As Peeta downed the rest of his drink, the first notes of Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" filled the air. He groaned and looked over his shoulder. A group of college students huddled around the digital jukebox, pumping in dollar after dollar. Great. They'd be stuck with Christmas songs until last call.

It was bad enough that the place was decorated top to bottom for the holidays. Strings of white lights lined the bar top, mistletoe hung from every entryway, and a Christmas tree was tucked into a back corner. Annie, the owner's daughter, had collected empty miniature bottles of liquor and turned them into ornaments. A beer stein served as the angel.

Christmas had always been Peeta's favorite holiday, but this year everything was going wrong, and he wasn't in the mood. He'd just as soon skip the entire holiday season. He'd be home in bed right now if Finnick hadn't kept texting him every five minutes with sad face and Santa hat emojis.

"'Tis the season," Finnick said before launching into a very passionate lip-syncing performance. He pointed at Peeta and blew him a kiss as the chorus played.

"Please don't."

"But all I want for Christmas is you." At Peeta's blank stare, Finnick gave up. "Okay, a joke instead. What's the difference between snowmen and snowwomen?

"Snowballs?"

Finnick curled his lip in disgust. "You ruined it. You took the punch line."

"That one was kind of obvious." Peeta pushed his glass forward. "Can I get another?"

Finnick let out an exaggerated sigh before grabbing the empty glass. While Peeta was the only one sitting in front of the bar, the rest of the place was busy for a Wednesday night, although considering it was the day before Christmas Eve, it was hardly a surprise. College students had been arriving in droves the past week as schools let out for break, and the majority of the older crowd didn't have work the next morning.

After getting a pink slip back in June, Peeta woke up most mornings before dawn to work part-time at his family's bakery. His father had generously given him tomorrow off as it was a half-day and nearly all the special orders had been completed.

Peeta would have preferred going to work. At least it was a distraction from how utterly useless he felt.

Finnick set down a fresh drink. After taking a sip, Peeta grimaced. "Um, did you forget to add something?"

"Like what?"

"Like the Coke?"

"That's insulting. I've been bartending for five years, and you think I don't know how to make a basic Rum and Coke?"

Peeta just stared.

"I added Coke. I added a dollop of Coke."

"Can you maybe add a few more 'dollops'?" Peeta asked, making air quotes to emphasize Finnick's ridiculousness.

"Fine, but you're missing the entire point of this evening."

"Which is?"

"To get drunk and have fun! It's the end of the year. It's time for a new beginning!"

Peeta shook his head. He had been on twelve interviews at twelve high schools since June and had received exactly zero offers. The job market was tough, and the competition was fierce. It didn't look like something new would be beginning anytime soon. If he was lucky, maybe he'd get another tutoring job.

"We've got another week before New Year's. Let's get through Christmas first," Peeta said.

"Fine." Finnick sprayed a quick burst of Coke into the glass. When Peeta's frown remained, Finnick rolled his eyes and filled the cup to the brim. "Here's your watered down fun killer."

Peeta took a sip and gave his friend a thumbs up.

"Okay, I've got another one."

Peeta had only been here an hour, but Finnick was already on his sixth holiday-themed joke. While the jokes were lame, Peeta appreciated the amount of effort Finnick was putting into the pointless task of cheering him up.

"What do all the female reindeer do while Santa is busy working with the males on Christmas Eve?" Finnick asked.

"I don't know. What?"

"Go into town and blow a couple bucks."

Peeta couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped him. Finnick was right. Sort of. Not about female reindeer, but about having fun. Tomorrow was going to suck, and the day after too, but tonight didn't have to. And maybe the new year really would usher in a new beginning.

Or maybe that was just the rum talking.

"Okay, one more," Finnick said, wiggling his eyebrows. "Why doesn't Santa have any kids?"

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Because he only comes once a—" He cut himself off as a gorgeous brunette approached the bar.

"Because he only comes once a year," she said.

At Peeta's horrified look, she continued, "It's okay. I've heard my share of dirty Christmas jokes."

