Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,44
In-laws. It sounded like a lot. So many people that it made me want to lock the door of my apartment and never come out. And yet…. To be James Olsen’s man and have a role in all of that mixed-up jumble…. Maybe that would be okay. Maybe fun, even.
All ridiculous thoughts, of course. It was just a date. Nothing more.
I suddenly became aware James had been speaking and now looked at me expectantly.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
He cocked his head. “You okay?”
“Yes. I was just… picturing something. It was stupid.” The word felt like a betrayal. It wasn’t stupid. And I think I wanted it. Wanted him. First date or not. “Sorry, though, what were you saying?”
“I just asked what plans you had on Christmas.”
“Oh.” Right, Christmas. “I work the early shift at the bathhouse. I’ll probably get off around three, but I might stay later if Philip isn’t done having Christmas with his family.”
“The bathhouse is open on Christmas?”
“Hmm-hmm. We’re open every single day. And holidays are big ones, actually. We’re crazy busy.”
James gaped at me. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a bathhouse, obviously, but on Christmas?”
I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “Yes. On Christmas. I’m not the only one who doesn’t particularly care for this season. And even for a lot of the ones that do, Christmas is pretty painful if they’re alone. So they come to the bathhouse.”
James frowned slightly. “That’s sad.”
It didn’t seem like a judgment, or at least not a condemnation. “Well, maybe. But at least they have the bathhouse and can be with other people who feel the same. Better than sitting in their apartment, all suicidal or something.”
“Well, yes, a bit drastic, but I’d say that’s better.” His expression altered, but I couldn’t read it very well. “Is that what you’ll do on Christmas?”
“What? Work at the bathhouse?”
“No. After. After your shift, will you stay there? You know, to be with other guys who feel the same way you do?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “No. I’ll go home and order Chinese delivery, and Angel and Spike and I will record our annual Christmas slaughter episode.”
James grinned at me. “You sound rather excited about that.”
“Well, of course! It’s the best one.” I took the last bite of soup, halfway chewed, and then spoke too soon. “We’re planning on going for the big one. The Christmas episode is always a little more bloody and borderline offensive than the others, but we’re going for the full monty this year. The vampire attack is happening in a nativity scene. I think I’m going to try to get Angel to ride off on a camel.”
He gave me an odd look.
“What? Did I just offend you?” Shit, I really couldn’t do anything right. “You’re not a closet fundamentalist, are you?”
His loud burst of laughter caused a couple from the nearby table to look our way. “Lord no. And I’m not offended. I just love how excited you get about it. And if you weren’t aware, you seem to love Christmas after all.”
“Well, if loving Christmas involves bloody vampire attacks on a nativity, then sure. Guilty as charged.”
“You’re ridiculous, Brian. I love it.”
He looked like he was about to say more, but at that moment, the server sat a plate of baked ziti in front of James and then gave me my green chili cheeseburger. Heaven!
James forked up a steaming pile of pasta but paused in midair. “Why do you hate Christmas? Did something happen, or have you just never cared for it?”
I’d just been about ready to sink my teeth into the thick burger. I debated on how real to be with him. Most of the time, I bitched about all the songs and lights and screaming kids. All of which were true, even if I did secretly like the lights. With James I wanted to be real. To have him see me.
I lowered the burger to the plate. “I don’t have some huge traumatic story or anything. Vampires didn’t break in on Christmas Eve when I was a kid and slaughter my whole family.”
He grinned. “You did that in one of your Teddy Bear Christmas shows, didn’t you?”
“Did not. Shut up, you don’t know me.” I grinned back at him and melted a bit more inside at how good it felt to be with him. “Maybe.”
He laughed again. “Okay, so no mass murders on Christmas Eve, got it. I’ll lower my expectations.”
I would rather have told that story than the lame one I