Page 45 of Happy Krampus Xmas & the Meet Not Cute

I drop my backpack on the floor and turn my cap backward. “Go ahead,” I tell him, spreading my arms wide. “I won’t fight back.”

“Blimey! What’s the bloody fun in that, Thor?” he grumbles and childishly stomps his foot on the ground. He crosses his arms in front of his narrow chest and then taps a gold-nailed finger on his chin, pondering.

“Thor?”

“You have brown eyes, but the rest?” He waves in my general direction. “You could be his twin. Hammer included.” He points at my groin with a knowing expression.

Did he just allude to the size of my dick?

“Is the air fresher up there?” He then asks, “How tall are you? Six feet and a mountain and half of inches?”

I drop my arms at my sides.“Habitual mockery is a strong indicator of depression; did you know that?” I ask him.

“No, but thank you for clarifying that, mate,” he replies distractedly. “I guess there’s still hope for you.”

“I get the sense that thinly veiled insults are your daily bread.”

“You’re wrong on one account, there’s no veil there.” He winks.

“I gotta go, are we done here?” I ask, already picking up my backpack.

“Where are we going?” He skips a couple of times, following me.

We?“I’m going to pick up a bicycle.”

He smirks at me. “And is that bicycle by any chance going to be gifted to a sexy redheaded bloke with a quarter-bouncing arse?”

Spencer’s round butt pops into my head, I feel my cheeks getting warm as my step falters for a moment.

He chuckles and snorts. “You’ll be all over him like dressing on a salad.”

“I… What does that mean?” I stop to look down at him.

“It means you want to shag that meaty tushy.” He talks…weird.

“So you say.” I resume walking.

“I've got a twenty that says the same thing.”

I shake my head, trying hard to push the image of Spencer’s ass away.

“Spence and TJ kissing in a tree. K-I-S-S-I?—”

I stop his singing. “You’re on, fifty bucks.” Spencer hates me, and I’m a mess. Nothing will ever happen between us. I’m just trying to fix a wrong.

“Okay, brown-eyed Thor. But if you have ill-willed intentions, I’m warning you to do like a rock and roll right now.”Ill-willed?“Because if you hurt him in any way, I’ll nail your big knob to the scoreboard. Do you get me, football guy?”

He sounds serious. “Football guy?”

“Don’t know the technical terms. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“You’re like a feral Frodo,” I tell him as I reach my jeep.

“Who?” He leans against the driver’s door, blocking it.

“The hobbit, fromthe Lord of the Rings.”

“I’m used to worse names.” It’s not hard to believe him.