Cupid Has a Heart-On (The Holidays #2) (11 page)

“Jesus, Bobbie,” Reggie groans, turning his body all the way around to face the stairs behind us so he’s not tempted to look anywhere else.

“Why don’t you just ask him to stop?” I question, bringing one hand up to the side of my face to shield my eyes.

“And crush the poor man’s heart? That’s just cruel. He’ll run out of poems and semen to fertilize my lawn with eventually,” Bobbie says with a shrug.

Bev starts apologizing to Pinky all over again about her rude family, and I turn around to face the stairs with Reggie when she pulls her past all of us and down the hall into the kitchen to get her something to eat.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the garage until tomorrow,” Reggie announces, stalking out the front door behind Aunt Bobbie, who went out to sit in my truck and wait for me to give her a ride to my place.

Giving Noel a kiss that is entirely too short for my liking, interrupted by Aunt Bobbie laying on the horn of my truck out in the driveway, I back away from her toward the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise,” Noel says. “And thanks for not looking at the stripper. I would have punched you in the neck if you looked at her tits.”

“I KNEW IT! I knew it was a test!” I shout in victory as she blows me a kiss before heading off into the kitchen to help her mother feed the stray stripper.

At this point, we might have to leave the country to get a minute alone so we can talk. Come hell or high-water, or another random stripper coming to stay, we
will
talk tomorrow.

Front Butt

Noel

“I
s that really
what you’re wearing?” my mother asks, one eyebrow lifting as she takes in my outfit of choice.

I glance down at myself, my nerves out of control as it is without my mother’s judgment.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Black pencil skirt and a white button-down with a wide black belt. It’s a standard interview outfit.”

She scoffs and shakes her head at me. “The clothing choice is fine, I’m referring to the granny shoes on your feet. You should borrow something from Pinky. She has very nice taste in shoes.”

I ignore her comment, and the half-dressed woman who walks into the hallway in a short, white silk robe with matching white, furry, heeled slippers on her feet and her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

“There’s a foot of snow on the ground. I’m not going to chance breaking my neck before I even get to Happy Greetings. These two-inch black pumps are just fine,” I tell her, trying to calm my racing heart while attempting not to stare at Pinky as she watches us and sips her coffee.

How is it possible someone can make drinking coffee look sexy? I was joking when I told Sam I was glad he didn’t look at Pinky last night because honestly, I’m not insecure about the way I look. But Jesus, I don’t stand a chance standing next to a stripper with fake boobs and even faker lips who looks like she’s about ready to give her cup of Joe a blow job.

“I do have a pair of thigh-high, black stiletto boots that would look fabulous with that skirt,” Pinky tells me with a smile. “We look to be about the same size so I’m sure they’d fit.”

Yeah, same size in shoes only since my tits aren’t bigger than the Grand Canyon and my waist isn’t the width of a twig.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Pinky, but I think I’ll pass.”

She shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind. I also have a really cute pair with clear heels that you can put a goldfish in.”

“Oooooh, that sounds fun!” my mother exclaims. “Can I borrow those later? Reggie would get a kick out of them. I could do a whole goldfish theme and make him eat goldfish crackers off of my-”

“Mom!” I interrupt. “What did I tell you about oversharing?”

Glancing at my watch, I realize I still have an hour before I need to leave the house for my interview. An entire hour of staring at Stripper Barbie and listening to my mother discuss her sex life with my father. I start pacing in the living room, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt.

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous. Aside from your shoe selection, they’re going to love you,” my mother tells me.

“I’m nervous because this is a big deal. Sam got me this interview, and I can’t screw it up. I have to make a good impression.”

Aunt Bobbie walks into the room and shoves a glass of water at me, holding her palm out that has a little pill resting in the middle of it. “Here, take this.”

I step back and shake my my head at her. “I’m not taking drugs before an interview, are you insane?!”

Aunt Bobbie scoffs, thrusting her hand toward me. “Quit being a little bitch and take it. It’s a Xanax, not meth. It will just take the edge off so you don’t go in there and screw everything up.”

