It's All Thanks to Santa Read online

  And now, knowing he’s my sister’s one truelove makes me remember my hangover. So much so, I race back down to the basement to my man-bathroom and puke.

  Happy. Fucking. Holiday.

  Chapter Two

  So, you probably get that I don’t really like my sister very much. But I don’t hate her. I actually love her in my own way, so I need to tell you that there’s absolutely no way I would ever cheat with one of her boyfriends. I’m not that person. I’m loyal and true.

  No, the person who deserves all the blame in this is Billy—er, William. He’s the cheating, asshole scumbag.

  I can’t tell her, though. That’d ruin Christmas. My mom will lose her shit. She’ll cry and carry on, and I can’t take that right now. Then, there’s Dad. Even though it’s zero degrees outside, he’ll still hide in the garage and sulk. He’ll plug in the fire hazard that is his space heater, and he’ll stay out there. For days.

  While we all agree this is William—er, Billy’s fault, it’s going to be hard to convince my family of that truth. Then, you know what will happen? They’ll kick me out. They won’t be able to look at me. Their “bad seed” Josephine. Always causing problems, always fucking up. Yeah, they’ll kick me out.

  God, fucking Clancy. This is her fault too. She’s the one who talked me into going up to Billy at the bar. Sure, I told her I wanted to lick him from head to toe (which I did, btw), but she should never have double-dog dared me. That’s on her. You just don’t double-dog dare a drunk person. Ever.

  “Josephine,” my mom singsongs down to me from the top of the stairs. God, she’s chipper. “Are you coming back upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” I groan loud enough for her to hear. “In a second.” That acknowledgement buys me a little time before she feels the need to yell down to me again.

  “Breakfast will be ready momentarily. Get yourself cleaned up, honey. Chop-chop.”

  I stare in the tiny bathroom mirror and wince. The little bit of mascara I had on my lashes last night has made a new home right below my eyes. Speaking of eyes, mine are red, bloodshot from the booze and lack of sleep no doubt. Then, there’s my hair—hair that looks like a squirrel took up residence on the left side. My left braid came out at some point in the night. Maybe when he was tugging on it from behind? I shiver thinking about him, Billy. God, he was good in bed.

  With a sigh, I take out the other braid, strip, and turn on the man-shower. It’s one of those basement showers with a small showerhead, concrete and a drain at my feet, and a shower curtain that’s seen better days. The water pressure is good and it’s hot, so it’s not bad. At least I have my own bathroom. Everyone upstairs has to share one. See? Silver lining.

  I wash my hair, face, and body, then stand under the spray and let the water cleanse me of my dirtiness—like the things I did last night with my sister’s boyfriend. A sudden bout of nausea hits me again, so I bend and aim for the drain.

  Stepping out, I wrap a towel around me and walk into the large open room that some would call a basement but I refer to as my bedroom. For now, at least.

  I’m startled by the sound of my sister’s voice. It’s happened. She’s tainted my happy place. “For once, could you not make a spectacle of yourself in front of my guest?”

  “A spectacle?” I drop the towel and walk naked over to what I refer to as my closet, but it’s really a pipe that leads to somewhere upstairs.

  Sighing, she sits daintily on the old sofa set against the south wall. “God, you’re so….”

  I quickly turn around and face her, letting my girls out for some air. “I’m so… what?” I pause. “Amazing? Intelligent?”

  “Childish.”

  “Misunderstood sounds better.”

  “What’s to misunderstand?” She snorts and stands. “You’ve always behaved like this. I blame myself.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  With her hands on her tiny hips, she scoffs. “I’m not to blame for that,” she points at my nude body. “Eat a carrot now and then, huh?”

  “Fuck you, Gizzy.”

  “Stop. Calling. Me. Gizzy.”

  “No.” I turn around and grab the first thing I see that looks comfortable—an oversized sweatshirt. Throwing it over my head, I drag it down past my hips. I’ll wear leggings. It’ll be perfect for today.

  “You’re going to put a bra on, right?”

  “No.”

  “Your chest is too large to go braless.”