"And it's down a chimney," Finnick added.

Heat crept up the back of Peeta's neck as he glared at Finnick. It was definitely much hotter than it had been a moment ago, and he was pretty sure his cheeks were the same color as Santa's suit.

"What?" Finnick demanded. "He only comes once a year and it's down a chimney. She didn't finish the joke." Finnick turned to the woman. "What can I get you?"

"Long Island Iced Tea."

Peeta swiveled on top of his barstool to face her. Snowflakes dotted her dark braid, but they were already melting in the warmth of the bar. A few droplets slid from her hairline down the side of her face. He had the strangest urge to reach out and wipe them away.

Thankfully, she did it herself, saving him from some extreme embarrassment.

"Sorry about that," Peeta said. "My friend loves Christmas and dirty jokes. He can't help but combine them."

"Your friend? You're friends with the bartender?"

"Not in the 'I'm here every night because I'm sad and lonely and have a drinking problem' way. More in the 'we were college roommates and still hang out all the time' way."

She nodded. "Got it."

"Here you go," Finnick said. "Eight dollars."

"Can I buy you your drink?" Peeta asked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Uh…" It had been forever since he had hit on a woman, but he remembered it being much easier in college. He rarely faced rejection, and he had never dealt with outright suspicion. "To be nice?"

"No, guys buy girls drinks because they think it'll obligate us to talk to them and maybe sleep with them. You're already talking to me. I'm not going to sleep with you. There's no need." She pulled out her wallet.

"Um, okay," Peeta said, a little annoyed at her reaction. It's not like he was expecting sex just because he purchased her a drink. Eight dollars plus tip seemed like an uneven trade for something like that.

Also, he wasn't an asshole, but maybe that wasn't as obvious as he hoped. He had been delivering the punch line to a raunchy joke as she walked up.

She handed her credit card to Finnick. He disappeared to the other end of the bar where the cash register was located.

"Are you here with someone?" Peeta asked.

"My roommate, Johanna," she said, tilting her head to indicate a woman with choppy black hair streaked with red. Johanna was currently sitting on some guy's lap, her tongue down his throat.

"Is that her boyfriend?"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "Nope, that's actually a new record. We've been here less than five minutes." She took a generous sip of her drink. "I guess the answer is no, I'm not here with anyone."

"If we don't count Finnick, and I don't because he's working, then I'm here alone too. And we've already established that I'm not allowed to buy you a drink or sleep with you. Now that the awkward stuff is out of the way, do you want to take a seat?"

Her mouth twisted into something resembling a smile as she stared down into her drink.

"Katniss," she said.

"What's that?"

"My name. Katniss."

She held out her hand. He grasped it, surprised at the sudden spark that shot up his arm.

Nope, tonight did not have to suck. At all.

"Peeta," he said, shaking her hand.

"Does your friend know any more jokes?" she asked, sitting on the adjacent barstool.

"Please don't encourage him."

()

Several drinks—and eight "All I Want for Christmas is You"'s—later, Finnick coerced the pair into trying a couple of Santa Shots. They were red and green and tasted like candy canes, and before Peeta knew it, he and Katniss had each downed three.

"Finnick, I know this is your job and all, but I think we need to slow it down," Peeta suggested. "Unless you want me to spread my holiday cheer all over the bar."

Katniss, cheeks flushed, her coat and scarf ditched long ago, peeled off her sweater.

"Having trouble keeping up?" she asked, adding her sweater to the pile accumulating on the nearest stool.

"Yes," Peeta said, one hundred percent not checking her out. He was very proud of himself for maintaining eye contact. "I am not ashamed to admit a girl can outdrink me, even if it's a tiny girl like yourself."

"Tiny?" Katniss echoed.

"Um, petite? Diminutive? Miniature?" His eyes wandered from the green bra strap peeking out to the silver chain that disappeared behind her tight black tank top. Some kind of magnetic force yanked his gaze down lower to her breasts where he lingered a few seconds too long.

