AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my submission for the Winter Holidays Contest. I hope you enjoy the read -- and please, please vote and comment! Thanks for reading! Merry Christmas!
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The company Christmas parties at Mowry & Smith were always the worst event of the year. I would rather sit through a ten hour sequestered meeting than endure the three hours of the notorious 'I like all of my coworkers and I'm going to play nice but Monday I'm going to back hating your arrogant, intolerable asses.'
The only saving grace about working at the company for three years was my coworker, Brandon. He was a geek through and through, but he knew his computers. I'd find every excuse to call him for help with my laptop, even though half of them I created myself just so I had a reason to look over his shoulder as he figured out I didn't hit this button or that button.
And there was no doubt he'd picked up on my little schemes when he eventually began to flirt with me, and of course I reciprocated. But sadly, office romances never work out so neither one of us carried it any further than harmless teasing each other.
Brandon was my age, though had such a baby face he looked five years younger than me. He was tall, 6'2," a bit taller than the 'shorter' men I go after. He had wavy, silky black hair which always looked like he needed a haircut. Regardless, his dark hair made his baby-blue eyes made me want to get lost in his eyes for hours.
Thankfully, this year's party at the Beaufort Inn wound down, and Brandon and I were both so tipsy, not to mention flirting shamelessly, that we both weren't ready to go home. The partying in the bar downstairs was still going strong, and we were lucky enough to get a table in a somewhat quiet corner.
I sipped my vodka and cranberry juice while Brandon finished half of his Scotch when I got a brilliant idea.
"Hey, give me your palm, Brandon."
He looked at me tentatively. "Whhy, Charlene?"
"I want to read your palm."
"Seriously?!" He chuckled.
"Oh, hush." I grabbed both of his hands and plopped them flat on the table, palms up. "I want to read your lines."
"Are you into that crap?"
"Yep." Comparing lines on both hands, I told him, "Your left hand is what life had in store for you; your right is how you've changed your destiny."
Holding his right hand firmly, I traced his heart, head and life lines with my fingernail. "Hmm, you definitely are more head strong than you follow your heart."
He frowned. "What makes you think that?"
"Because your head and life line are joined in the beginning." I looked up at him. "Am I right?" He nodded. "Your head line is pretty deep and straight, which means you see things the way they are, very realistic, logical, and you have a good memory.
"I'm straight and what? I forgot." He snickered.
"Ha. Ha. Just humor me."
He growled playfully. "Do you read other body parts?"
I had never been so forward with another man before, but what slipped out of my mouth was, "Yes, but I'll have to do your penis later." I burst out laughing.
"We'll take two tequila shots over here!" he screamed out, still looking at me. "I like you drunk." He grinned devilishly.
"Brandon, I've already had three glasses of wine and this. No tequila for me."
"Last drink, I promise. And why not?"
"Because I get really ... aggressive in bed."
"Stay right there. I'll be right back!"
"Oh, god," I mumbled, shaking my head. I watched him walk to the bar and wink at me through the mirror behind the liquor bottles. When he got back he laid the shots on the table and sat down. Evading the inevitable I said, "Okay, where was I?"
He leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear, "We were talking about my penis, which, by the way, isβ"
"Oh, I remember now!" I interrupted, knowing what he was going to say. I'd noticed the bulge in his crotch before he sat down. I took his hand and brought his thumb over his palm, noting the fleshiness. "Hmm."
"Does it say I'm a tiger in bed?"
"Yeah, it does, sort of. See how fleshy it is? It means you are a very passionate person, but not necessarily sexually, like passionate about your hobbies and such. Mine's the same."
Looking at his heart line more closely, I saw three vertical lines coming off of it. With my fingernail I split it in thirds.
"The first is 0-20 years old; the second is 20-40; and the third is 40-60. Okay, let's see. You've had your heart broken before you were twenty, then, hmm, about 24, then ... recently." I let go of his hand and leaned back uncomfortably.
He frowned at me. "What?"
"Brandon, forget it. You're right. I shouldn't take this so seriously."
"You didn't offend me. I'm an open book."
Not wanting to get into too dangerous territory so quickly, I grabbed the salt shaker, wanting to change the subject. "Let's get this over with."
"No," he said, taking the shaker from my hand. "Give me your neck," he said seductively.
"Oooh, I love vampires! Are you going to bite me?" I chuckled playfully but did anyway.
"No, but I will if you want me, too." He licked my neck slowly, making me close my eyes.
My eyes flew open when I realized what he was going to do. "Wait! You'll get salt down my dress," I protested.
"Not the way I do it," he growled in my ear. He leaned back a little, sprinkled salt in his palm and pinched some before he sprinkled it on my neck.
"Damn, I can't believe I'm letting you do this," I croaked.