any vacation time left."
That much is true. Our company sucks as far as benefits go. I get ten days of paid time off each year. If I work here another five years, I get five more days. At least I have a job I like.
I went home that afternoon and went through my usual evening activities. A stack of Christmas cards were waiting in my mailbox, reminding me that I needed to send mine out. I hate writing Christmas letters; all they do is remind me of what I procrastinated and didn't do, completions and connections from last year that are un-done, like my ski-shop encounter.
My apartment is a quiet place; I live alone but in a nice complex with lots of singles and a few families. I had a wreath on the door, and some lights on the balcony, but not too much. I was just feeling kind of, well . . . blah.
I sent out regret RSVPs to all of the Christmas parties. I only went to the one through work, and that wasn't much of a party, at least for me. The last thing I want is to get blitzed along with my co-workers or do anything stupid in front of my boss. So, no thanks, to all of my invites.
Leave it to everyone else to deck those halls, trim those trees and raise a cup of Christmas cheer. I just needed to catch my breath with a nice quiet Christmas by myself this year.
The view from my kitchen almost makes up for how small the place is. Especially when the first snow of the year has fallen. Where the year before was unseasonably warm, this winter was starting out with a brutal arctic blast.
Beginning after Thanksgiving, about six inches of snow had fallen, leaving a nice calendar-quality view of the pond and woods outside my window, the frozen landscape eerily quiet, yet beautiful.
It warmed up, a little melted and then more snow came, and that pattern refreshed itself for the next month. So just outside my apartment, the ground was still pristine and white, unsullied by the footprints, sled trails and dirt that would appear over the next couple of days, and from the second floor of my building, I get nice panoramic views of the snow. Even though I wasn't doing anything big, I was still going to enjoy the romanticism of having a nice white Christmas.
I heated up a cup of hot cocoa in the Keurig, then went through my mail.
Bills. Bills. LL Bean catalog. Bills. Credit card application. Bills. DMV notice to renew my licence plates.
The only non-bill/non-junk mail I got was from my friend Christina. I ripped it open and found a nice Christmas card along with a picture from our beach trip over the summer.
I smiled at the memory of most of the trip, then winced when I recalled how sunburned I got on an afternoon which was just overcast enough to make me forget to wear any sunscreen. I didn't think too much about it until I remembered the aborted date Jonathan and I were supposed to have that weekend.
We ran into each other a couple of times through work, but our timing was always off. We couldn't even find time for a lunch date when we were both free.
Either he was traveling, or I had a meeting, and then there was a couple week span when it seemed like he started seeing someone, even though that didn't last.
We tried to keep in touch; we were Facebook friends, whatever that entails. It seemed like we were always promising to get together or call, but nothing worked out.
When we finally could get together, we both happened to be at the beach over Memorial Day weekend and he invited us to hang out on a boat one of his friends was renting, but then my third-degree sunburn put a stop to that real quick.
By the time I stopped peeling and thought about trying to arrange that date, I got offered a nice three month detail to the corporate office in San Diego. Of course I took it.
It was the best move for me professionally. I got to network within my own company as well as around several others, and I found out they were grooming me to be the project lead for some big initiative they were going to roll out the next year. That meant a raise (and maybe more vacation time!) and three months in southern California on an expense account. But it put a serious crimp in my social life.
When I got back in town, it was just before Halloween. I scrounged together a costume and tried to get Jonathan to come along, and then Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. struck again and blew up the transmission in my would-be date's car.
So that sucked.
He was apologetic, but once again, we couldn't find a time when we both were free.
Thanksgiving rolled up on me out of nowhere and work seemed to envelop my life. I don't know why it is that people think just because I'm single that they can drop all their crap on me, but that's what happened.
I ended up working a ton of extra hours as my co-workers took off around the holidays. I didn't complain too much; instead of working for overtime, I took the extra hours as comp time in case I wanted to save them up for a nice big vacation in the future.
And it let me stockpile favors I could call in down the road.
Still, it meant that my date with Jonathan Reilly would have to wait until another month before I could even think about trying again.
Christmas Eve day came around, and the office was a ghost town. It was very nice. No conference calls. No meetings. My phone didn't ring. I actually got work done.