  “Jealous?” I stare at her small B’s.

  “It’s disgusting. Nobody wants to see those things swaying around in front of their face.”

  That’s not what Billy said last night. Okay, so I didn’t actually say that, but it’s true. He liked my boobs in his face. Just saying.

  “Why don’t you worry about you and… what was his name again?”

  “William.” She makes a sound like I imagine a bull would make when they’re about ready to charge. “That’s why I’m down here in this pit you call a bedroom. Try to present yourself as a responsible member of society.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve got a job.”

  “Working at the grocery store part-time does not count.”

  “Of course it counts.”

  “You have a college degree.”

  “In linguistics.”

  “That’s your fault you didn’t choose wisely. You were more interested in parties than classes anyway.”

  “That’s only partially true. I went to class and to the parties. I was able to multitask, unlike you who can’t function unless you’ve got a to-do list.”

  “Organization is nothing to be ashamed of.” She scans the basement. Everything I had in my measly apartment in Chicago is now down here. “You should try it for once.”

  “I sure will. Now, if you’d be so kind as to fuck off, I’d like to finish getting dressed.” A good idea since I’m sitting bare-assed naked wearing only my sweatshirt. “Mom’s awaitin’.”

  “Fine. Just….” She pauses.

  “What?”

  “Please don’t cuss in front of William. He’s doesn’t like that kind of language.”

  Ha! I want to laugh because that’s a bunch of shit. Billy has the dirtiest mouth I’ve ever heard. He must have said the words pussy, cunt, and fuck at least thirty times last night. I’ve never been one for the dirty talk during sex, but Billy made it fun.

  “Sure. Whatever.” I shrug. My sister begins her ascent back to her William as I search the floor for my black leggings. Spying them beneath some of my dirty socks and underwear, I grab them and sniff. “Not bad.” Sliding one foot into a leg, then the other, I pull them up, hesitating when I feel wetness on one of the legs. “Nope. Can’t do it.” Taking them off, I toss them back where they started and search for my gray leggings. “Aha.” Those are folded neatly on top of a basket of clothing. Sliding those on, I pull them up as high as they’ll go and move back into the bathroom in an attempt to harness the power that is my curly red hair. Deciding on braids again, I make quick work doing my left side, then my right.

  I dab on some mascara and pink lip gloss and stare at myself. “Nope.” I wipe off the gloss. “That makes it look like I give a shit.” And I don’t. Not one bit.

  Chapter Three

  “William.” My mom is looking at only him. “Welcome to our Christmas Eve breakfast where we can all talk about our lives, reconnect with one another, discuss fond memories from the past year, and dream of what’s to come in the new year, without worrying about gifts.”

  See? I told you.

  My mom is standing at the head of the table wearing a new apron. The woman has so many, I can’t believe I noticed this one is new. You know how some people like to buy shoes? Well, my mom’s addiction is aprons. Today’s is especially Mom. It’s pale pink with a two-inch ruffle that goes all around the entire thing and two pockets in the front to hold what? Recipe cards? A wooden spoon? From the looks of it, she didn’t wear it while she was cooking. No, this is a show apron, and we all
know we don’t cook in a show apron. Ever.

  Anyway, she said it. The annual speech. I’m so happy when it was over, I blow out a breath of air known as a sigh of relief.

  My sister must have caught it because when I look across the table and to my left, she’s glaring at me.

  “What?” I mouth but don’t say out loud.

  “Grow up,” she mouths back.

  “Fuck you,” I mouth right back at her.

  I wait for her comeback, but nothing comes.

  Pussy.

  I guess I was wrong. She didn’t repeat the little speech verbatim; she added, “And since this is your first with us, William, why don’t you start by telling us a little about yourself?”

  I haven’t looked at William since we sat down. Not easy since he’s sitting directly across from me, but I’ve done it. I feel it’s best to pretend last night didn’t happen.

  Ha! Tell that to my lady-land. She remembers.

