Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“I’m not five anymore, Marissa,” I reply. “And that is not Santa. That is a total Chad from the Harvard rowing team. That is…”
My voice trails off as it hits me. A punch in the gut of pure realization. A tornado-like wind that sweeps through my mind, tearing up memories from the past that I thought I’d buried forever and would never be brought up again.
The whole world seems to slow down as Jasmine, laughing like she’s having the time of her life, gets up from “Santa’s” lap and reveals his face fully to me.
He’s five years older, but I recognize him immediately, and something comes over me. It’s like every nerve in my body starts to tingle. My stomach starts doing backflips, and parts of me start to tense up.
The urge to run ramps up inside of me, but not to run back to my back room where I was hiding before. Now I want to run as far away from here as I can go. Because sitting on the chair in front of me, surrounded by women ogling him like he’s the hottest thing in the world, is Craig, my high school ex-boyfriend who ghosted me on prom night and I haven’t seen or heard from in five years.
He’s laughing. Why wouldn’t he be? This is every guy’s dream, isn’t it? To be surrounded by girls fawning all over you like you’re Justin Bieber? He watches Jasmine as she skips away from him, surveying his crowd of man-hungry office women to see which one is up next to hop on his knee, and that’s when our eyes meet.
It’s like nothing’s changed in the last five years.
A rush of emotion hits me like I’ve been clobbered in the chest by the Hulk’s fist. I nearly double over as I watch the expression in his eyes change. I can see him trying hard not to let everything he’s feeling inside show (typical guy), but he’s feeling something.
His lips part like his jaw is going to drop, but he manages to hold back.
He’s surprised to see me, that’s for sure. No, he’s more than surprised. He’s shocked, but he’s doing a good job keeping a straight face. He’s still got a job to do. He has to make all these girls happy, right?
Well forget it. I’m not sticking around to watch.
I spin on my heel and bolt for the elevator door.
“Daisy, where are you going?” Marissa calls after me. But I ignore her. I grab my coat from the hanger and thumb the call button.
No, this is going to take too long. The elevator’s in the lobby, and I feel like my heart is about to explode. I can hear Marissa calling after me, so I just sprint for the stairwell. I’m not waiting.
I shoulder the door open and take the steps two at a time on my way down to the ground floor, trying to come up with an explanation as to how in the world Craig could have ended up here in the first place. How could something like this even be possible?
“Daisy, where are you going?” I hear Marissa’s voice echo from above me as she shouts down the stairs.
“I – I gotta go, Riss. I’ll see you later!”
Thankfully, I’m bursting through the door to the lobby floor as she’s calling back her reply, so I manage to save myself from the rest of that uncomfortable conversation. It’s already enough to have Craig on my mind as I’m rushing toward the front doors. I mean, what is he doing here? I haven’t seen him in five years, and now he’s suddenly at my office Christmas party playing Santa? Of all the places to run into him! This is absolutely absurd.
So many questions are running through my mind as I race out into the night: why did he leave me that evening when we were supposed to go to prom together? Why did he invite me at all if he was just going to ghost me? Why haven’t I heard from him in five years? Where has he been all this time, and why is he back at my Christmas party, of all places?
So many questions. But I know one thing – I’m damn sure not going to stick around and ask him to answer them for me. I’m getting the hell out of here.
2
CRAIG
It can’t be. Can it?
It’s taking every ounce of self-discipline I have to maintain a look on my face that won’t send every woman in the office running for the hills right now. On the outside, I’ve got to look cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, I’m a hurricane of emotions. I’m also starting to sweat like crazy under this Santa costume, despite the office being not much warmer than it is outside.
Another smiling woman hops on my lap, spilling red wine on my leg. “Hey, Santa baby,” she giggles, clearly tipsy – if not drunk. “I’ve got to confess…I’ve been a naughty girl. Does that mean I don’t get any presents this year?”