'Tis The Season
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up,” he snarls. Brian is being his usual bitchy self so we’re used to it and we just roll our eyes.
“Now, honey where were we?” Emmett nudges us back to the matter at hand.
“About to kick your well used ass out?”
“My, my, he is a tad testy this morning, isn’t he?” Emmett smiles at me.
“No more so than usual,” I shrug. “Besides,” I stage whisper, “He’s massively hung over. You know, old livers just aren’t up to it any more.” Three, two, one…
”Well, Sunshine, I don’t recall you complaining about something else being up to it last night. And this morning. At Ram-a-Thon, thrust and my personal favorite, Gentlemen Prefer Blonds…oh and here as well. So forgive me if I need ten fucking cups of coffee before I have to listen to more of this party planning shit.” He slumps down into his seat, takes another long draught of his coffee and listlessly pretends to be interested in the weekend edition of the Journal.
I wrangle Brian into semi compliance with a glare of my own when Em goes off on his own tangent. “Gentlemen Prefer Blonds?” he practically squeals. Why dogs don’t howl wherever he goes, I’ll never know.
“Yeah. It’s a private club that requires you bring a blond when you visit.”
“You mean?” Em’s hand flies to his mouth and I could almost laugh if it didn’t piss me off so much that people assume such fucking stupid things.
“No, Em,” I pat his hand. “You apply; you’re screened..." I wink. "Brian and I go there often. It’s a great place - great food, great atmosphere, great everything, really. Once you have been approved, you simply have to be with a blond. Brian and I have a certain type of membership; I can go there without him and he can go there without me.” Em looks even more horrified. “No, we’re not fucking around though there is that option but we’re not interested. So,” I tap at his laptop, “Can we get this over with? Tick, Tick, Tick!” Not sure whether I am referring to the party or Brian’s darkening glare.
“Um, okay.” Em catches my drifts. Both of them. “I think we’re pretty much done here. At least as far as the Christmas Eve thing. New Years, however…” He stops when he hears Brian’s low grumble and packs and leaves with a final, “Ta, honey, see you later!” With one last glance at Brian, he exits stage outta here.
“Come here,” my fuckwit, fuckable fucktard growls and I happily comply, straddling his lap and linking my arms around his neck .
“Better?” I murmur into his neck and feel his answering hum against my lips.
“You sure we can’t call this damned thing off?” He pulls back and does his best impression of puppy dog eyes which, honestly, is so pitiable I usually have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“What,” I laugh and peck his lips, “and risk the wrath of Emmett? Besides, we have the New Years party as well. If we ditch this one, he’ll ditch us and it won’t be pretty!”
“Fuck,” Brian sighs and tightens his arms around me. “Never thought I’d see the day when I was hostage to a queen’s party plans.”
“Never mind,” I tell him. “All we need to do is show up and since we live here, we won’t even have to worry about cabs!” It’s been a long year and we need this, I think. We deserve this. “All we need to do is come downstairs and look fabulous!” Which gives me an idea as to how to get Brian out of his dark mood.
“Tell you what, Brian. Let’s go shopping!”