“I love Xanax. I used to take it all the time when I first started stripping. I was so self-conscious about my body and it really helped,” Pinky informs me.

“That reminds me, don’t make any plans for after your interview. Pinky is going to give us a pole dancing lesson!” my mother says with a smile, glancing over at Pinky. “Will we need to be naked for this? Should I have Reggie pick up some more firewood for the fireplace so we don’t get cold?”

Grabbing the little pill from Aunt Bobbie’s hand and the glass of water she’s still holding out to me, I down it quickly and hand the empty glass back to her.

“Good girl. Now you’ll be nice and relaxed and they’ll hire you on the spot,” she tells me with a pat on the head like I’m a puppy.

She walks out of the room to take the glass into the kitchen and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can already feel my nervousness slipping away and I start going over all of the things I’ll say during the interview to dazzle them. I really, really need this job so I can get the hell out of this house.

At this point, I’d take a job at McDonald’s flipping burgers just to get a minute alone with Sam. Not only am I freaking out about landing this job, I’m freaking out about how crazy Sam has been acting lately. Getting his nipple pierced because he’s under the impression I don’t think he’s enough of a man? Where in the hell did THAT come from? I mean, it’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but really? And he hasn’t even mentioned us living together in days. Not one word, when up until our fight, he brought it up every chance he could.

So, not only am I freaking out about getting a job, I’m freaking out about Sam changing his mind about wanting to live with me. Which I know, makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world since I want to be officially engaged before we live together, and even though I was getting annoyed with him bringing it up all the time, it was still nice to be asked. And feel wanted.

I really suck and need to get my shit together.

“I’m going to go soak in a nice bubble bath to get my muscles relaxed so I can be extra bendy for our lesson,” my mother announces, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I take that as my cue to get the fuck out of this house, even if it means I’ll show up to my interview a little early. I’d rather be early and not have to listen to my mother talk about getting bendy, than throw up on the living room carpet and be late.

Grabbing my coat and purse from the couch, I wave good-bye to my mom and Pinky as they both wish me luck, and ignore my mother when she tells me to undo another button on my top and show a little more cleavage to distract them from my shoes.

*     *     *

Oh, my God,
it’s so hot in here. Do I have pit stains? I can feel my vagina sweating. Do vaginas smell when they sweat? My head itches. I can’t itch my head or they’ll think I have lice. Eeeeew, lice are gross. Why do my hands look sparkly?

Holding my hand up in front of my face, I turn my wrist back and forth and watch my pretty, sparkly hand glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the reception area of the building.

Why does my skin look like Edward Cullen’s? My head itches.

“Twilight, Mr. Front Butt will see you now.”

I giggle, dropping my hand to look up at the receptionist as she stands in the doorway holding the door open that leads to the offices.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask in confusion, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

“I said, Noel, Mr. Fronbet will see you now,” she repeats with a soft smile.

Grabbing my purse from the chair next to me, I quickly stand and stumble forward when the room spins, planting my feet wide and holding my arms out to the side to steady myself.

“I think the floors are uneven,” I mumble, my voice sounding like it’s echoing in a wide cavern in my ears. “Do you hear that echo? It’s so weird.”

The woman looks at me in confusion as I walk very slowly past her, running my hand along the wall next to me as I go to keep me upright.

“Turd crawfish on the breast,” she tells me with a tight-lipped smile.

I clap my hand over my mouth to contain my giggle, stopping in the hallway just beyond her to lean against the wall.

“Third office on the left,” she repeats.

“Yes, that makes much more sense,” I tell her with a grin, pulling my shirt away from my body and fanning myself with the material. “It’s like an oven in here. I have boob sweat.”

She lifts her arm and points down the hall toward where I’m supposed to be heading, not saying anything else. Which is probably for the breast. I mean best. Ha ha, oh my God, I feel like dancing! Why aren’t they playing music in here? It could really liven this place up if they had a little techno piped through the speakers.

