He had really lost my contact the minute we walked out of baggage claim.
I tried to act unbothered, but it was harder than expected. Fuck yes, I was embarrassed, and a lot insulted, but more so than I wanted to admit, I was sad. Sad, when I should have been relieved that the trash took itself out before my trip really started.
I actually thought Frankie was genuine. A rare man that was easy to talk to because we both felt the same platonic chemistry on that plane. I laughed while he told me dumb fucking pilot jokes for forty-five minutes and that geriatric unmatched me because I didn’t give him head in the bathroom?
“Oh, hell no.” Nat handed my phone back to me. “Fuck that guy, he probably was married and looking for a quick fuck in the airport. When you didn’t put out he cut his losses and went home to Karen and the crotch-rockets.”
Natalia was right. It made so much sense.
I shoved the leftover basket of fries to the edge of the table and chugged the last of my drink. “Where are we going tonight?” I asked, suddenly ready to get wasted in a dingy McDonald’s parking lot if that was the only option.
“That’s my girl.” Nat flashed me a mischievous smile. “First things first, we’re doing shots.” She looked around my head and caught the eye of the waitress walking toward our table. “Then, Christmas in the motherfuckin’ Caribbean, baby. We’re getting you heavy-petted tonight.”
“Cheers to that.”
Christmas in the Caribbean was exactly what it sounded like: a themed party at a club tucked into a local casino. Nat wasn’t joking either when she said I was going to hate to love her once I got a gander at the outfits.
I walked into Jugg with my tits up to my chin in a red velvet corset, white snowball pom-poms dangling from my cinched waist. The same fluffy white material hemmed the neckline and the peplum style bottom, and Natalia and I both wore barely-there fishnet stockings that cut off mid-thigh. Santa’s wet dream.
Nat pulled me by the hand across the crowded venue, floors already sticky with alcohol that I could feel on the heels of my knee-high boots. The place was decorated to the nines, neon palm trees dotted with Christmas ornaments and string lights, sparkling green and red garland wrapped around every column and molding that shone in the dim light.
Even the wait staff was all in; cocktail waitresses wore tiny bikini tops and hula skirts, reindeer ears with little bells on top of their heads. The bartenders working the busy wooden counter dressed as elves in candy-cane leggings and pointed top hats. Standing behind a booth made to look like a grand old sled, the DJ was head to toe in a red velvet suit and white beard.
“This is legit!” I shouted at Nat over the thumping bass of music.
She nodded, swinging her hips back and forth to the beat while we both waited at the side of the bar. Our drinks came served in coconut glasses with pretty little umbrellas sticking out of the top, and just for good measure Nat ordered them as doubles with a round of tequila shots to chase. The alcohol blanketed my body in a warm buzz the second it hit my stomach.
There was just something about being blissfully drunk. That first shed layer of inhibition when all that I cared about was the company and the music. I loved the way my eyes got soft and my smile got lazy, my words flowing more seamlessly. I was more myself when I wasn't perpetually stressed.
Nat leaned over and spoke close to my ear. “Don’t make it obvious, but there’s a guy right behind you checking out your ass.”
My eyes darted to the mirror behind the bar to try to catch a glimpse of him without turning around. Strobe lights flashed off the reflection and kept me from seeing more than a cluster of bodies in red and green. “Is he hot or is he creepy? Do we need to move?”
“No, no, he’s cute. I think. He’s wearing a hat.”
I scratched the side of my neck and slowly rotated so my torso was flush to the curved bar top. “Is he still looking?” I asked out of the corner of my mouth.
“Oh yeah.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I cleared my throat, then tilted my head to the side flirtatiously as I turned toward the stranger and caught his eye for the first time.
“Love the outfit,” he greeted me, tipping his lowball rocks glass toward my coconut in cheers.
Okay, he was cute.
Long blond hair fanned out from beneath a Santa hat. He had on dark red jeans that were tucked into all black high-tops, and was totally shirtless minus two suspenders lying across his lean chest. Pointed jawline, hazel eyes. His lips were a bit thin, but his teeth were straight and white when he smiled at me as I clinked the faux coconut against his glass.
“You look way heavier in photos,” I joked, shouting at him over the music. His blank expression searched me for the explanation I didn’t think I’d have to give. “Because you’re dressed like Santa.” I pointed to his hat. “Like sexy, shirtless Santa.”
It took another second before his shoulders relaxed and his head tipped back as he laughed. “Ah! I get it. Funny.”
“Yeah, it’s probably hard to hear me over the Christmas EDM. Imagine Santa listened to this while delivering presents? Just head-banging through the Northern Lights.”
The dead-eyed, empty gaze returned like he was trying to decide if I was joking or not. As if a grown woman wearing a lingerie corset in public, on purpose, may actually still believe in Santa Claus. Behind me, Nat kicked the side of my calf.
“I don’t believe in Santa,” I said to revive the moment but quickly realized I was nursing a one-sided conversation with a cadaver.
He squinted. “Not even sexy Santa?”
Oh, thank fuck, a pulse.
I shrugged playfully. “I could possibly be swayed.”
Nat physically relaxed at my back, probably relieved she wouldn’t have to fake her period and whisk me away from my social autopsy.
“I’m Lucas,” he shouted to me.
“We probably should have started with this,” I shouted back. “Ophelia.”
“What fruity mix of juice am I ordering for you, Ophelia?”
“I’d actually like to enjoy what I’m drinking, thank you very much. I know you don’t walk around with a tumbler of Tullamore Dew because it tastes good.”
“Tullamore Dew? That’s insulting. This is Macallan.”
“Every whiskey is just a different flavor of finger paint.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, amused. “I think I need to refine your palate.”
With a satisfied grin I gestured to the bartender for another drink. Nat was still stuck to my side, swaying back and forth. I swung my arm around my girlfriend’s shoulder and pulled her toward me.
“I fucking love you, and Florida, and palm trees.” I stared up at the flickering neon lights behind the bar. “Why do I live in Colorado where it’s perpetually raining and my neighbor steals my Times right out of the mailbox every Sunday?”
“Who the actual fuck still gets a print copy of the newspaper? Christ, maybe you do belong in Fort Lauderdale.”