Was he being obvious? He was being obvious. His reaction time was slowed way down. He refocused on her face, but then he started thinking about her lips and how soft they looked.

"You know a lot of synonyms, but not one of them is flattering," Katniss said. "And I'm 5'5". That's average."

"Sorry. It's the English teacher in me. Drunk English teacher, actually."

Katniss smiled, but she didn't laugh. While she had a beautiful smile, he had been unable to make her laugh all night. It was high on his to-do list, just under kissing her, although he doubted that would happen. Especially after her roommate had stopped over.

Johanna had left with her "new friend" a couple of hours earlier, but before disappearing, she had stopped at the bar to say goodbye and give advice: "Try to have some fun, Brainless. Blondie here looks like he'd be good in the sack."

Several seconds had passed before Peeta realized that the blonde in question was him and not the Thor-lookalike that had followed Johanna out the door.

Katniss had blushed, Peeta had sputtered, and Finnick had told another joke to alleviate the tension.

Thank god for Finnick. Mostly. Peeta was getting much drunker than he had intended, and it was completely Finnick's fault. Peeta knew he would not only have one hell of a headache in the morning but quite an expensive tab. He was trying to be careful with his money, especially after purchasing gifts for his family, but he was certain he had drunk half of his most recent paycheck.

"English teacher?" Katniss asked. "What grade?"

"No grade as of right now. Lost my job after budget cuts. Last one hired, first one fired."

"That's awful. I'm sorry."

"I'm tutoring and substituting here and there. I'll find something new soon," he said, regretting mentioning it at all. The past couple of hours had flown by in easy conversation, and he didn't want to bring up such a loaded, negative topic. "Should we do another shot?"

"You may each have just one more shot," Finnick announced in his best authoritative voice. "Last call."

"Already?" Katniss asked.

She pulled out her cell phone and frowned. Peeta recognized a change in her demeanor, although he wasn't sure what it was. Did she regret spending her entire night talking to him? He thought she had been enjoying herself, especially when he had launched into a rant about cheesy Hallmark movies. He didn't mention that before this year he used to enjoy them, but it had been fun when they started making up ones of their own. Her specialty was titles. His was weaving together plots that involved melodramatic love triangles and lost dogs. She hadn't laughed, but she had smirked and rolled her eyes, and told him he might want to pursue a new career path.

She could have left at any time. There had been no obligation to stay.

"It doesn't feel like it's almost two," she said.

"Elfin!" The word came out almost as a shout.

"What?" she asked.

"That's a good synonym, isn't it? It makes me think of mystical powerful warriors."

"It makes me think of pointy ears and Santa's workshop," she said. "But I guess it's better than miniature."

Finnick served them their final two shots for the evening. Katniss insisted they do it at the same time. She stood up, threw hers back with a tilt of her head, and without a warning, pulled Peeta into a kiss.

His world narrowed until there was only her warm mouth, her hand on his thigh, her fingers tangled in his hair. Finnick, the barstool, his frustration, even the ninth rendition of that god-awful Mariah Carey song faded to nothing as Katniss's tongue brushed against his lips.

He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, but she abruptly pulled away and slipped her sweater on. Peeta swayed, nearly falling off his stool. The room was spinning, but he wasn't sure how much blame he could place on the alcohol. He watched her tie her scarf loosely around her neck and pull on her coat.

She had tasted like peppermint and vodka, and she had made the whole world stop, but she was leaving now, and he would have to return home to an empty apartment and a long night awake with his thoughts.

"Do you live near here?" she asked, buttoning up her coat.

The question startled him. Had she really said that? Or was he so drunk that he was hallucinating the question he most wanted to hear?

He played it safe and nodded.

"Do you want to show me where you live?"

This time he managed a simple: "Yes."

She took his hand and pulled him toward the exit. He followed without a backwards glance at Finnick, too distracted at the thought that soon enough he'd be removing the layers she had just pulled on, unwrapping her like a Christmas present.

