Page 68 of King of Pain

Butters’ eyes are bouncing around the room, trying to figure out what’s going on. I snicker and shake my head.

After everyone leaves, Ant and I clean up together, moving seamlessly around each other. Little G watches us from his spot on the couch, occasionally wagging his tail when we glance his way.

“Well, tonight was a big hit,” I tell Ant as I put away the last wine glass. “You did a bang-up job, Ant. Everyone had a great time. I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

He shrugs. “It was nothing, really. I enjoy feeding people.”

God help me.

“What did I tell you? It wasnotnothing. That was a lot of work, Ant, and I appreciate the hell out of it.”

He turns his head from the bowl of mashed potatoes he’s putting into a container, and gives me the sweetest smile, eyes softening around the edges. “I’m glad today created happy memories for you, Chance. That’s why I enjoy this kind of thing so much. It’s not just feeding people. It’s bringing them together,sharing moments, and reminding them that they’re important to you.”

I blink, blink again, and swallow over the knot forming in my throat. I need to get out of here before I march into that kitchen, press him against the fridge, and shove my tongue down his throat.

“I—um I’m going to… Little G needs to go out,” I stammer.

Ant nods, unfazed. While he finishes putting the food away, I take Little G out for a quick walk.

By the time we say goodnight, I’m bone-tired but content. As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, I think about how perfect the day was. For the first time in my life, Thanksgiving was… everything it’ssupposedto be.

The only thing that could make it better is if the beautiful man sleeping on my couch was lying next to me instead.

TRACK TWENTY•NINE

Last Christmas

Anthony

Devil Recordsis buzzing with the usual holiday cheer. In Jen’s case, holiday cheer sounds suspiciously like groaning disdain. She leans dramatically against the counter, rubbing her temples as if the endless stream of Christmas music has physically wounded her. “If I hear Mariah Carey one more time, I swear I’m quitting.”

Chance laughs from where he’s shelving new arrivals. “But, Jen,” he says, clearing his throat before launching into a surprisingly decent soprano, “It’s tiiiiiime!”

“Not cute, Sullivan,” she huffs.

I’m doubled over, nearly in tears from laughing.

She complains relentlessly every year. Normally, we have the record player hooked up to the store speakers, but during the holidays, Frank and Kathy insist on running a computer playlist instead. I’m pretty sure they do it on purpose just to fuck with her.

The store speakers crackle, and the familiar synth notes of “Last Christmas”by Wham fill the air. Jen perks up slightly, glancing at me. “Alright, this one always and forever gets a pass,” she concedes.

I’m at the register ringing up a customer, and I start to hum along. When the first chorus hits, Jen’s already singing full-voiced, and Chance joins in with pure confidence. His smooth, rich tone blends effortlessly with the music, and I pause mid-scan to look up. Jen and I catch each other’s eyes, both of us silently acknowledging what we’re hearing.

Seriously? How dare he. You can’t just go around looking like thatandhave the audacity to sing with the voice of an angel.

The tug to join in becomes irresistible, and soon the three of us are belting out the lyrics with shameless gusto, completely losing ourselves in the moment. Even the customer smiles, whistling along as they take their bag and exit the store.

After the song ends, we’re all laughing and slightly out of breath.

Chance throws his arms wide. “I don’t care what anyone says, that’s the best Christmas song ever.”

Jen nods in agreement. “Facts.”

“Absolutely,” I add, smiling. “You can’t beat it.”

“And Chance, what the fuck?” Jen says, pointing at him, “You’re not allowed to look like thatandhave a beautiful voice. You’re walking proof that life isn’t fair.”

Someone had to say it.