Mistletoe & Bastards (2 page)

“We can,
totally sit them at the other end of the table.”

“But not next
to Sam,” Millie announced rather emphatically. “If that cow goes
within twenty feet of Sam, I’ll be the one in jail for murder.”

Which didn’t
leave a whole number of options for seating arrangements.

I wonder if
Millie ever considered doing a ‘kiddie table’?

*****

On my way back
to the office, I stopped for the first time ever in the David Jones
Christmas shop. I don’t know why I did, seeing that I was allergic
to the thought and would most likely break out in hives, but I did
it anyway.

As I wandered
through the glittered cave, ducking my head to avoid the crystal
icicles suspended above me, and flicking my eyes over the rows and
rows of shiny things I’d never paid attention to before, I began to
think about why my friends — or the populace in general — liked
Christmas so much. It was a chance to be with family they didn’t
see often, I guess, to do special things for their friends, to show
how much they cared by spending huge amounts of money on gifts and
witnessing the delight, or otherwise, as they were unwrapped.

For me,
Christmas held no such allure. For me, it represented years of
family fights culminating in the day my father had left the house
to buy cigarettes, never to be seen again. My mother had been
carving turkey and serving potatoes for the fifteen guests at the
time. She carried on for the entire afternoon as if he was sitting
at the other end of the table, which was most awkward, and at age
nine, I’d not only felt embarrassed by the display but also
extremely hurt. I’d always been daddy’s girl. His leaving felt like
a personal rejection, one that led to a lifetime mistrust of
men.

Especially, one
particular person. Johnny.

I walked along
a row of shelving, stopping to pick up a glass bauble with a cheeky
porcelain elf inside that seemed to be grinning at me in the exact
same way Johnny loved to.

God, he got
under my skin. I’d tried hard not to let him but ever since I’d
kissed him at Sam and Millie’s wedding, he’d been invading my
dreams. Some nights I’d wake up practically orgasmic after he’d
been in my head. Then I’d lay there all night worrying about this
paradox of me liking him but knowing it went against every boundary
I’d ever set for myself. Johnny was a letch and a sleaze and so
desperate he’d hook up with anything that had legs. It meant
nothing when me told me he loved me. He told every woman in Perth
that in the hope they’d cave and go to bed with him. Yet, there I
was, weak and pathetic, thinking about Johnny’s gorgeous face and
rugged body. Again. Constantly.

I put the
bauble back in its box and walked further along the row trying to
force him from my head.

Argghhh
.
Why I’d ever locked lips with him was beyond me. What I did know
for certain, though, was that I had no intention of ever doing it
again. Not even if he actually turned into Leonardo diCaprio in his
sleep.

Okay, well
maybe then.

Leonardo was
incredibly hot.

“
Deck the
hall with boughs of holly... Fa la la la la la la la la...”

‘Tis the season
with too much jolly… Blah, blah blah.

I sat at the
makeshift bar, nursing an empty glass of red and looking at the
festive scene around me. This year’s work Christmas do was like a
suited version of Saturday night at the Hornet’s clubrooms — music
blaring, girls singing badly and old guys in the corner reminiscing
with their ties flipped over their shoulders so as not to dip them
in their drinks. Then there were the young ones downing shots along
the other end of the bar. Not to mention, my P.A. Julie, who was
doing her best to latch onto the bike courier. He had to be about,
oh, twenty years Julie’s junior. It was worse than watching Simmo
make eyes at that big stuffed bear in the clubrooms after he’d had
a few.

Shaking my
head, I gazed into my glass. It was like being in a nuthouse at
this time of year but I supposed the Christmas season was like
that. People behaved in unpredictable ways. They used the
photocopier to take pictures of their bums; they wore ridiculous
outfits around the office that they wouldn’t be seen dead in any
other time of the year; they sang Christmas tunes even if they
couldn’t sing. Bloody loons. They were all insane.

“Hey Mel.”

And case in
point.