A foot of snow had fallen the night before leading some people to call in. The city did a pretty good job of keep
ing the roads clear, and I only have a two block walk over to the light rail, then a short ride out to the park and ride. When it's warm, I actually walk the mile or so from my apartment to the transit station, but not today.
Bundled up tight for the brief time I was exposed to the elements, I was hardly dashing through the snow as I came in to work that day.
"Go home," my boss passed through the office just after lunch, giving those of us who showed up half a day off with pay. He stopped in my door, "Got any big plans for Christmas?"
"Nope; I think I'll miss this one this year," I shut down my computer and gathered up my things before he changed his mind.
"Well, Merry Christmas, Veronica!" he called and went on to see to those in the rest of the building. I guess there's really nothing nice to say when you hear that they're not doing anything on a holiday.
So I trudged on home to celebrate in a quiet way and unwind, doing Christmas by myself this time.
I set my things down and took of my coat, gloves and scarf. My apartment was cold, and since I was home early, I had to manually override the automatic thermostat to warm the place up.
With a sigh, I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on the TV and tried to decide if I was going to wallow in self-pity for more than an hour. I just wanted this winter over with!
My parents were off on their Hawaiian cruise. My brother was doing whatever it is they do over the holidays at a service academy. All of my friends were with their families.
The Yule Log was playing on one channel, and the 24 hours of A Christmas Story wouldn't start for a couple of hours.
I made the mistake of checking my Facebook and was immediately repulsed by pictures of everyone's happy families. Don't get me wrong; I don't begrudge anyone having a Christmas with their loved ones.
It's just that I wasn't in that place, and I didn't want to see it.
So I did the only sensible thing that came to mind: I got out my Christmas Vacation DVD, polished off the bottle of wine and fell asleep on my couch.
* * *
I awoke in a better mood. It was Christmas, after all.
A hot shower took away the crick in my neck. My parents still buy me presents, even though my wish list isn't very big.
They had arrived over the previous week and were piled up in the corner next to the television. I had a little three foot artificial Christmas tree set up on an end table with a string of lights, four ornaments and a star topper on it. I resisted the urge to open them, instead waiting until my parents called, so we could do something together on Christmas.
My brother called a little before noon. He was stuck at the Air Force Academy, but they were doing something for the cadets. Tony didn't have long, but it was good to hear his voice.
After that, I lounged around for a bit before starting on dinner.
A&P had provided me with the world's smallest turkey, so I prepped him as my mother and grandmother had taught me. There was stuffing to go in the bird. I washed and peeled a handful of potatoes. I would make gravy once the turkey was out of the oven and then viola! instant Christmas dinner for one.
Only . . .
I got him the oven, nice and hot, then . . . You guessed it: Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. You suck.
"Oh, damn!" It's a good thing I live alone because that was followed by a stream of unlady-like curses. Guess what I forgot!?!?!
So on with the boots and out in the snow to the only all-night grocery I could find. Not only did I have to go to the store, but I had to walk. Almost another foot of snow was covering my car and I wasn't about to dig it out.
Luckily, there is a convenience store and gas station about half a mile from my place, so that was my big Christmas Day excursion.
The sun was hiding behind the clouds and The Weather Channel made it sound like more snow was coming, so I tried to hurry.
There were a couple of cars in the parking lot. I went in looking for the food aisles, hoping they'd have the one ingredient I was lacking for a proper Christmas dinner, probably at about twice the price of a regular supermarket.
I resisted the urge to buy anything extra, like the camouflage emergency flashlight that was on a display by the register or the CD of Christmas polkas, when my jaw hit the floor.
At first, I thought the cold was causing me to hallucinate because what to my wondering eyes should appear?
It was Jonathan Reilly, that guy I've been chasing all year!
He was two people ahead of me in line, and after paying, he turned just enough to notice me. Our eyes met and he broke into a wide smile.
"I'm spending this one alone," he said, as if to rationalise standing by himself on Christmas Day at the Circle K. "I need a break, this year's been crazy!"
I said, "Me, too, but why are you . . .? You mean you forgot cranberries, too?"
Then suddenly we laughed and he reached out to give me a warm hug.
"Have you got dinner plans?" he motioned with his bag. He didn't just have cranberries, he had what was trying to pass for a Christmas dinner. From a gas station.
