5. Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Neil
Christmas Eve
I can tell Mark’s nervous about his work friends coming. He took half the afternoon off and came over early, ostensibly to help me prepare for my party, but in reality he spent the whole time putting things carefully away in cupboards and asking me if I was sure the coffee table was sturdy.
“How much food do you think we’re going to put on it, Mark?” I finally asked in exasperation.
“Not food,” he mutters darkly.
Not…
“You think your friends are going to sit on my table? Well, I guess if we run out of chairs…” It’s usually a mostly standing party, with neighbors wandering from one conversation to another. “It should be able to hold their weight.”
“Good.” He nods. “Good. What if they were dancing?”
“What if they were dancing?” I repeat blankly. “Wait… dancing on my coffee table?”
He shrugs. “It’s happened in the past.”
“How often?” I demand. People have told me that hellhounds are the life of the party, but I never expected overgrown frat boys… and girls. Mark’s a little exuberant, sure, but he doesn’t dance on my furniture.
Well… he hasn’t yet.
He doesn’t answer, just smiles and sneaks a kiss.
“Last night was amazing,” he murmurs. I can't disagree.
We spent hours cuddling in front of the TV, telling each other stories from our childhoods.
I grew up with just my mom, but he has three sisters and two brothers, and things really couldn't have been any more different for us.
Mom and I had a great rhythm together and lots of hobbies in common.
She was the one who originally taught me to pole dance.
Mark and his siblings all love each other but have different interests and clashed a lot growing up, ending with many trips to the emergency clinic.
Apparently when hellhound teenagers fight, claws come out to play.
They healed fast, but still occasionally needed stitches.
We talked about movies and books, and I asked a million questions about living through the latter half of the twentieth century.
Mark’s seventy-six, which I know is still pretty young for a shifter.
In community terms, the age gap between us is nothing.
More important, he’s clever and kind and a lot of fun, and he makes my heart go pitter-pat.
Then we took turns fucking each other into the mattress until we were boneless with exhaustion.
Am I a little bit worried that I’ve just latched on to the first person to give me a great sexual experience and am seeing rainbows where they don’t exist?
Sure. But it’s not like I’m asking him to move in with me.
For now we’re just seeing each other, having sex—lots and lots of sex—and seeing where things go.
The doorbell rings, and I turn in Mark’s arms to look at the clock in surprise. It’s still a little early.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “They’re excited. I promise to keep them under control.” He doesn’t sound too sure, though.
I laugh, forcing down the pangs of worry, and head to the door. “It’s all good,” I assure him over my shoulder.
Standing on my front porch, crowded way too close to the door, are a dozen big people. Well… most of them are big. There are a few who are slightly smaller. Still bigger than me, though.
“Hi!” The one at the front, who for some reason reminds me of a goofy golden retriever puppy, smiles broadly. “You must be Neil! I’m Cody. We came to celebrate the Christmas with you.” He thrusts something toward me, and I take it gingerly.
“Thank you. Please come in.” I stand back as they all tramp into the house, smiling and nodding and saying the odd hello.
They introduce themselves as they pass me in what must be the strangest receiving line ever, then mill around mostly in the entrance hall and first few feet of the living room, which makes me feel claustrophobic.
There’s a lot of them, and did I mention they’re big?
Finally they’re all in (there’s gotta be a dirty joke in there somewhere, right?), and I close the door and look down at the items in my hands.
It’s… a Bible and a Moleskine notebook. A nice Bible, sure, with a white faux leather cover embossed in gold. But for some reason, there’s about a million sticky tabs in it.
Almost afraid of what I’ll find, I flip to the first and find it labeled in heavy Sharpie with a neat 1.01.
Oh my… No way. No fucking way.
Quickly, I open the notebook, and sure enough, on the first page is the heading 1.01 and a paragraph telling me the origin of that bible passage and its connection to an actual event… that, after a quick skim, is a bit different according to community history.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, this must have taken them hours and hours, and it really could be a valuable learning tool for me in regard to my new community… but why ?
“What’s that?” Mark asks, shoving through the crowd to stop at my side. I hand the two books to him wordlessly. Because I have no words.
He takes one look and starts to laugh. “I thought Sam trashed this years ago?” he asks, and one of the demons… Jim? shrugs.
“I rescued it. Figured we might end up with another human at some point—or someone who grew up as a human.”
“So you didn’t do this just for me?” The relief is overwhelming.
“Nah.” Cody grins widely. “Sam—he was our admin before Miss Vivienne—used to complain any time he found out there was a connection between a biblical story and something that actually happened in reality. He’d say there should be a cross-reference. So we made him one.”
“And then he swore at us all, laughed for ten minutes, and told us to get back to work,” a woman whose name I didn’t catch adds.
As if on cue, they all sigh mournfully.
Right. This Sam guy was clearly popular. But now they all look morose, which is not a good vibe for a Christmas party.
“There are cookies on the food table if you want them,” I try, and then when they turn and stampede in that direction, I shout, “Leave some for my other guests!” I baked some extra batches once I knew they were coming, but still.
After watching Mark hoover through them the other night (including a very interesting interlude that featured cookie crumbs and icing being sucked out of my navel), I know how fast hellhounds can devour cookies.
“Okay?” Mark mutters, and I smile up at him.
“Yep. This”—I take the two books back from him—“might be very useful. At the least, I’ll use it as a coaster.”
His laugh is beautiful.
By the time midnight rolls around, Mark’s just chasing the last of his work friends out the door.
I mean that literally. They lingered for hours after my neighbors took themselves and their children home.
I’ve had a dozen overgrown government agents lolling on my furniture, scarfing down every scrap of food they can lay hands on (no joke, I had to do battle to keep Cody away from the raw turkey for tomorrow), and arguing over which Ninja Turtle would win in a fight, Leonardo or Michelangelo.
In case you’re wondering, Ninja Turtles aren’t real. That didn’t stop the discussion from getting very heated.
It was sweet and fun and I was enjoying myself until someone changed the music from Christmas carols to “Gangnam Style” and hollered for the dance-off to begin.
Now, obviously I would wipe the floor with all of them, but my living room is not big enough for that many people to have a dance-off without one of them damaging something, so I gave Mark a “fix this or there will be no fucking” look.
He fixed it.
Just as well, because I would have hated to have to follow through on that threat.
I hear the front door close on protests about just needing to give Neil a goodbye hug—aww—and then he comes back into the living room, where I’m gathering empty glasses.
“Sorry they stayed so long,” he says tentatively.
I grin. “They were a lot of fun,” I assure him. “When the weather’s better and we can use the yard, we’ll have them over again, and they can have their dance-off.”
“You’d kick their asses, but yeah. So. Um. This”—he gestures between us—“is still going to be a thing when the weather’s better?”
Oh. I put down my armful of glassware. I hadn’t even realized…
“I’d like it to be,” I say, sounding a little surprised even to myself. “I mean, there’s no guarantee, but I think we get along really well. And I like you a lot. So… I guess it’s pretty likely.”
He comes closer, sweeps me into his arms, and kisses me thoroughly. “Forget the dishes,” he mutters at last. “I’ll get up early and do them tomorrow.”
“Done,” I say promptly, because I’d be an idiot to turn down an offer like that. “And hey, it’s officially Christmas,” I add, glancing at the clock. “I think it’s time for Santa to pay a visit.”
His eyes go wide. “Do you mean…?”
I plant a kiss on his parted lips. “The pole’s in the second bedroom. Have you been a good boy?”
I’ve barely finished speaking before he’s scooping me up and rushing down the hallway.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.