My Five Santas: A Christmas Reverse Harem

Chapter Seven: Boyfriendless, Dateless

The morning after The Breakup

Two weeks until the wedding

Bang bang bang!

I lift my head from my arm, a rope of drool stretching between my wrist and the corner of my mouth.

Ugh. My head feels like it's caught in a vice and my stomach is roiling.

What fucking time is it? What day is it? What happened—

Oh. It all comes screaming back to me.

The Fight. The look on Flynn's face when he closed the door behind him.

My immediate dive to my wine cabinet.

BANG BANG BANG!

The knocking on my front door grows louder, and from the couch, it sounds like there's a gong being struck beside my face.

"Maggie?"

Cassidy's voice is muffled on the other side of the door.

"Maggie? Baby girl? I just got your text, sweetheart, open up, I don't care if you're covered in your own piss or puke."

I lurch off the couch and stumble to the door, opening it.

"That's disgusting," I croak, bleary eyed. "I would never puke on myself."

Cassidy surges into me, wrapping me tight around her tiny, strong arms. She may be little, but, as she likes to tell everyone, "Dynamite comes in small packages."

That saying was meant for Cassidy.

"Honey, I know you wouldn't, I know. Come here, let's sit down, you must feel like shit," Cassidy coos, gently leading me back to my makeshift bed on the couch. I sink gingerly down in my little nest of pillows and comforters, and she flops down beside me.

She eyes the empty bottles of wine and raises her eyebrows. "I'm impressed you're coherent right now," she says.

"That's debatable," I mumble, wrapping myself up in my comforter.

"Whoa, girl," Cassidy picks up a bottle, inspecting it close. "This is a nice-ass vintage! At least when you drown your sorrows, you drown them in gold."

"Was saving it," I sigh, "for our anniversary dinner."

Cassidy clucks sympathetically and reaches over to squeeze my knee. I look over at the clock on the wall.

"Is it really only seven AM?" I groan. "How are you so perky? Didn't know you were an early riser."

"I'm not," Cassidy grins. "Late sleeper." She claps her hands together, her perfectly manicured nails intertwining. "This is the hour when the early risers and the night owls can break bread together. Plus, it'll be a while before I come down from my high."

"Ah," I say, "that explains why you're dressed like you're going to an exclusive club opening."

"I did go to an exclusive club opening. Trenti downtown! Work got me an invite. And the outfit got me into the V.I.P. section."

Cassidy smooths a hand down her gorgeous dress. It's more of a concept than a dress, really, as her tight stomach and one whole shoulder are all on display, as if an artist arranged silk just so. Her little sleek, baby gazelle thighs are swathed in red fishnets, and her makeup, though smudged, manages to look "tousled-chic."

If Mad Men starred women in the ad industry, Cassidy would be the main character. Except way more likeable. I mean, I've never seen Mad Men, but I bet anyone is more likeable than a handsome, rich white guy in the 50's.