It’s Time To Get Lucky

It is exactly two days (3, if you count the fact that I am posting this at 2 o’clock in the morning) after Halloween and it’s is now time to get ready for the next big business lucrative holiday. Black Friday– I mean, Christmas. Forget about Thanksgiving, the only people that make money from that is the grocery stores, or Veteran’s Day, nobody really makes money off of that. It’s time for the holiday where you wake up at the butt crack of dawn to buy presents that are never going to be used, or returned for the money the person you bought it for would have rather had. Don’t lie, you’re excited.  So in light of such news, I bring you ‘Getting Lucky’, a story I am writing and would love for you to read.

Synopsis:

It’s Christmas Vacation: I don’t have a boyfriend, all of my friends are gone, and I’m lonely. Tonight, I’m getting wasted. Under-aged or not.

Lucky Anderson doesn’t feel so lucky. It’s Christmas vacation and while all of her closest friends are either visiting their relatives or spending quality time with their boyfriends she stuck at home with a Romantic Comedy and a box of tissues. One night, when she’s at her lowest, she decides to get drunk for the first time and while doing so she runs into more problems than just loneliness.

Enter Evan Gregory, the icy businessman who saves her life but wants nothing to do with her unless it involves a law suit. But inside of his snowy interior does there reside a warm teddy bear?… Lucky doubts it.

If that’s not enough, her so-called friends are teasing her for being alone on a holiday and on a whim she claims to have a boyfriend. Where is she going to get this magical boyfriend? She doubts Santa will be visiting her this Christmas.

It’s at times like this that Lucky wants nothing more than to be just that, Lucky.

___________

I know, I know. Calm down. It’s Amaze. Now, Read on. It’s about half of the first chapter.

Getting Lucky

Getting Lucky

Chapter 1: Now the Jingle Hop Has Begun

He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake…

Oh gosh this song is annoying. I mean, can one guy really do all of that? It’s enough that he knows whether I’m naughty or nice but now he knows when I’m sleeping too? Gosh, talk about being spread too thin. Ha-ha “thin”, Santa’s not thin. I’m not gonna lie, this song used to get me… still does, to be completely honest but what am I supposed to do when it’s Christmas break and I’m alone… again? Don’t worry, I already have the answer to that. Drink, that’s what you do. Right? That’s what they do in the movies. You know, to get courage or something? Maybe I’ll find my Ryan Gosling, maybe I won’t. But I’m still going to do it. Maybe. I sighed. Oh Santa, why is this place so intimidating? Is it because it’s a bar and everybody inside are probably zombies or is it because I’m under-aged and technically not allowed to drink yet?

I looked up towards the sky for strength and took a deep breath, cool air filling my lungs as I tried to muster up the courage to take a step forward. It was dark out, the stars barely visible through all the smog and lights of the city.  I shook my head, all of my wild curls hitting my face as I stomped around in a circle my hands so tight I could feel my skin through the striped fabric of my mittens.

I stopped and tried to seem normal as an older couple walked by. I smiled politely at them as they stared at me judgmentally shaking their heads in disappointment with the youth of these days. That’s literally what I heard them say: “The youth these days”, who does that?

When they were far enough to be out of ear shot, which wasn’t far I might add, I sighed, “Self-righteous **** ** ******.”  I shook my head, cutting my brown eyes in their direction. Calm down, Lucky, no need to curse the elderly.

My shoulders sagged as I looked back toward the tall, red brick and mortar building in front of me. There were two large windows next to the glass door and yellow light streamed out to the sidewalk from the glow of their cheap bulbs. From outside you could see a chair and circular table in front of the left window and the right one had what looked like coats pressed up against it. The door had a “We’re Open” sign stuck on it followed by their time slots. I looked up at the name of the pub; “Bob and Apples’ Bar and Pub” was carved into a wooden plaque in curly letters and painted gold. Seemed harmless enough and it had gotten rave reviews from friends, though most of them are older than me and therefore allowed to drink here.

A black car passed behind me and an icy draft caressed my face, reminding me that it was -0 degrees outside and I should not be standing outside in a school girl skirt and stockings like it’s the middle of August. So when the door opened and the bell rang as a laughing couple came outside with large smiles and a dazed look of new love in their eyes, I cringed inwardly but took that sudden sense of jealousy, did a little dance, my boots clicking softly on the cement and ran in, the door closing shut behind me.