I looked up
from my glass as Johnny sidled up to the bar and sat down on an
empty stool beside me. He’d changed from his office attire and was
wearing a pair of dark denims and a deep red t-shirt that, despite
the fact it showed every rippling muscle in his torso, was
overshadowed by the slogan,
Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas
is your list of naughty girls…

Fabulous. All I
needed was for Johnny to jump on the festive bandwagon. Who the
hell was I going to not give a shit about Christmas with now?

“Are you
kidding with that t-shirt?” I asked, ignoring his cheery hello. “Do
you purposely get off on making women loathe you?”

“You don’t hate
me.”

“I think you
underestimate the level of dislike I have for you, Johnny. I’m good
at keeping it hidden.”

Johnny let me
have his sexiest smile. My insides quivered even though I told them
not to.

“You kissed me.
More than once if I remember correctly.”

And hadn’t that
been the mistake of the century. Sure, I couldn’t deny Johnny was a
great kisser and there was something about him that heated up every
inch of me when our lips met, but he was such a fool, an idiot and
soooo
immature. Seriously, the man had just whipped a Santa
hat from god knows where and was sitting next to me adjusting it on
his head. I knew it was probably another of his lame attempts to
pick up women and I had to give him points for persistence but I
could never be with a man like that. I’d spend my entire life
cringing in corners.

Seemingly
unperturbed by what I supposed was the disgusted look on my face,
Johnny pulled a flat red box tied with shiny green ribbon from the
small backpack at his feet. He held it out. “For you, my
sweet.”

“What’s this?”
I glanced down at the box. It was quite large, with a gaudy red
bauble perched on top of the bow. I was almost too afraid to look
inside.

“I thought you
might like to join the rest of the world. In case you hadn’t
noticed, it’s Christmas. You’re meant to be happy.”

It was a sweet
gesture, and not one I’d expect from a man who spent his Saturdays
pummelling other men into the mud and then drinking beer with them
afterwards. But that was Johnny for you. One minute he was behaving
like a five-year-old and the next he was being very sweet and
genuinely charming, so much so that at times he could pass for a
man who cared a damn.

“What have I
done to deserve this?”

“Nothing. You
never do anything. You’re just you. Bitch from hell—”

A small smile
tugged at the edges of my mouth. That much was true. I had been a
bit of a cow lately — okay, so I was a cow most of the time. But I
was a woman in a man’s world. I’d been let down by the one man who
meant more to me than anything. I had a lifetime mistrust of men
that had hardened my heart to the point where it was easier to be
brash and rude and keep people at arm’s length than it was to let
them in.

“—Happy
Christmas.”

I softened at
the gentle smile on Johnny’s face. It was one I rarely saw and it
made me realise I probably could be a little nicer to these people
I called my friends; loosen up a little. Johnny was always there
for us. As a friend he was the best — loyal, kind, funny. Maybe I
should try to be more like him?

Eww
. Had
I just thought that?

“It’s kind of
you. Sometimes you must even surprise yourself with such bursts of
generosity. What’s inside?” I pulled the ribbon from the box and
lifted the lid.

“It’s just a
bit of a laugh.”

I held the gift
— a t-shirt that matched Johnny’s — in front of me, my eyes taking
in the words and image printed on the front.

Dear Santa, All
I want for Christmas is enough wine to get me through Christmas.
Please.

It was like
he’d read my mind and despite the fact that it was an utterly
ridiculous gift, it seemed to have achieved the desired result of
making me lighten up. I felt rather more buoyant than I had two
minutes ago. To know that there was one person in the world who had
gone out of his way to make me smile made me feel warm inside. And
a bit gooey.

I never felt
gooey.

I folded the
t-shirt and put it back in the box. Then, leaning over, I kissed
Johnny’s cheek and gave his knee an affectionate rub. “Thanks. You
didn’t have to go to the trouble, but thanks.”

Johnny’s hand
reached down and came to rest on top of my own. Suddenly, his eyes
were gazing intensely into mine and I noticed flecks of grey within
the vivid blue. I’d never paid that much attention to his eyes
before. They were quite beautiful.

“Is everything
okay?” he asked, his stare reaching a place inside me I hadn’t
known I possessed. I wished he’d stop. It was unnerving.

“Why?”