"I do," I replied. "And you are not going home to that."
"What do you mean?" he blushed.
I snorted and stepped up to the register so I could pay for my jellied cranberry sauce.
"Where's your car?" he asked as we were on the way out.
After waving in the general direction of my apartment complex, I took the turkey dinner in a box out of his hands and ungraciously threw it in the garbage can by the door. Yeah, that was me being a bitch. He was either too stunned or too pissed that I had just thrown out his dinner to say anything. But when he saw my scowl, he let the matter drop.
"You walked here?" Jonathan asked incredulously, and then steered me in the direction of a very nice BMW sedan. "I'm driving you home."
It turns out he has four-wheel drive and I had him park in an empty spot in the guest section of the parking lot the superintendent had cleared out earlier in the day.
Like a gentleman, he opened the door for me and walked me to my apartment.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" I asked. In fact, I was going to insist since I needed to make up for robbing him of his dinner.
"I'd be delighted," his charming smile made my pulse race and my palms sweat.
The aroma of the turkey filled my little apartment. He gave me a token offer to help with the dinner, but I shooed him away from my kitchen. Pretty much all I had left to do was make mashed potatoes and gravy.
"So when can I take you out for lunch?" he asked as I handed him a bottle of wine and the corkscrew.
"The way our luck is going, this may be it until next year," I sighed.
He poured two glasses and held one out for me. "Then here's to our big date!"
We toasted one another and I downed half of mine in one gulp.
Familiar carols and pop songs played on the television as the virtual Yule Log burned. The sun was setting outside and the glow of the neighbours's Christmas lights shone through the windows of my apartment.
"So what do you usually do for Christmas?" I asked, checking the thermometer on the bird.
"We usually go over to my grandma's for dinner, but she fell and broke her hip in July, so they had to move her to a nursing home," Jonathan winced. "Most of my family is going there for dinner."
"So why didn't you go?" I asked. Yeah, that wasn't the best question to ask, but I'm blaming the wine.
"I was going to fly out on Tuesday, but something came up at work and I couldn't make my flight. I tried to get a flight yesterday, but this blizzard came through and shut down half the east coast."
"First Christmas by yourself?" I asked.
"Yeah," he shrugged.
"Me, too," I raised my glass before downing the rest. "To us lonely souls on Christmas."
"Here, here!"
And then he poured more wine.
"What about you?" he asked. "No big plans?"
"Not this year," I frowned. "Mom and Dad are in Hawaii right now. My brother
is off at school. This is all the excitement I'm good for."
"Well, I'm happy you invited me over," he said warmly and his charming smile sent a jolt from the tip of my nose to right between my legs. He raised his glass again. "Here's to you saving me from salmonella on Christmas!"
We made more small talk as I finished up with dinner. I had enough to easily feed the both of us, although depending on how much Jonathan ate, it might cut into my coveted stock of leftovers.
He graciously continued to offer to help, but it wasn't necessary and truly, I was grateful just for the company on what would have been an otherwise lonely night for me.
Jonathan opened a second bottle of wine as I carved up the turkey. It turned out that he's a breast man and I'm a dark meat girl . . . um, interpret that anyway you want.
Our magnificent feast consisted of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing and the canned cranberry sauce from the store. Yes, I eat canned jellied cranberry sauce with my home-cooked turkey dinners.
Stop judging me.
A small pumpkin pie and tub of Cool Whip sat out on the counter for dessert. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for the two of us.
I cleared off one end of my dining room table and set a pair of candles out.
"Merry Christmas," Jonathan said, our wine glasses klinking together again.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he hadn't had a home cooked meal in months because he ate more than I expected, all the while raving about my mad culinary skillz.
As our evening wore on, I noticed he was quick to ask about me and didn't brag too much on himself. Nor did he spend half the night staring at his cell phone. Or my chest.
When we were done, he elbowed his way into the kitchen to help clean up, a duty I was more than happy to turn over to him, once I had packed up the leftovers into airtight containers.
For you guys reading this, if you want to turn a woman on: try doing housework without complaining or fishing for sympathy or affirmation.
It will give your wife or girlfriend a chore-gasm, and I guarantee you will get lucky.
Erotic Stories Page 39
