“Yeah, but it’s much hotter when they let you think you’re in control when really, they’re the ones two steps ahead the whole time.” Collin’s follow-up is definitely passive-aggressive.

  But he’s got my number because I was kind of doing that. Would it surprise him to know I wasn’t as in control as I thought I’d been, though?

  “Anyway, I used her panties to tie her hands behind her back. But it’s the holiday season, and we’re all about giving, so here’s a fun Christmas activity I’ll lend to you. Get some Christmas lights, mistletoe, garland, maybe even jingle bells on a rope, that could be fun. Tie your partner up using them, get creative. With the jingle bells, you can tell her that anytime they make noise, you’ll stop what you’re doing. That she has to stay perfectly still. I’ve made some girls scream with how powerful their orgasm is after staying completely still while I get them there.”

  Fuck, now I’m slick and throbbing just thinking about that. I pause the episode on my phone, the latest of Collin’s shows, and it’s all about me. Of course, he knew I was going to listen. He always recaps his sexual escapades before getting into suggestions and ideas. Or taking caller questions about sex or relationships. The thing is, while Collin should come off as a chauvinist asshole who hates women, he doesn’t at all. In fact, he’s open, religious about being reciprocal, and calls himself out when he does something weird or turns a girl off. He even did an entire episode about how he couldn’t get hard one night and the embarrassment of it.

  I truly want to hate the guy, and he always made it so difficult. Part of me wants to ream him out for using our night together as fodder on his show, but it’s not like I’m not going to talk about it on my episode this week. Collin is respectful and even snuck in some holiday theme. The intelligent jerk.

  Flopping back on my couch and picking up a piece of green apple I cut twenty minutes ago, I chomp on the juicy fruit as I think. I spent the rest of my weekend holed up in my apartment brainstorming Christmas content until Renée pulled me out and made me get a pedicure with her. I even allowed her to pick a spicy red for my toes to match the season, that’s how much Collin got under my skin about winning this listens competition.

  And, of course, I filled her in on what went down with my enemy. It’s not like I have anyone else to tell, and she’s been encouraging me to anger bang him forever. The scream she let out when I told her nearly shattered the windows of the nail salon. Of course she’d given me an I told you so and wanted me to repeat the behavior. Some friend I have.

  Most of today, Monday, was spent researching some last-minute details for my interview tomorrow. It’s officially the first week of work in December, and I have a podcast episode both recording and releasing tomorrow. I never do it like that, all in the same day, but Marsha Rivers is only available tomorrow before she hops on a plane to shoot her next movie in South America, so this is it.

  Marsha is the unequivocal star of holiday romance movies. Anyone who has ever turned on a streaming service during the month of December has seen her face, watched her fall in love on screen, and she gives all the wintery feels to our holiday-starved hearts. She was a big get, and I have a feeling this episode is going to do very well.

  Pulling up the document on my computer on the leather upholstered ottoman in my living room, I glance over my questions once more. While a lot of my episodes are geared toward sex, I want to direct Marsha more on the path of what we expect while dating during the holidays. She’s the one starring in everyone’s hometown, second chance dreams on that screen, so delving into what we hope for in our love lives around the holidays feels appropriate.

  The goal is to bring in as large of an audience as possible, hence the number of listens determining who gets the time slot. My graphic talks about sex and foreplay can have some people shying away from my podcast. But if I tame it down for this month, and focus on dating and heartbreak more, I will bring in a more general swath of people. Or so that’s my plan.

  That has me pulling up my email calendar, the online planner I keep meticulously so that nothing falls between the cracks. This week there is some Cast About event on Thursday that Kelly hasn’t given us the details for yet, I’m going to dinner with Renée on Friday, which will probably end in drinks, and I plan on taking a solo getaway to this beautiful cabin in the mountains at some point over the next month.

  It’s not like anyone is giving me a lavish Christmas gift, or any Christmas gift, so ever since I started working a real adult job and earning a paycheck, I do one big thing for myself around the holidays. This year, I fell in love with this cabin resort of sorts I’d seen on social media; it’s basically a box in the woods where one entire wall is a window. The bed is pushed up against it, so you feel like you’re living in the woods.

  The place is only an hour from my apartment, and I plan on lounging in that bed all day long reading books, drinking tea or wine, and maybe treating myself to some very expensive chocolate, too.

  Sighing, I remind myself I only have to get through this competition to reach that reward.

  When my phone starts ringing, I sit up straight, thinking it’s a work call. Aside from Renée, no one calls me on a personal level, all of my other friends text.

  Except the name on the screen flashes Stuart, and I’m so surprised I nearly drop it.

  “Hello?” I answer like the bogeyman might jump through the phone.

  “Merry Christmas, kid.” Dad’s voice scratches through the phone, the connection sounding far away.

  No hello, no sorry I haven’t called in close to a year, just “Merry Christmas”? God, this holiday and this man are a joke.

  “Hey. Thanks.” I don’t say it back.

  It’s not Christmas yet, we didn’t exchange gifts, and I haven’t seen him in two years, but thanks for the call?

  “Doing anything nice for the holidays?” he asks, the conversation stunted and awkward.