“You’re off
your game. Normally, you’d have called me a degenerate fuckwit by
now and hit me with my own present.”

“Normally you’d
be behaving like one.”

Johnny looked
around the room and raised his glass to our boss. “I’m on my best
behaviour. New job and all that. What’s your excuse?”

“I hate
Christmas.”

“Whoa. Big
call. T’is the season to be jolly.” He cocked an ear to the music
and chuckled at his own joke. Then he stilled. “Look, I know how
shitful this time of year is for you. That’s why I got you the
present. I thought it might give you a laugh.”

That was one
way of putting it.

“But if I’d
known I was gonna get such a positive reaction — as in lip action —
I’d have bought you the matching bra and knickers. I can see you in
red fur.”

And there was
the real Johnny Jones.

“Don’t push
your luck.”

“So a shag’s
out of the question, then?” His voice was no more than a deep and
raspy whisper that sent tingles of desire through my body,
unlocking a feeling I’d buried a long time back. His blue eyes
began to twinkle with something rather dirty and lustful and for a
minute — only a minute — I was almost tempted.

Then I
remembered it was Johnny.

Lothario of the
highest order. Man to never be trusted.

I straightened
and removed my hand from his knee. “You never let it go, do you?
Tell me again how you managed to weasel your way into my workplace?
There’s at least twenty big name law firms in town, and you choose
mine.”

“Maybe I
couldn’t stay away from you any longer.”

“Or maybe no
one else would have you.” I snorted.

Johnny
shrugged. “Want another drink?”

I watched as
Johnny handed a couple of notes to the barman who took the glasses
away and replaced them with filled fresh ones. Johnny’s hands were
smooth and large and for a fleeting second my mind began to drift,
wondering how they would feel on my body.

Eww
.
Ugh
. Stop! I was doing it again. I couldn’t be having lewd
thoughts about Johnny’s hands. It was well,
eww
. Grabbing
the t-shirt from the box, I jumped off my stool.

Then I saw that
twinkle in his eye again. “You were perving on my hands.”

Now, he’d think
I wanted him. Which I didn’t. Okay, I did but I wasn’t willing to
own it just yet. It was Johnny, for God’s sake.

“Don’t be
ridiculous… I’m, er, going to the toilet to change into this
top.”

“Bet you were
wondering what I could do with them,” I heard him call after me.
“How about I come to the toilets and show you?”

“How about you
don’t.”

Clearly, Johnny
forgotten that Millie had ended up pregnant with twins after her
and Sam’s little adventure in the toilet a few months back. I had
no intention of becoming the second victim. Ignoring his guffaw, I
raced for the safety of the toilets.

*****

A short while
later and feeling more in the Christmas mood, I sat back down at
Johnny’s side. He’d lined up two tequila shots for each of us and a
red wine chaser.

“Are you trying
to get me drunk?”

“If it means
you’ll stop acting like the bitch from hell.” He picked up his
tequila. “Bottoms up.”

I followed
suit, quickly sucking on the lime afterwards. Not that it stopped
my throat from burning like hell. I think it may actually have lost
all feeling.

Johnny picked
up the second shot. “Slammer,” he noted. “Tequila with a touch of
lemonade. Swirl, swirl, slam and skull.” He demonstrated, following
the act with the smile he reserved for unsuspecting girls on a
Saturday night. Luckily, I was not unsuspecting. I copied, feeling
the warm sting of the tequila in my throat and the buzz moving to
my brain. If we kept it up at this pace I’d be on my ear in ten
minutes. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Two bite sized squares of
Christmas chocolate and a few hors d’oeuvres didn’t constitute a
meal that would soak up alcohol.

“Better now?”
Johnny asked.

“Much. I had a
bit of a sore throat until I drank that. I think you’ve cured
it.”

“Anything for a
damsel in distress.”

I gave Johnny a
look, picked up my fresh glass of wine and took a sip. If I hadn’t
known better, I’d have said he meant that, that he was being nice
to me. I decided not to comment.

“What do you
think?” I indicated the shirt, which I’d attempted to nullify the
silliness of by tucking it into the waistband of my black pencil
skirt.