()

The flurries from earlier had turned into a heavy snow during the hours Peeta had spent inside the bar. A cab idled beside the curb waiting for them. The driver said someone named Finnick had called ten minutes earlier and that the fare was taken care of.

Finnick was possibly the best wingman in the history of the universe.

Peeta gave the driver his address once he and Katniss were in the backseat. He worried that they would lapse into an awkward silence or that she would regret her brazen decision, but as soon as the car pulled away from the curb, her mouth was on his once more.

She snaked her hand between the buttons of his pea coat, laying her palm flat against his chest. He grazed her cheeks, icy from the brief time they were out in the cold. Already her skin was warming from the heat blasting in the car, the snowflakes melting, dripping down her face. He fulfilled his earlier urge and wiped them away.

The cab driver loudly explained his policy on charging for stains. Peeta barely heard him.

After the cab dropped them off in front of Peeta's apartment building, Katniss fell into step behind him. Her footsteps were almost soundless, and she kept her hands to herself. Peeta kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hadn't run off.

He knew he was very close to overanalyzing this situation, saying something stupid, and ruining the whole night. As they climbed the two flights of stairs that led to his apartment, he decided to shut his brain off. He would not think or hope or plan. Tonight would unfold organically, and if that meant Katniss finding her way into his bed, then good. (Actually, great. Amazing. Perfect.) And if not, if they just sat on his couch and talked for another couple of hours, then it would still be a wonderful night.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Katniss had him pressed against it, her hands unbuttoning his coat and roaming the planes of his stomach as soon as his coat hit the ground.

"Be careful," he said as she kissed his neck. "That's my favorite coat."

She laughed—finally, actually laughed!—and slipped off her jacket, throwing it on top of his.

"Are you going to give me a tour?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "This is my apartment." He waved his arms with a flourish before sitting down. "And this is my couch."

She climbed onto his lap, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head back. She looked down at him, her lips twisted into a coy smile, and rocked her hips against him. He bit back a groan.

"That was a great tour," she said.

And then there were no more words, no more jokes, just her tongue in his mouth, her fingers raking through his hair, and her hips—oh god, her hips. He no longer kept quiet as she grinded against him. His moaning only encouraged her as she ripped off her sweater and threw it over her shoulder.

His shirt and her tank followed soon after. Her skin was hot against his, like a fire burning through his chest. She kissed a trail down his neck and ran her tongue across his collarbone. He unhooked her bra with one hand—the other too preoccupied with cupping her ass—and she broke contact long enough to pull the straps down her arms.

He stared at her breasts, relieved he had turned off his brain. Otherwise, he would have said something stupid like wow or thank you. This was not the first pair of breasts he had seen. What was wrong with him?

"Don't gawk," she teased. "It's rude."

He kissed the hollow of her throat, the freckles that dotted her shoulders, the space between her breasts. When he finally took her nipple into his mouth, she gasped and arched her back, her silver chain hitting him in the face.

She pulled away. "Sorry."

"Do you want to take it off?" he asked.

He felt the change in her as much as he saw it. It was like a wall going up, the heat disappearing from her body. He wanted to take a step backward not just to resume kissing but also to return her to her formerly happy state. She looked sad all of a sudden and a little lost.

"You don't have to," he said quietly.

"Can you undo it?" She leaned into his chest and brushed her braid out of the way.

He tried to ignore how good her breasts felt pressed against his chest and focus on finding the clasp in the dark. His chin rested on her shoulder as he squinted, examining the chain. He undid the clasp and handed her the necklace.

"Thank you," she said, placing it carefully on the coffee table behind her.

She stared at him for a moment, half-naked and gorgeous but surprisingly sad. He wouldn't mind stopping here if she would allow him to hold her close and try to bring her smile back.

"Kind," she said, running a finger along his jawline. "Friendly. Charming. Sweet."

It took him a moment to realize she was listing synonyms just as he had done back at the bar. He liked her words much more than the ones he had come up with.

"Funny. Handsome. Strong."

"Those last three aren't synonyms," he said.

