Chapter 17 #2
“Kahlúa and RumChata,” she explains before spinning around and disappearing into a crush of bodies, the full roster clad in reindeer, gingerbread man, elf, and snowman onesies.
“How does she even get these things?” Caleb asks.
Asher arches a brow. “Have you ever said ‘no’ to Thea?”
“Absolutely not. Contrary to popular belief, I do not have a death wish.”
“Well, there you have it.”
They are interrupted by a commotion that is Bailey jumping onto the bed with a suspiciously toxic-waste-colored shot in her raised hand. “To us!” she yells.
“To freaks,” Asher adds.
“To weirdos,” Montez says. “And the bruise Caleb gave me this evening that is starting to look like Florida.”
“To Mrs. Claus specifically, that underappreciated bitch,” Thea chips in.
“And to family,” Caleb finishes and they knock it back.
The shot is horrific and Asher will regret it in the morning, but the company is worth celebrating.
There’s Thea, tinsel draped around her neck, bare shoulders smudged with bold red lipstick.
Like she’s popped out of a painting, she’s stretched out on a button-tufted chaise lounge, razor sharp acrylics drawing lazy shapes on a fuzzy throw pillow—a bitter punch meets a lip-glossed kiss.
Across the room, playing pin the tail on the donkey with gaggle of other wrestlers, is Bailey, warm like a summer night: bright and flashy with a rock ’n’ roll grin.
Her hair has been bejeweled, along with other diamond gems dotting her cheeks, glittering as she shimmies to the beat—bubblegum grunge dripping out of a saccharine shell.
A round of cheers rise up from around the coffee table. It’s Alexei jabbing an elbow into Malik’s ribs as a cheese dip dribbles down his wrist. He’s in a snowman onesie, topped off with a halo that Bailey jammed onto his head the moment he walked in.
And there’s Caleb. Same as always: tall, beautifully average, and a little awkward, as though he doesn’t quite know how to fit into this kaleidoscope.
Leaning against the window, a shower of colorful lights rain down his face.
Molten moonshine winds through the furry antlers perched atop his head, dripping, shimmering down the length of his pale neck.
Asher could look at him till forever falls apart.
Asher’s been revolving around this roster every single day. They are the one constant in the middle of his always shifting universe—an eclectic baby-oil-soaked star.
“I have gifts,” Thea announces when Bailey finally manages to wrangle everyone into a circle in the middle of the room.
She produces a stack of cards and hands them out.
“Good for one time use only: song of my choice,” Asher reads. “Selection of my choice. Not open to dispute.”
Thea grins smugly. “For four whole minutes, you get the aux cord.”
Alexei puts a hand over his heart. “You are the worst carpooler and we love you.”
Caleb coughs. “I brought gifts too.”
He hauls himself up, pads to the coat closet, and returns with two large paper bags. He hands a gigantic stuffed golden retriever to Alexei, a custom dartboard with Kennedy Prichard’s face as the bull’s-eye to Thea, and a Kobo to Bailey.
“Oh my God, you guys.” Thea pushes a hand against her chest. “We finally thawed his heart.”
Pink spreads across Caleb’s nose. “Shut up. I also, uh . . .” He hesitates before reaching deep into the bag and pulls out a belt. He turns to Asher. “For you.”
Asher stares at the Lanvin belt thrust into his hands. Calfskin leather, according to a tag looped around a punch hole. It is black on the outside, dark brown on the inside—reversible. The brass buckle, however, is what catches Asher’s eye: it has been engraved with a dragon inside a crown.
He glances up at Caleb, who is looking back at him softly, the dimple on the left side of his mouth out in full force.
It’s both their emblems combined together.
Asher pulls Caleb in by the nape of his neck and kisses him hard, both their knees knocking together.
“Thank you,” he mumbles against Caleb’s upturned mouth as Thea says, “Ten bucks they do weird shit with that tonight.”
The alcohol continues to flow, and soon Asher finds himself squeezed in the bathroom with Caleb, respective elf and reindeer onesies discarded in a haphazard pile on the tiled floor.
“Noooooo,” Caleb moans. “I can’t go out like this.”
He scowls in the mirror, adjusting the hot pink custom-made booty shorts courtesy of Bailey that has HOT MESS EXPRESS printed across his butt.
“It’s not that bad!” Asher says, dressed in nothing but a similar lime-green pair that proclaim FUTURE MILF.
Caleb crosses his arms. “I refuse.”
“Listen. Baby.” Asher grips Caleb’s shoulders. “Lex is out there with ‘God won’t let me die’ plastered across his ass, and I refuse to be outshined.”
“There’s no way I’m getting out of this, is there?”
Asher pats his cheek. “Atta boy. Now you’re learning.”
Asher scrolls through his phone, connects it to the Bluetooth speaker outside, cracks open the door, and says, “Can someone move the dry ice to the door please?”