  Anyhoo, I’m determined not to make eye contact with the guy, and I’m pretty sure he was doing the same, but now I’m not so sure, because whenever I rotate my head in his direction, his eyes are on me. I guess I’ll have to look right back at him because Mom asked him a direct question, which means we all have to look at him and wait for his answer. His eyes flick from Gisele’s to my Mom’s then Dad’s then to mine. I guess the word “gaze” sounds better than “stare,” but I’m not gazing; I’m glaring. Yeah, that word works better.

  “Well….” He clears his throat as he fiddles with his stupid tie.

  I lean in and squint. Are those tiny Rudolph’s all over his tie? No way.

  “As you probably know, I work with Gisele.”

  “He works in our patent, intellectual property, and copyright law department,” Gisele adds.

  I put my hand over my mouth and cough the word “Boring.” Am I being childish? Absolutely. Do I care? Fuck no.

  Gisele is glaring at me. No worries, I’m used to it. It’s her resting bitch face.

  “Yes.” William chuckles, and it’s fake as fuck. “I deal primarily with intellectual property cases. It can be a bit tedious, but I enjoy it.”

  Said no one ever.

  I feel a yawn coming on, and I do my best to keep it inside of me. We still haven’t been allowed to dig in to Mom’s feast here because we’re waiting on the cheating bastard to finish up his monologue.

  “I’ve been with the firm five years.”

  I think Gisele’s getting tired of it too because she takes his hand in hers and finishes it up for him. “He’s a rising star at the firm. He’s hoping to make partner about the same time as me.” She smiles at him as she nods.

  “Right.” He chuckles as he fucks around with his stupid tie again.

  “Makes me glad I’m not a lawyer.” I snort.

  Gisele isn’t having it. “Oh, right. So, working as a cashier is better than practicing law?”

  I shrug. “Pretty much if what he said”—I point to William, but I don’t look at him—“is any indication.”

  “Bull crap,” snaps my sister.

  Bull crap? What is she, ten? “Mom, can we eat before it gets cold?”

  “Of course,” Gisele scoffs. “It’s all about the food for you, isn’t it?”

  “Now, Gisele,” my mom finally speaks. “She’s going through some things. It’s normal to gain weight when you’re stressed.”

  “If that’s the case, she’s been”—she uses air quotes for this—“‘going through some things’ her entire life.”

  “Gisele, not now.” Oh, wow. My dad has spoken.

  “But, Daddy…,” she whines.

  Dad ignores her and claps. Turning to my mom, he snaps, “Let’s eat, Pamela.”

  My mom does as he requests and begins to lift the lids on all the food. She makes the same thing every year, but it’s always delicious, so I don’t care if it’s the same. There’s egg casserole that she makes with egg (obviously), cheese, ham, and a crust of hash browns. Then, there’s a side of bacon because that’s what Dad likes, an apple coffee cake, and a new addition… mini waffles from the tiny waffle maker I bought her last year for Christmas. A cornerstone to the menu are her scratch biscuits, another signature dish for Mom. Those are buttery and flaky. I hope to pocket a couple of them so I can eat them downstairs later. Of course there’s a carafe of coffee, a pitcher of both orange and apple juice, and milk if you’re into that kind of thing.

  I’m about to reach for a biscuit when Mom asks William, “Would you like to say grace, William?”

  “Oh.” His face heats to a deep shade of red. It’s awesome. “Sure.”

  We lower our heads and listen. “Dear baby Jesus.”

  I start to snicker because, huh? Baby Jesus?

  “Stop, Josephine,” my mom snaps. “Let him finish.”

  “I don’t pray all that often, Mrs. Foster.”

  “No worries.” I finally speak to him. “We never pray either. Mom’s just fucking with you.”

  Then, all at once, Gisele says, “Mom!” as Mom says, “Josephine!”

  I snicker again and reach for a biscuit. “Let’s eat.” I want this shit show to end.

  Chapter Four

  “I think Josephine should do the dishes. She’s not a guest now that she’s a bloodsucking leach.” Gisele snickers. “I mean, living in your basement.”