With a nod, I turn and head down the hall, knocking on the open door of the third office on the left. A man in a grey business suit looks up from his desk and smiles, waving me into the office.

Wow. He’s hot. Like, really hot. I should have sex with him right now. On top of his desk. My vagina feels funny. All tingly, like my itchy head and my sweaty boobs.

“Miss Holiday, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dick Front Butt,” he tells me, standing up from his office chair and extending his arm out toward me over the top of his desk.

“Wow! Dick Front Butt is an excellent name,” I tell him, walking quickly across the room and grabbing his hand.

He laughs, dropping my hand and pointing to a chair next to me. “It’s Rick Fronbet, actually, but that was pretty funny. Never heard that one before.”

Flopping down on the chair, I toss my coat and purse onto the floor at my feet and take a few seconds to wipe the sweat from my palms on the top of my skirt.

“Sorry, I have sweaty palms. Not to be confused with hairy palms. It’s like,
really
hot in here. Do you care if I take my shoes off? My feet itch and these shoes are ugly,” I tell him, kicking my heels off before he can say anything.

I sigh in relief when my feet are bare and start rubbing them against the scratchy carpet.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says with a smile, sitting back down behind his desk. “One of my managers recommended I meet with you. She told me her husband and your fiancé are in the Marine Corps together.”

I start fanning my face with my hand when I feel a bead of sweat drip down from my forehead.

“He’s my fake fiancé, actually. He proposed to me on Christmas Eve, but he was pretending to be my ex-boyfriend at the time because I didn’t want my family to know I’d broken up with the real one right before Christmas, but I gave him a blow job in Santa’s Workshop, so I guess we were kind of legit by that point. I’m honestly still confused about the details,” I tell him, bringing both of my hands up to my head to start scratching my scalp that feels like it’s on fire.

“Well, alrighty then,” Mr. Front Butt says with a laugh. “As you know, this position we’re looking to fill is for a Creative Director. Instead of doing the same type of boring interview, I thought I’d just give you a notebook and pen, and let you write down some sample ideas for greeting cards. How does that sound?”

I nod distractedly and sigh with relief as I dig my fingernails into my head and the itching finally stops.

“Sounds like fun, can you maybe turn on some music? Something in the techno family maybe?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Why am I grinding my teeth? My jaw hurts. I should ask Front Butt if we can have sex now. Fuck, it’s like an oven in here.

Seven Mr. Butt’s walk around the desk and hand me a yellow, legal pad of paper and a pen, and I smile at all of them as they tell me they’ll give me a few minutes alone to come up with some good greeting card ideas.

Wow, seven hot guys. I’ve never participated in a gang bang. I wonder what it’s like? My teeth hurt and now my hair itches. Why is my mouth so dry? Oooooh, this paper is so sparkly. IT’S EDWARD CULLEN PAPER!

“I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit. Would you like a glass of water?”

I look at him questioningly and realize my mouth is wide open and my tongue is flailing all around while weird slurping noises are coming out of me that actually make a nice little musical rhythm I can bob my head to.

“Mmmmm, water sounds wet. I’ll have that,” I tell him as he chuckles and heads out the door, telling me he’ll have his assistant bring me a throttle of otter, which sounds really weird, but whatever.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I unbutton my shirt to get some cool air on my skin before I melt into a puddle of goo. Sliding out of the chair and onto the floor, I flop onto my stomach with the notepad in front of me, quickly getting to work being a mother-fucking genius.

*     *     *

A few hours
later, with a headache that feels like it will be the death of me, along with enough mortification to kill me if the headache doesn’t, I storm into my parent’s house and slam the door closed so hard behind me it rattles the wall and knocks a picture off of it and onto the floor.

“AUNT BOBBIE! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!” I scream, wincing at the loud sound of my voice and holding my hands against my temples after I toss my coat and purse to the floor.

“Hey babe, how was the interview?” Sam asks, walking into the hallway and stopping in his tracks when he sees me. “What the hell happened to your hair? It looks like a flock of birds attacked you.”