16
CHEYENNE
"Anyway, so Darren's like halfway down the slope by the time I untangle myself from the drunken girl, and he's laughing his a*s off the whole way. He was still giggling when I met up him at the bottom of the slope." The big red-haired man with the lumberjack's beard—Mike, if I remember right—laughs to himself and takes a swallow of his heavily spiked nog.
"I was not giggling," Darren says as he fights down a case of the giggles. I hide my smile in a swallow of cider.
It's been a pretty good party so far. Aside from the one the office holds every year, I've never actually been to a Christmas party before, and I worried that I would be awkward, or worse, sick. But I managed to clear a plate of turkey and trimmings, though I declined any gravy or butter.
Darren introduced me