"Shut up." She kissed him again, this time slowly and carefully. There was no fever in her touch, but a different kind of intimacy instead. He felt an explanation in her kiss, an apology. He pulled her closer, tasted the compliments on her tongue. He wanted to remember her words, this moment, no matter what happened next.

"Can we finish the tour now?" she mumbled into his ear.

His head spun. All of his blood had rushed south, and the alcohol was clouding his vision, and she was so impossibly beautiful and strange. She was a mystery to be solved, a map to be followed.

But she was also just a woman, he reminded himself. And she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her.

"The alcohol is messing with my head. I can't seem to remember where I left the bedroom," he said.

She laughed again. It was a wonder she hadn't been laughing the whole night, the way she gave them up so easily now.

"Who said anything about the bedroom? That's awfully presumptuous of you."

She stood and held out her hand. He pressed his lips against her wrist, and she stared at him as if trying to work out a puzzle.

"I thought you weren't going to sleep with me," he teased.

"Don't get cocky," she warned. "I could still leave."

He didn't doubt her. She seemed like the type of woman who would walk out half-dressed, no matter how turned on she was, just to prove a point. He kind of liked that about her.

"I'll just finish the tour myself," she said with a sigh. She was halfway down the hall before he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

She let out a yell of surprise. He charged into the bedroom and dropped her onto the bed. He watched her breasts bounce as she landed, listened to her musical laughter as she held out a hand in invitation, and then the apartment fell quiet as he lowered himself on top of her and found her lips once more.

()

A thump and a muffled "shit" woke Peeta up. He opened his eyes and let out a groan. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry, but a surge of happiness ran through him. He was not used to waking up in such a good mood.

He sat up and found Katniss, clad only in jeans, attempting to slip on her boots.

The night before came flooding back, and Peeta was not disappointed with the burst of memories.

"Hey," Peeta said.

"Um, hey," Katniss said, wrapping an arm around her chest.

"Can I make you some breakfast?"

"No, no. That's not necessary."

She approached his side of the bed, cast a glance at the floor, and frowned. She turned and searched the floor behind her.

"I think everything is in the living room," Peeta said.

"Right. Thanks," Katniss said, unable to meet his eyes. He thought he saw a blush heating up her cheeks, but her hair, no longer in a braid, covered her face.

He slid his jeans on before following her into the living room. She already wore her bra and tank and was searching for her sweater.

"You don't have to go so fast," Peeta said.

"I do. I really do. I'm sorry." She looked regretful, but it dawned on Peeta that it wasn't her quick getaway that was making her frown. It was that she had been caught in the act.

He didn't exactly have an extensive history of one-night stands. He had never actually had one. He didn't like the idea of using someone for a night even if the intention was mutual. And he sure as hell wasn't going to start now, especially when he had had such a great time with Katniss. Despite being almost strangers, they had laughed and teased each other throughout the night, reaching the kind of intimacy that usually took several months. Feeling desire was one thing, but not worrying about looking like a fool in front of another person was something else entirely.

He was comfortable with her. He wanted to make her breakfast and serve it in bed. He wanted a quiet morning of her voice in his ear, her head on his chest.

Peeta grabbed her hands. "Hey," he said. "I had fun last night."

"Me too." But she still wouldn't meet his eyes. She sidestepped him, and he let her hands fall from his. "I really have to go though. Um, Merry Christmas."

She scooped up her sweater and coat and was out the door before he could respond. He sighed. As predicted, today was well on its way to sucking, and tonight would only be worse.

Because it was Christmas Eve. And that meant going home.

()

Peeta adjusted his tie even though it was mostly hidden underneath his sweater. It was way too hot in the house, especially with the fire going, but his mother had to have her picture perfect Christmas, and that included her three sons dressed to her exact specifications. After spending his entire childhood trying and failing to please his mother, Peeta no longer put in much effort, but wearing a tie on Christmas Eve was preferable to the fight not wearing one would start.

