Screw Christmas

“It’s not you—”
Oh for fuck’s sake! He was about to use schlock, pop psychology on her at Christmas.
“What we had was great—”
Bastard. “Had?”
“The thing is I love—”
“Who?”
“Leticia.”
Handling a break-up on Christmas Eve was pukeable but being dumped from a scrag of a woman? “The blonde bimbo with more wear marks on her body than the Heathrow runway Leticia?”
“Come on, be fair Georgie,” Cooper responded, his time whiny and defensive. “She likes men—”
“And fucks their brains out.”
Hal shook his head at her. “I don’t think you should swear at Christmas.”
“And I don’t think you fucking think at all.” What an idiot she had been. Georgie had spent two hundred dollars to have the elaborate red and green scrolled tattoo inked onto her skin to declare her love. Stupid woman. Ink cannot make a relationship work. “Get out.”