Chapter Four
TREY
“What the hell is going on in there?” Scout demanded, his eyes wide and his face frozen into a horrified mask.
“How would I know?” I asked. “I was at brunch with you!”
Scout just stared at me. He was definitely going to murder me when he found out I knew exactly what Marty had been up to while we were at Cafe Meow.
“It’s actually really cold out here,” I said.
Stare.
“Scout.” I took him by the shoulders and pushed him gently toward the door again. “Get the hell back inside the house, you coward. Unless you’re afraid of a little Christmas spirit.”
Scout never could back down from a challenge.
He narrowed his eyes at me and opened the door, and we stepped inside.
Marty had gone all out. The foyer was full of tinsel, bunting, and two massive inflatable gingerbread men.
I held Scout’s hand and dragged him between them.
We went into the living room. It was like Christmas had exploded and there were no survivors.
I’d say that the tree was the centerpiece of the room, except it really wasn’t.
It didn’t draw the eye because there were glittery decorations everywhere.
I didn’t even recognize the place. It was…
wow. It was a lot. This was probably what the inside of Marty’s brain looked like when he didn’t take his Adderall.
Rows and rows of flashing lights were strung across the high ceiling, and they lit up the room, their colors reflecting off the tinsel in a way that was more reminiscent of a rave than of reindeer.
There was a side table filled with cookies, snacks, a gingerbread house, and a cooler full of beer.
Every table and flat surface had some sort of Christmas ornament on it.
Giant bright red satin bows were everywhere, and I counted no less than six wreaths stuck haphazardly to the walls.
I hoped Marty hadn’t nailed them there, but I was too afraid to ask.
When Marty had said he was going to make the house “super festive, bro,” he hadn’t been kidding.
“Holy shit, Marty,” I said.
“Happy Fratmas!” he exclaimed, trying again to shove a can of beer into Scout’s hand.
Scout looked at him, looked at the beer, took it, and then set the can down on the coffee table beside a bunch of hideously ugly snowmen decorations. “It’s not even lunchtime, Marty.”
Marty looked baffled. “But it’s a party!”
Scout’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Jesus, Marty, isn’t this a little much for a photo shoot for your dog? This is over-the-top even for you.”
“What?” asked Marty, his face scrunching up.
“What?” Scout asked right back.
Which was when I figured out he still thought this was all for the dog.
“Uh, Scout,” I said, squeezing his hand and preparing to break the news. “It’s not for Squirrel. It’s for you.”
He blinked at me. Then stared. Then blinked some more. “What?”
“Trey said you’re not having Christmas with your family,” Marty said. “So Trey and I decided we’d have Christmas today. Well, Fratmas. Happy Fratmas, bro!”
Scout blinked again. “What?”
His brain was definitely broken. In his defense, he’d been well and truly blindsided.
The guys who’d followed us into the room—about a quarter of the brothers, which was pretty damn sweet given they all should have been home right about now—were standing around awkwardly.
I didn’t think anyone who knew Scout would have expected him to respond typically to a surprise party—you were more likely to get a death threat than a warm thanks—but it probably hadn’t occurred to anyone that Scout wouldn’t even realize what was going on.
“Happy Fratmas!” Marty exclaimed again.
“I don’t get it.” Scout shook his head. “You said it was for the dog.”
I bit back a smile and said, “Scout, in this scenario, the dog is you.”
I’d pay for that later, but at the moment Scout just looked slightly bewildered. It wasn’t a look I saw often on his face, and it softened all his sharper edges.
I led him over to the couch and sat him down. “Squirrel’s photo shoot was just a cover story so the guys could decorate.”
I could see the moment the pieces started to fall into place for Scout, and the confusion on his face was replaced by something that was almost a tentative smile, if you knew what to look for. If you didn’t, it looked like his regular resting bitch face.
Marty thrust the beer can at him again. “Fratmas, bro!”
And this time Scout took it, popped the top, and drank. He looked around the room again. He raised his eyebrows while Marty hovered expectantly, waiting for judgment.
Scout let out a weary sigh at last. “Don’t expect me to play stupid party games,” he said.
Which sounded a hell of a lot like “thank you” to me, and to anyone else who knew Scout even a little bit. By the grins on everyone’s faces and the backslapping—Charlie even let out a little whoop of excitement—everyone in this room got it.
I sat down beside him, leaned in close, and whispered, “You’re welcome.”
His mouth twitched.
Fratmas was loud and crazy and disorganized, and everything Scout pretended to hate, but he handled it like a champ.