  I shrug to the empty room. “Not really. Probably just grab some takeout and rent a movie on my TV.”

  No use in pretending that I’m going to be cared for and warmed by some other person’s family. It’s not like my father cares either way, and I’m exhausted from my Monday.

  “Nice.”

  See? Couldn’t care less. Honestly, he’s probably not even listening to me or can’t hear me that well.

  “Where are you?” I ask because I can’t help it.

  I should have been asking that question from the time I was an infant, but it never registered that I needed to until I went to school and noticed no one else had extremely absentee guardians like I did.

  “Ah, Belgium.” Typical, not even in the country.

  Along the lines of things I do know about my father, this is par for the course. I don’t know what his official job title is, never cared to ask, how he grew up, what his favorite book is, or where he met my mom.

  She died giving birth to me, and I’m pretty sure my dad split soon after. It broke his heart in two, and apparently, he never recovered, or so my uncle told me. Dad had already been a big wig at some sales company before I was born. He already traveled like crazy when they were first married. When she died, he fled, and I’ve barely seen him in my twenty-four years of life since. He makes more money than god getting his company fat and rich, and most of the time, I don’t even know what airport he’s flown into. He chooses to keep it that way. I made peace a long time ago that he just couldn’t bear to look at me when I look like every picture of my mother I’ve ever seen. Which, to be honest is only two, but that’s enough.

  I was raised in my grandmother’s house, but she died when I was five. I don’t remember much of those early years, or her, which should be sad, but I don’t know anything else. That left me with my uncle, Travis, who is a kind man but just didn’t want a kid. He kept me fed and warm, signed all the appropriate school forms, let me enroll in whatever activities and drove me to them, and generally looked out for me. But he just isn’t an emotional person. He had a life that existed outside of caring for me and always kept them separated. Even now, we barely speak, and he was my main caregiver for eighteen years.

  Dad came home once, maybe twice a year. Those visits were weird and felt more like an obligation than something he wanted to do. Since I turned eighteen and went to college, I’ve seen him once.

  If you got a bird’s eye view of my life, it would look like a fucked-up wasteland, and a lot of people could correlate me talking about sex on the digital radio to my clear daddy issues.

  But the truth is, while I was a very lonely child and knew that I didn’t have much connection to my family, I wasn’t unhappy. When you grow up only knowing one thing, it’s not like you grieve for something else or miss it. Renée has asked me a couple of times if I ever think about my mom, and while I do and what my life might be like if she hadn’t died, I don’t get stuck on it.

  I don’t know how to explain it other than to say that grief hits everyone differently. From a young age, I had a sense of care and support, but not from an emotional standpoint. I wasn’t deeply loved, at least to my knowledge, but it was the only thing I knew. So I grew up being okay with that. Generally, I’ve been pretty happy, if not a lone wolf, compared to others.

  And over time, I’ve gathered a small group of friends who care about me, Renée being the most integral part of that. I’ve honed skills and interests that fill my life with joy. It’s like, from a young age, the universe knew I needed to be programmed to function independently and never made me feel shame about that.

  “Okay, well, thanks for calling.” It’s about time that our phone call ends.

  Because I don’t know that stranger on the other end of the phone, and he’s never been keen on getting to know me. After twenty-four years, I’ve made peace with that. I feel no ire toward him, but I’m not particularly enthused about filling him in on my life when I know he doesn’t care either way.

  “Yeah, no problem. Take care of yourself, huh?”

  “Always have.” I can’t help the snide remark.

  We hang up without saying that we love each other or even exchanging goodbyes. I probably won’t hear from him for a while, maybe six months or so.

  Not that there is a fire lit under my ass whenever I happen to hear from my dad because I’ve become way too accustomed to not putting hope or expectations into that relationship.

  But everything about what just occurred only confirms that I need to buckle down during this holiday season, fake my merriment until I make it, and nab that Monday time slot.

  Celebrations and family traditions be damned. I’m not letting anything stand in the way of me and my next goal.

  9

  LARK

  “I think a lot of people want to believe in the fairy tale. This time of year lends itself to that. I just caution you not to get so wrapped up in the fantasy that you completely ignore very real red flags.”

  Marsha Rivers laughs, and I find myself really enjoying this conversation.

  “Let’s talk about some of those red flags. Because we all know them, ladies. I’ve seen them, you’ve seen them. Let’s not overlook them just for a kiss under some mistletoe.”

  My guest laughs as she sits across from me in the plush red wingback chairs Nic brought into this studio. Every in-office studio—there are four of them—has a different theme, and the one I’d decided to interview Marsha in looks the most like Christmas. It’ll film well for the online video episode of the podcast that will go up, and don’t think I haven’t schemed it that way. You can’t take a holiday rom-com star and sit her in the Star Wars themed studio. Yes, it is one of Nic’s passion projects, and I hate using that one.

  “Well, I feel like a lot of people will just take on a significant other for the holidays as this kind of insecurity, right? We want someone to spend time with during these months that feel very important on an emotional level. Sometimes those relationships will last the long haul, and sometimes we just dive in because it feels better to be ‘special’ in the moment. Hey, I’m not saying it can’t happen, I met my husband at a Christmas party five years ago.”

