Page 50 of Winter Break Up
“You’ve rarely followed rules in your life,” Mercer juts in, raising his eyebrows.
“When it comes to shots and bar crawls, I follow all the rules. Happy holidays, hoes!” my brother shouts the battle cry Gen assigned us every time we take a shot, then tips his glass back.
I follow suit, cringing as the liquor slides down my throat and then lick the chocolate sauce off my wrist. The reindeer headband I have on jingles, the little bells affixed to it moving as I cough after the shot.
“These don’t get easier with each bar,” I complain.
“Good thing we’re done, because it’s the last stop!” Gen throws her arms up and starts gyrating to a sexy Christmas song—who knew those existed—before disappearing into the crowd.
When my best friend from high school proposed this bar crawl, I shied away from it. The last thing I wanted to do was drink myself silly on a random weekday during sunshine hours. Honestly, the only thing I want to do these days is spend every minute away from the farm with Mercer. But Gen pestered me, got Charlie on board, and now here we all are, three sheets to the wind in our hometown where we could bump into anyone we know.
A tray of cookie-flavored martinis makes its way to me, and I grab one, knowing it’ll thankfully be my last drink. I’ve had enough holiday-themed liquor today to last me a lifetime. Although I must admit, the festiveness of the day has me in full Christmas mode.
Everyone is dressed in Santa costumes, holiday headbands, reindeer noses, and anything else that resembles a merry tradition. We’ve been singing holiday songs all day. There has been an air of that magic of the season just floating around our group and anyone we come in contact with. Even though I mistakenly judged it at first, this bar crawl has been fabulous.
What makes it even better? The hunky guy wearing a Santa hat and tight black thermal who always has his eyes on me whenever I look his way.
Mercer stands a few stools down the bar, casually pressing a beer bottle to his lips, but his eyes are all business. They move up and down my body with unfettered perusal, and I flush with heat at his attention. He’s been doing this all day; it’s like festive foreplay using just his eyes, and I am extremely unsettled that I’ll probably explode the minute he touches me.
The crowd opens up as the DJ shouts for all the sexy elves to please find the dance floor, and suddenly, he’s stalking me as he moves closer.
“You have some chocolate syrup on the corner of your mouth and I want to lick it off.” Mercer’s eyes dilate with lust.
“That won’t make us hooking up obvious at all or anything.” I chuckle.
He moves in a smidge closer, making my core clench. I know what he can do with the tongue he wants to use to lick that sauce off my mouth, and in my tipsy state, I might just let him haul me to the bathroom.
“You smell like a Christmas cookie.”
“Gingerbread martinis.” I hold up my glass.
“Makes me want to eat you,” he murmurs, rubbing a big hand across his jaw.
God, why is it so fucking hot when he does that?
“It’s a good thing I’m going back to your place after this, then, isn’t it?” I lick around the rim of my glass, lapping up the sugar.
“Watch it, Em. I might just make you scream my name in the bathroom if you keep taunting me like this.”
We’re always on the same wavelength.
“Stop eye-fucking each other and come dance with me!” Gen pops up out of nowhere.
My cheeks burn so harshly they might be purple at this moment. My childhood best friend has to have caught on to something, or she wouldn’t be saying this. I know she won’t out Mercer and me, but it doesn’t mean I’m not embarrassed that we’re literally about to tangle our tinsel in a public restroom.
“I’ll be back.” I’m nearly breathless as she drags me off, and I can’t break eye contact with Mercer, who still looks like he wants to swallow me whole.
Gen holds my hips and makes me shake my ass to the holiday pop song until I’m laughing so hard I can barely stand up straight. The whole crowd begins to gallop around like reindeer at one interlude, which I’m not familiar with but copy because it looks so fun.
My gaze roams until I find him standing a head above the rest of the patrons. He’s still nursing that beer and rocking the Santa hat in a fashion that makes me way too horny about a fictional character who delivers presents down chimneys.
It’s not until a moment later that I recognize that he’s standing against the bar chatting with a girl.
She’s nearly as tall as him and rail thin with all the right curves and fire engine red hair. She’s outfitted in a naughty Santa outfit that barely contains her bits and is so clearly flirting with him that you’d have to be blind not to notice.
The redhead flicks her hair over her shoulder and giggles, and I watch as she almost reaches out to ghost a hand over Mercer’s arm. He must not notice this, the body language signs she’s putting out there, because he smiles good-naturedly and keeps talking.
This is how his life goes; beautiful girls come up to him all the time, and he chooses whether or not to devote more time and energy to them.