Every year I prayed they’d forget about it.
Who ever heard of a year-end party in February? Granted, the medical examiner’s office was especially busy during the holidays, so we’d never been able to hold one around that time. February sixteenth was the furthest out we’d ever gone in the five years I’d worked here.
“Do I have to go? Micah gets handsy when he’s drunk.” Micah was one of the ME’s assistants. Nice guy, decent looking, but I wasn’t interested in him. Plus, in his drunkenness, he was an equal opportunity groper.
She laughed, smiling as she shook her head. “I’ll be there to pry him off.”
“Then he’ll just latch onto you.”
She nodded. “True, but I could use a little loving, and he’s not bad looking.”
“Cougar.”
She gasped. “He’s only three years younger than me.” I grinned up at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Enough. Tell me where you are and get out.”
With a brief description of where I left off and what samples were in the centrifuge, I headed to my locker. Purse out, lab coat in, and I was gone.
In what felt like seconds later I was face down on my bed, sprawled out on top of the comforter, scrubs still on. I didn’t care how I got home, only that I was, and I could finally sleep.
The incessant beeping of my phone going off pried me from my deep sleep. I patted around the bed trying to locate it, half seeing out of my sleep covered eyes to turn it off.
Four in the afternoon.
It was my usual time for getting up if I was working the night shift, but it was my week for day shifts, and tonight was the party.
My face scrunched up, and I nuzzled against my comforter. All I wanted to do was cuddle on my couch, maybe watch a movie and order a pizza.
The phone next to me beeped again, this time with a text from Marcy telling me to get up. Or more precisely…
Get your ass out of bed. Don’t make me come get you.
I pushed against the bed, propping myself up. Bright lines danced across the floor as my curtains blew in front of the window.
As I stood, aches in my body protested all movement. Every part of me was stiff. A bend of my neck led to a snap, crackle, some pops, and a lot of relief.
My feet shuffled across the floor, dragging as I made my way into the bathroom. The reflection greeting me in the mirror was horrific.
What was I saying about zombies earlier?
My strawberry blonde hair was still in the ponytail I’d put it up in, but it was a wild mess of loose strands. At least the dark circles were gone from under my baby blues.
A shower later, and color returned to my pale skin. Life seemed to be flowing through me again, doubly so when the numbers on the clock read much later than I expected.
Adrenaline pumped through me, driving me like a mad woman as I dried my hair at super speed before going through my closet.
I pulled out the few dresses I owned, all of them from the Digby days. Two were nixed due to being too fancy, another three because they were summer dresses. What remained was a cap sleeved flared dress and a body hugging, long sleeved sweater dress.
Due to the cold weather, the sweater dress won, and I decided to pair it with my knee-high boots.
So what if the front zipped up? And that Digby had pulled it down with his teeth before fucking me on his desk in the middle of a Christmas party?
Maybe the dress would get lucky again. I wouldn’t be against it. A little live action in my nether regions. Just not with Micah.
Hair? Check.
Dress? Check.
Drink to calm my nerves and help get my ass there? There was an atrocity happening in my kitchen—the rum was gone. Along with the vodka and amaretto.
There were a few small shot-size bottles of rum somewhere. After finding them stuffed in the egg carrier in the fridge, I tossed them in my purse.
Eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, and out the door.
Only ten minutes late, but it wasn’t like I had to be there exactly at six.
Fifteen minutes later I was parked and slowly walking toward the hotel bar, downing my tiny bottles of rum while convincing myself the necessity of my being there.
“Wow, Paisley, you look hot.” Marcy walked toward me, her short bob of brunette hair curled and pinned, bouncing with each step.
“Have you looked in the mirror?” I looked her up and down. “Damn, girl!”
A blush spread across her cheeks, and she smiled. Marcy was always self-conscious about her weight, but the skintight cocktail dress she wore highlighted her curves in all the right ways.
“Your tits look great.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.
She slapped me with her clutch. “I’m still your boss.”
I shrugged. “What? It’s a compliment. You know I like the sausage.”
Her brow quirked, and she stared at me for a moment. “Did you start drinking already?”
My gaze bounced around the room, glancing over to the trash can that held the two recently emptied bottles of rum. “Maybe.”
“You have loose lips when you do. Come on.” She waved at me to follow her into the hotel’s bar.