  “What was his pickup line?” Going with the flow of the interviewee is a skill I’ve honed.

  She quietly smiles to herself, as if seeing it in her head. “He asked if I wanted to do a sleigh race shot with him. Which is basically sucking liquor out of a melting Santa ice sculpture as fast as you can to beat the other person. I thought he was a total douche, but it was a party so I did it. I spilled some of the vodka on the sweater I was wearing, and he offered to pay for the dry cleaning. I told him it was fine, but he insisted on Ubering me to an all-night laundromat. We had our first date sipping coffees on top of the folding counter as we waited for my sweater to dry.”

  I’m far from a romantic, but that story even has me saying aw.

  “That is ridiculously cute. Dare I say it, a plot for one of the movies you star in.”

  “It does sound like one. But back to your original question, jeez, I sidetracked us with my personal stuff.”

  “Well, it is why I asked you on. But, yes, tell us those red flags.”

  “Okay so some of those red flags, you know, obviously, if someone is physically or mentally abusive, it’s a full stop. But then there are the not-so-visible warning signs; if he won’t let you see his phone, love bombing, stipulating who in his life you get to meet, or if you don’t get to meet any of them. There are the age-old ones like situations where you’re always footing the bill or he’s constantly checking out or talking about other girls while you’re together. Holiday seasons can lead people to forget about these things because we all want that picture-perfect movie Christmas, but I promise it’s not worth it. Believe me, I’ve starred in a number of real-life and movie relationships where the holiday romance that singers belt about is not worth it.”

  I want to rub my hands together but refrain because the video will catch me being cocky. The interview has been going incredibly, thus far. We’ve covered everything from how she started in the industry to what made her stand out as a favorite for the holiday movies, how many she’s done, and why everyone wants love at the holidays. Even though I am vehemently anti-Christmas, I can feel myself leaning in slightly, loving the direction this episode is going to take. After doing radio and podcasts for so many years, I can see how the editor will splice together the episode and how it will flow.

  Marsha’s episode is going to be top of the charts for sure.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I believe in love! I got married three years ago and I’m obsessed with my husband. Most days. When he doesn’t leave his wet towels on the brand-new carpet of our bedroom.” She laughs like this is the funniest thing in the world because she’s in love.

  I laugh too, but it’s fake. I don’t know what that feels like, to love someone so much that you jokingly laugh off them being a slob. Part of me wishes that someday, I’ll be able to connect with that sentiment, and part of me wishes I never do.

  “Which is why you continue to star in our favorite holiday romances. Okay, so let’s get down to the nitty gritty. What is it like filming spicy scenes in the middle of the snow?”

  I have to gear this interview toward the holidays at some point.

  Marsha throws her head back and laughs. “I should have known as a listener of this podcast that we’d go spicy. Okay, I’m ready. Well, unfortunately, movie scenes with sex in them are not as hot as you’d think they are. When you’re filming, there are like twenty people directing you on how to put your tongue in another person’s mouth, so it’s really not so spicy. Usually, we’re filming on some lot in California with fake snow and it’s about a hundred degrees with the parkas on. Oh God, I’m making this sound anything but romantic and sexy, aren’t I?”

  “All right then.” I give a sly smirk, hoping she doesn’t shy away from the question I’m about to ask. “Where is the hottest place you and your husband have ever snuck away to at the holidays to do the dirty?”

  Her eyes flash to her publicist, sitting just outside the glass that looks into this studio. Her publicist gives a shoulder shrug, and I wonder what Marsha is about to spill.

  “So, I didn’t give the full story about the sleigh race sweater incident. After it dried, we ended up going out to the side of the laundromat while we waited for the Uber and got very acquainted with each other. It was even snowing.”

  Her secretive grin makes me want to dig more, but this woman isn’t the type to talk cock and pussy. As an interviewer, I need to read the room, and I’m doing it in spades here.

  We talk a little more about her upcoming holiday movies that release over the next month. She has three coming out this year, and then do a rapid-fire round of questions I culled from social media users.

  I’m just finishing up the interview, wrapping my mic chords and cleaning up the empty seltzer bottle Marsha left, when someone knocks on the open door to the studio.

  Turning, I find Collin leaning against the jamb, holding up a bottle of red wine.

  “I thought maybe I could come over and pour you one.” That smug mouth tips up, and I want to curse him, but he’s so goddamn handsome it’s temporarily disarming.

  “So what, a bottle of wine is suddenly going to make me want to sleep with you again?” I don’t pull punches, especially with this guy.

  “Just thought I’d bring a celebratory drink. That interview was one for the books.”

  Of course, he was watching from outside the studio. “Thank you.”

  “Even pulled in the Christmas theme. Impressive for a girl who hates the holiday.” He lowers his voice when he says this, as if he has some secret on me.

  “Trying to expose me so you win the time slot?” My hackles rise.

  “Are we really going to be so savage with each other? The competition is clear-cut. Whoever gets the most listens wins. Can’t we just leave it at that?” His words are too innocent to be believable.

  “Why don’t I take that at face value for one minute?” I tap my chin.