Wicked Christmas Eve by Eliza Gayle

 
     

     
     
     
     
     
    Why in the hell had she thought coming back to this town would be a good idea? From the moment her car had passed the city limits sign, her world had gone to hell, starting with the speeding ticket she’d gotten from a hot cop who was not amused.
    She’d spent the next eight hours with her extended family over Christmas Eve dinner until she’d been unable to take another second of the constant bickering and the not so subtle digs about the current shambles of her life. Between her mother firing one question after another and her sister’s snide remarks, Megan had ground her teeth to the point of pain. Another day of this bullshit, and she’d have to find a dentist. Or an exorcist.
    A slight smile curved her lips. The image of a priest coming to the front door with his Bible and rosary nearly made her laugh out loud.
    Megan glanced through the windshield at the near empty parking lot before turning her gaze to the front of her favorite hangout. The Open sign blinked neon red. The last time she’d walked through those doors had been her twenty-first birthday, almost ten years to the day.
    Unfortunately, her plans to set the world on fire had fallen flat. She’d gotten her degree in political science only to be turned down by one law school after another. Six months later, she’d settled into a legal secretarial position and a routine that made the next several years go by in a blur. Then out of the blue, she’d been laid off. With only a few days until Christmas, Megan had thought a change of scenery was in order and had headed home to Florida. So maybe it was her head that needed examined after all.
    Ready for a drink, she opened her car door and stepped out. It didn’t surprise her to find so few cars in the parking lot. Most people weren’t trying to escape on Christmas Eve.
    Her shoes thudded quietly on the soft pavement until she reached the door. She did her best to ignore the strand of floss—otherwise known as a thong—riding between her ass checks. A heavy sigh formed in her chest. Why hadn’t she changed before she ran out? Because another second in that house would have killed her, that’s why.
    Megan glanced around the parking lot again to make sure she was completely alone before she reached under her skirt and grabbed the edge of her panties. She yanked them down her legs and stepped out of them. It wasn’t as if anyone here would notice whether she wore anything under her boring gray skirt. She shoved the offending scrap to the bottom of her purse and straightened her clothes one final time. Much better.
    One more minute and she’d be happily seated at the bar. Thirty minutes after that, she’d be halfway to smashed if she had any say about it. She’d worry about getting home later—much later.
    She pushed the door open. Instead of the coat rack and stand filled with brochures and advertisements she’d expected, a large man sitting on a stool in the corner looked up from the book he was reading.
    “Evening,” he said with barely a nod.
    Taken aback by a bouncer, she hurried past him. The main room was dark, and she stopped to give her eyes a few seconds to adjust. On autopilot, she turned to the right and headed in the direction of the bar. There were only a few tables occupied, but a couple of people eyed her as she walked by. Thankfully there were no faces she recognized, so she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a stool at the bar and dropped her purse in her lap.
    “Can I get a tequila shot straight up?” she asked the bartender.
    His eyebrows raised, which she promptly ignored. It was her Christmas Eve, and she’d damn well do as she pleased, even if that meant getting sloshed alone in a bar.
    “On second thought, make that two.”
    The man behind the bar grabbed two small glasses and filled them.
    “We have a two drink maximum if you’re planning to play tonight.”
    Her head shot up, and she met his gaze. “Play?” He picked up her glasses from the bar