And no matter how small the argument began, his mother always managed to blow it up until she had used every synonym imaginable for the words "disappointment" and "failure," which was why Peeta rarely visited despite living only twenty minutes away.

His older brother Tyler was in the kitchen helping his mother prepare dinner. While Peeta couldn't make out what they were saying, he could hear the soft tone of his mother's voice. Tyler's wife Emily was upstairs breastfeeding their six-month-old daughter, Hannah, and when she eventually reappeared, Peeta's mother would transform into someone else. Someone maternal and warm. Someone Peeta didn't recognize.

Peeta fiddled with his phone, ignoring the Hallmark Christmas movie on television. It had something to do with firemen and cats and would likely end with the two main characters making out and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. Picture perfect bullshit ending.

Peeta's phone buzzed.

Finnick (4:07pm): So…did u have a good night?

Peeta (4:07pm): No.

Katniss's silver chain was burning a hole in his pocket. He had been surprised she had left it behind considering how important it seemed to he. He didn't know why he brought it with him tonight. As soon as he had picked it up in the daylight, he realized it was a locket, but he hadn't looked inside. It felt too much like an invasion of privacy.

Finnick (4:09pm): what happened? You scare her off with all your charm and goodlookingness?

Peeta (4:11pm): That's not a word.

Finnick (4:14pm): you've got quite a tab waiting for u next time you're in. you're lucky I'm currently dating the owner's daughter or you'd be in quite a bit of trouble

The doorbell rang.

"Must be Rye," Peeta said, referring to his younger brother. "I'll get it."

Peeta texted a quick "gotta go" to Finnick and stood up to answer the door. His father nodded his thanks.

Except it wasn't Rye. When Peeta swung open the door, the very last person he expected to find on the porch was Katniss.

How did she know where he'd be? Had she contacted Finnick? Was she here to talk or just to get her necklace back?

"Hi," Peeta said, confused but delighted at her presence.

Katniss's eyes widened in surprise, and a moment later, her face transformed into a look of horror.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, shit."

Before Peeta could respond to this less than stellar greeting, Rye came running up the path with a six-pack in his hand.

"Sorry! Forgot the alcohol in the car, and trust me, we're going to need it to get through tonight." He stopped beside Katniss and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Peeta, I'd like for you to meet my girlfriend, Katniss. Katniss, this is my brother, Peeta."

Oh. In that case, Katniss's reaction had been spot on. This wasn't good. This was, actually, awful and terrible and about a thousand other variations of fucked up.

"Um, Peet, are you going to let us inside? It's pretty cold out here."

"What? Yeah. Come in." He avoided looking at Katniss as they walked past, but he caught the scent of her perfume. Heat rushed through him as images from last night danced through his head.

Her hasty exit this morning suddenly made a lot more sense. Guilt over cheating on Rye had sent her rushing out of Peeta's apartment.

Poor Rye. Poor perpetually single Rye. He had finally found a steady girlfriend, and she wasn't faithful. Who knew if Peeta was even the first?

He ignored the desire her presence had stirred up and glared at her. He was furious that just because she didn't know how to be faithful, he was now the bad guy too. Whether he had known who she was or not, he felt as if he had betrayed Rye.

"You know, all this talk about her, and you never once mentioned her name," Peeta said. "It's such a unique name too. Not one you'd easily forget."

"Uh, sorry," Rye said. "You know it now."

"It's so nice to meet you, Katniss," Mr. Mellark said, shaking her hand. "We've heard wonderful things about you."

"It's nice to meet you too," she mumbled, face red. At least she looked ashamed.

"Rye!" Delly squeaked as she trotted down the stairs. She hugged him tightly before taking her place at Peeta's side. She reached out her hand toward Katniss. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you!" Delly exclaimed. "I'm Delly Cartwright, Peeta's fiancée."

Now it was Peeta's turned to look horrified while Katniss glared.

"It's nice to meet you," Katniss said with false cheer.

Yeah, he had been absolutely right this morning. Tonight was going to suck so, so much.