There was food—deviled eggs, prosciutto roll-ups, canapes, and a whole lot of sugar cookies and junk food besides, and even more to come, according to Marty.
I was seriously impressed at the finger food and figured the selection was down to James Two.
There was a reason he was in charge of next year’s Super Bowl party.
“Bro, there’s gonna be a storm this afternoon,” Marty said.
“So we’re having a sit-down supper tonight and everyone’s staying over.
Do you know how to cook a turkey? Archer said he thinks he can, but he had to phone his mom to see if she knew how to preheat our stove.
Or maybe it was to get the temperature. I’m not sure, but the point is, I’m not super confident there will be a roast turkey by dinnertime tonight. We have a bunch of sides, though.”
“We could order something from Waffle House,” I said.
Scout elbowed me in the ribs and pulled out his phone, his fingers dancing over the screen. “I’m ordering baked ham from my emergency catering service.”
“Who has an emergency catering service in their contacts?” Eli asked, wrinkling his nose.
Scout’s brow creased like he was genuinely confused. “Who doesn’t?”
“A ham would be awesome,” Marty said. “Dude, order that, then you can open your presents!”
“What presents?” Scout asked suspiciously.
“Bro, you can’t have Fratmas without presents,” Marty said. “Hey, Trey, can I be Santa?”
Like there would be any stopping him. “Go ahead.”
Marty beamed at us and disappeared, coming back a minute later wearing a giant velvet Santa hat complete with fake beard and a pair of half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked ridiculous. If Marty ever had kids, their holidays were going to be unforgettable, that was for sure.
He went over to the tree and picked up a parcel, peering over the top of his glasses.
“Scout,” he announced and tossed the parcel through the air. It went wide and I dived to catch it because I knew Scout wouldn’t. I passed it to him, and he eyed it like it was unattended baggage at an airport.
“You’d better open it, or we’ll be here all day,” I said.
“That one’s from me and Eli!” Archer said from the doorway, an arm around Eli’s waist.
Scout relaxed slightly and tore open the paper, and a bunch of glittery gel pens fell into Scout’s lap. They were the kind of things a little kid would lose their shit over. Not as popular with the college crowd, and Scout raised his eyebrows while his mouth fought not to smile. “Thank you?”
“We’ve seen you stealing Briar’s,” Archer said. “And this way you can write all your angry refrigerator notes in pretty colors.”
“I don’t write angry refrigerator notes,” Scout lied. “I write helpful reminders about the standards of behavior expected in Alpha Tau.”
“Angrily,” Archer said, and Eli snorted and hid his laugh behind his hand.
“Incoming!” Marty shouted and lobbed another little parcel Scout’s way.
“Babe, I think you should just hand them to him,” Dalton said, laughing. “Scout doesn’t cope well with surprises.”
Understatement of the year right there.
Scout turned the little parcel over in his hand. The tag said From Charlie and Tanner, and Scout stared down at it, his body stiffening in discomfort. I knew exactly why, but I was also aware of Charlie watching eagerly, and hopefully, from across the room.
This could be awkward.
Anything with Scout could be awkward, even before adding Charlie to the mix, because Charlie had a whole bunch of his own brand of awkwardness to add to the equation.
But what nobody knew outside a select few members of the chapter executive—not even Charlie—was that Scout was paying for Charlie’s fraternity dues and accommodation at the house.
He also regularly made excuses to buy Charlie meals and take him places.
I knew that he’d hate the thought that Charlie was spending his hard-earned money on him.
I hoped he didn’t mess this up for Charlie’s sake.
Scout opened the tiny gift and showed me the gift cards from the donut shop, Hole Foods, that Charlie worked at. Then he flashed a genuine smile at Charlie. “Thank you, Charlie. And Tanner, too. I guess we’re going out to breakfast in the new year?”
Charlie beamed, clearly delighted and relieved in equal measure. “You bet!”
The next parcel was bulky and awkwardly wrapped, with strips of tape hanging off it and a hole in the paper. Marty handed it over saying, “This one’s from me!”
Well, obviously.
Scout’s raised brow said the same thing. He had a dubious expression as he unwrapped the gift, which was fair because it was giving off a very strong meaty smell.
It was a package of pig’s ears.
“Uh,” Scout said, holding one up gingerly.
“It’s so you can get some Squirrel love,” Marty said. “My present to you is Squirrel love! The pig’s ear is just the delivery method. There are fifteen of them.”
“Thank you, Marty.”