Christmas in Coconut Creek (Dirty Delta, #1)(11)
“The tides are changing, Phee. Here I was, thinking I’d be spending my Christmas season helping you get laid, when it looks like you don’t even need me. I’ll be picking your ho-ho-ho ass up at a Publix tomorrow morning with your reindeer ears on backwards and Hook(Up) guy’s dick print on your cheek.”
“This is a family establishment, Natalia Russo.”
She rolled her eyes. “Show me a picture. Is he hot hot? Or hot because he’s got a fun personality? Because you’re not hooking up with fun personality guys anymore. I’m putting my foot down.”
“You are like a meninist’s worst nightmare,” I said, swiping my phone off the table to pull up Frankie’s profile. “Do you ever just, like, look at a man's thighs and wonder what kind of horsepower they have?”
Nat pointed the soggy, limp end of her French fry at me. “See, this is why you’re my people.”
I opened the app and there was another match there. The blond holding a husky who I found myself much less physically attracted to than I did at the airport that morning.
“He’s a little older, is that bad?” I asked. Frankie wasn’t old by any means, but nine years would be a bit of an adjustment. “Should I be worried he’s hiding a wife and kids or something?”
“I like older. They know what they want. Maybe he’s divorced?”
“Well thank you, ex-wife, he’s aged like fine wine.”
I scrolled top to bottom and side to side on my phone, hitting the back button and refreshing the page once, twice. My stomach tensed uncomfortably when the face I was searching for had entirely vanished. “No way. That fucking goochhole.”
“What? What happened?”
“He unmatched me.”
“Shut up.”
Nat plucked the phone out of my hand and inspected the screen, scrolling just as frantically as I had been a minute ago, looking for the lost remnant of my flight-date’s profile.
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.”