The sound of good old fashioned drunken laughter and cheering with the faint underlining of jazz filled my ears as I stepped inside, it was a welcome replacement from the Christmas music coming from the speakers outside. It smelt strangely of cranberries and sweat as I looked around. My wide, brown eyes feasted on all of the various colors and people as I realized something—they were all so normal. The tall guy with the pot belly and plaid shirt with mustache-clad lips wrapped around a tilted beer bottle could easily be the UPS man or, a killer.  I narrowed my eyes and scanned the area. There was a large, wooden bar in the center of the room with bottles and bottles of alcohol all the way up to the ceiling. Chairs and round tables filled the empty space around the bar and there was a television mounted on the ceiling playing a soccer match. People cheered, arms flailing and bodies rubbing together. This explained the sweaty smell that nearly dominated the establishment.

As I stood there with my mouth agape in astonishment, a man walked in behind me and bumped into me. His strong hand touched my arm softly and excused himself before walking away.

“Oh no… it’s okay.” I muttered, distracted. I took off my forest green wool coat and turned around to hang it up, glancing around me in curiosity. More cheering commenced and I giggled. This was nothing like I had expected to be. There were no zombies, just normal people out to forget all their problems and enjoy themselves. Like me. This is exciting. This is fun. This is… good. I can do this.

In an attempt to fit in, I started bobbing my head to the jazz, smiling at the people who glanced at me. Are you supposed to dance at a bar? I stopped. Do I look like I’m only 18? Amidst all of these twenty and thirty year olds I certainly feel like it. Oh Santa—- no, nope, stop it right there. I can do this. No more Daisy Downer. I’m already in, there’s no turning back now. I straightened my back and tilted my head. The place was a lot fuller than it seemed at first; all of the tables were full and there were only a few barstools left.  I quickly left my awkward spot in front of the door and began to wade through the crowd to get to the counter where I saw the bartender with a towel over his shoulder and his back to the crowd.

Excuse me.” I muttered, but my voice sounded small in comparison to the yells and cheers going on around me. So I joined in as I more roughly shoved those pushing me against others. When I saw an empty barstool I immediately took it, cheering, for other reasons beside the game. There was an older guy with a hat on his face that was passed out to my left and some lady with too much perfume on to my right.

I tried to hide my disgust as I turned to the bartender, “I love this game.” I said with a smile—people always tell me I look a little older when I smile. Well three people told me. Three honest people… I hope. The bartender looked to be a man in his early forties with short, dark black hair and hazel-blue eyes depending on the lighting. If I had to guess I’d say he was Italian.

“Oh, yeah? Who’s playing?” The bartender raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he turned around, drying out a small shot glass.

I glanced down, gnawing nervously at my bottom lip. I tapped my red painted nails on the wood and guessed, “The, uh, Wild… Kangaroos?” I looked to him for confirmation, but I already know that I was so wrong.

The bartender smiled showing off a nice set of pearly whites, “You don’t even know what game it is, do you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Uh, yeah!  I totally do—its soccer!” I exclaimed, excited that he finally asked me a question I could answer. I grinned proudly, unwrapping my scarf from my neck and laying it out on my lap.

Ding ding ding.”  He called, turning swiftly on his heel, his arms spread out wide. I chuckled, slightly surprised by his sudden outburst. He didn’t seem like the type to get so excited so quickly. Nonetheless, I think I’m gonna like this guy. He plopped the glass down in front of me on the table. “So, what’s your poison?”

What… poison? I thought they only sold drinks here, and chili fries…  “Oh, right. A drink. Uhm…” I looked around as a waitress walked by with a tray in hand that held three shot glasses one of which had tons of ice and lime at the bottom. “I’ll have one of those.” I said pointing at it.

“Do you have an I.D.?” He asked. I tried not to panic. I did come prepared with a fake I.D., I just hoped it worked. I’d practiced, if he asked any questions. Yes, my name really is Lucky Anderson. No, you aren’t getting lucky tonight.

Read the rest here. 🙂

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