  “Fine,” I groan, getting up from the table. I’m not groaning about the dishes; I’m groaning because I ate too much. Three biscuits and some of everything else and I feel like I might explode like a tick on a dog’s back. Good thing I’ve got on stretchy pants.

  “I’ll help.” I look up and arch my brow at the adulterer.

  “No, William,” Gisele whines again.

  Is she ever gonna grow out of that whining shit?

  “It’s the least I can do. Your meal was incredible, Mrs. Foster. I don’t remember the last time I ate so well.”

  Picking up my plate, I roll my eyes and head into the kitchen. As I pass him, I whisper, “Layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t ya think?”

  He doesn’t answer me, not until we’re both in the kitchen. Luckily, Mom and Dad have one of those kitchens that is separate from the rest of the house. There’s a swinging door into the dining room and everything. I set my plate down on the counter and am about to turn to gather up more dishes when I feel a big, warm body at my back. His hand reaches around me and settles on my full stomach.

  “I know how this looks, but it’s not what you think, JoJo.”

  I hate how he says my name. As far as I’m concerned, I’m either Jo or, if it’s absolutely necessary, Josephine. But when I told this asshole my name was Jo, he immediately doubled it up. The sad part? I liked it––from him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s not what I think?” Now, I’m pissed. “So, you’re not a fucking cheating bastard?”

  “Look….” He lets go of me, and I feel the loss. He leans his hip on Mom’s counter, which draws my attention to his lower half. Because of course it does. “I’m not supposed to tell you or anyone this, but Gisele and I—”He points to himself then in the direction of the living room where we assume Gisele is sitting, but who knows because the woman is probably in her old bedroom tearing down her boy band posters in case William wants to see it. Phew. Breathe, Jo. “—we’re not really together. This is just a ploy to show the firm we’re both settling down. We both want to make partner next year.”

  I stare up at him because, damn, he’s tall. “So, if I went up to my sister and asked her if this is all fake, she’d tell me it is?”

  He chuckles. “Doubtful. She doesn’t want your parents to find out. Hell, she’s even thinking we should move in together.”

  I roll my eyes. This guy is clueless. Men should really read romance novels. They’d be able to clue in on what’s happening in their love lives if they did. “You do know that means you’re in a relationship with my sister, right?”

  “No. We’re not.”

  “Have you two kissed?” I shiver
at the thought.

  “Well, yes. Once. In front of the partners at a cocktail party.”

  “Uh-huh. Anywhere else?”

  He looks at me then up at the ceiling. “Just a peck here and there. Mostly on the cheek.”

  “Hand holding?”

  “In front of—”

  “The partners. Right.” I pause for a second. I need to ask. “Have you fucked her?”

  He looks affronted. “No. Jesus, JoJo.”

  I’m sure I could ask him other things, like do they go on double dates with friends at work who are not partners, do they eat lunch together every day, and has he bought her flowers and had them delivered to work? Any or all of those things have doomed him into a relationship with my sister, even if she’s the one who orchestrated it all.

  And I’ve no doubt she orchestrated it all because, if I know anything, I know my sister. Sure, she’s smart and successful, but deep down she’s a mercenary.

  “Tell me something, William.”

  “Billy.” He steps closer, and I wish he wouldn’t. “You, sweet JoJo, call me Billy.” He touches the crew neck of my shirt, pushing it down just enough for him to see I’m braless. His finger touching me makes me shiver.

  “Billy, are you as successful as my sister says?”

  He nods as his eyes roam down my body.

  “Would you say you were rich?”

  His eyes dart up to mine. “I’m comfortable. Why are you asking?”

  “Were you a collegiate athlete?”

  “Yes. Basketball at Michigan.” He smirks. “Starter all four years.”

  “See, here’s the thing, Will—” He glares at me. “—Billy. You’re like catnip for Gizzy.”

  He laughs. “Don’t call her that. It’s disgusting.”

  I shrug. I won’t stop for anyone.

  “I’m catnip?”

  I nod. “My big sis likes attention.”

  He smiles down at me. He knows.

  “And if you haven’t been pursuing her like she thinks you should have been, I’m guessing she came up with this scheme to get you two together.”