Page 72 of King of Pain

“You let me talk to that young man right now,” she demands through the phone.

I hand it over, leaning against the counter as Ant takes it. His voice softens as he chats with her, his face lighting up when she asks what he’s making. He rattles off ingredients and cooking times, happily sharing a recipe. I watch, stunned and moved, as this moment unfolds. That meddlesome organ in my chest squeezes, overwhelmed by how natural and perfect it all seems.

When Ant hands the phone back, I say goodbye to Ma, clearing the lump from my throat. “It really does smell delicious in here, Beautiful. What are we having?”

Ant flushes at the compliment but doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, traditionally, we’d be doing the Feast of the Seven Fishes, but that’s not something you can pull off well in a small kitchen. So, we’re having prime rib with horseradish cream, roasted garlic mashed potatoes whipped with a bit of the horseradish cream, asparagus, and scratch cornbread.”

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “My mouth is watering.”

Ant grins. “I just took the prime rib out. It’s a smaller one, so it only needs to rest for about forty-five minutes. I’ll get everything else ready, and then we can eat.”

“Sounds fantastic. I’m ready to relax. Shopping was nuts out there with everyone rushing around last minute. I just grabbed a little something for Lexi and some booze for our movie marathon.”

“Looking forward to it,” Ant replies, setting the table with practiced ease. “Okay, dinner in an hour. Go shower or chill. I’m going to open the wine to breathe.”

Dinner is a feast of flavors I didn’t know could exist outside of a five-star restaurant. Ant pours us each a glass of cabernet, and we sit across from each other at the small dining table. The first bite of prime rib practically dissolves on my tongue, the meat perfectly tender and seasoned, with a crust that’s nothing short of heavenly perfection.

“This is… I could actually cry,” I say, leaning back in my chair dramatically. I shoot him a mischievous grin. “Your meat… it just melts in my mouth.”

The blush I was hoping for creeps up his cheeks, painting them a soft pink. “Eat your dinner, Sullivan,” he mutters, focusing hard on his plate, but I catch the twitch of a smile he’s trying to hide.

Doing as I’m told, I dig in, and I’m sure I sound like I’m in a bad vintage porn with all the moans I’m letting out. Ant notices, and every time I let out another exaggerated groan, he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head at me but clearly amused.

“Oh, and don’t worry,” he says, a little grin playing on his lips. “I didn’t forget the lasagna. It’s in the fridge for this weekend.”

I freeze mid-bite and look at him. “Oh shit. Are you serious? What have I done to deserve this?”

He just shrugs, his smile widening as he leans back slightly in his chair. “Guess you’re not as much of a bad boy as you think you are,” he teases lightly, shooting me a wink.

Wait. Did he just wink at me?

That little fucking flirt.

We talk about Christmas growing up. I tell him a little more about how turbulent the holidays were in my house. “…add the pressure of the holidays to an already volatile situation, and it was a miracle if we made it out unscathed.”

Ant nods, his expression reflective. “My family had the opposite problem. Holidays were cold in our house. Unloving, except when we went over to my Aunt JoeyLynn’s—Aunt JL, we called her. She was loud, boisterous, fun. The kind of person who filled a room with energy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “JoeyLynn?”

Ant laughs. “Don’t ask. Strong-willed Italian grandparents fighting over namesakes.”

After dinner, I tell Ant to relax on the couch. “I’ll clean up and make you a drink. You’re not lifting a finger.”

He looks like he wants to protest but eventually relents, settling onto the sofa with Little G by his side. I clean up the kitchen, humming to myself, and then head to my bedroom to grab the large bag I’d hidden there.

Back in the living room, I gently set the bag down in front of Ant. “I don’t know what your family traditions were, but we always did one gift on Christmas Eve. Well, Ma would sneak into my room at bedtime and give me one. That was our tradition. So, I wanted to give you your gift tonight.”

I expect Ant to look away or hide his reaction, but instead, he surprises me by leaning over the couch and pulling a package from beside it. It’s wrapped in black paper with a red ribbon and a huge bow.

“I want you to open yours first,” he says, his voice tinged with nerves. “So that I can stop having panic attacks about it.”

Chuckling, I take the package. “You shouldn’t have done anything, Ant. You made that unbelievable meal. Hell, you’ve made the entire holiday season perfect. That’s all been more than enough.”

“Open it, Chance. Please.”

Ant’s anxious energy is palpable, so I decide to fuck with him. I pull at the bow excruciatingly slow, watching as his eyes get bigger and bigger until he finally snaps.

“Oh my God, just open it already, jackass!”