Page 1 of Holiday Hostilities
1
OLIVIA
May
I’ve played out this moment—the moment we come face to face again—in my mind so many times over the years that I can barely keep track of my own fantasies anymore.
In one iteration of my deliciously spite-laden daydreams, I have supremely shiny, unfrizzy hair and perfect glass skin, while he, in turn, is sporting a huge new facial wart.
In another, I swan back into his life on the arm of some nameless, faceless NFL player—he’s not a football fan, is a hockey freak through and through—who’s both taller and broader than he is, and who subsequently challenges him to an arm wrestling competition. Which he loses, obviously.
He was always a sore loser.
One of my personal favorites is the one where he gets on his knees and grovels for me to pay him a lick of attention, but in doing so, slips and faceplants into some readily waiting dirt. Or dog poop. I’m not too picky.
All of them are good, if a little (lot) childish and petty.
But in not a single one of my daydreams about seeing Aaron Marino in the flesh again do I have a massive wedgie.
Clearly, reality can be much crueler than fiction. Because here I am, finally living in this moment, and all I can think is…
Wow, I really should have worn a thong tonight.
Well, that and the very unwelcome—yet very undeniable—observation that those luminous green eyes of his would be ever so pretty if they weren’t lodged in the skull of my ex-high school nemesis who’s now known as Atlanta’s biggest playboy. Well, second biggest, if I’m being accurate. Even I can’t deny that Aaron’s teammate, Dallas Cooper, wears that particular crown. I’ve never even met the guy, but his reputation precedes him.
Clearly, hockey players are all cut from the same cloth. And said cloth is a nasty poly-blend that’s entirely sweaty and unbreathable and bound to give you a rash. Likely in your nether regions.
My fantasies of seeing Aaron again never made it past my initial moment of retribution. They were mostly just a way to pass time when I was jet lagged and lying wide awake in bed after a long flight. And honestly, my mental vitriol aside, a part of me really did believe that time was a healer. Believed so many years had passed that, when I actually saw him again, my hatred towards the cocky Aaron Marino of my high school days might have dampened into more of a mild distaste for the pro athlete he is today.
But now that we’re here and we’ve locked eyes, the telltale glint in his makes me doubt that very much.
As much as I know I shouldn’t stare, I can’t help but continue to soak in the sight of Aaron, casually perched on a barstool across the club’s VIP area. He’s filled out over the years and is more solid and brawny than the teenage version of himself, all lingering traces of boyhood vanished and replaced with one hundred percentman. He’s grown into his facial features, hisstrong nose and angular chin annoyingly chiseled, like he’s some kind of Greek-god-adjacent scoundrel.
He’s hot,dammit. Even hotter than I remember.
So much for my dreams of facial warts.
Right now, he’s talking to a very pretty brunette in a black dress, but his eyes stay fixed on me. I keep my gaze on him, not wanting to be the one to break first.
We hold our stare for a second.
Two.
Three.
Twenty-seven.
Who even knows?
Time slips away until, finally, he turns towards the brunette and says something to her. She then turns to look at me.
My mouth goes dry as I try to appear cool, confident, casual. Act like I am totally used to frequenting uber-cool nightclubs with teams of professional athletes, and like the slinky silver mini dress I picked out for tonight doesn’t suddenly feel gaudy and obnoxious in comparison to the sleek black one Aaron’s female companion is wearing.
Betshehad the foresight to wear appropriately sexy and non-butt-munching underwear.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress and remind myself that I don’t have to be this nervous, because I don’t have to talk to the man. We can coexist in the same nightclub without crossing paths. He’s probably totally indifferent to me being here tonight—which is exactly how I should feel, too.
I look away from Aaron and his date to see the infamous Dallas Cooper knock my brother Jake’s elbow before flashing me a flirtatious grin. “So, this is the legendary little sister, huh, Griz?”