Page 30 of Moody's Grumpy Holiday
“Why not?”
“Too many ways it could all go wrong. I might go too fast and hurt my partner…or worse, go limp. I’ve read all the how-to-have-good-sex self-help books, and they say communication is key. I’ve just never been with anyone who was willing to discuss the joys of rimming or hitting one’s partner’s prostate for maximum pleasure. Which isn’t to say I’ve never had good sex. I simply haven’t had enough of it.” I shifted uncomfortably and gestured to the flat-screen. Why was I still speaking? This had to stop…posthaste. “I enjoy classic sitcoms as well. Do you? I believeI Love Lucyis on now.”
“Let’s take a TV break.” Hudson turned off the television. “This conversation is much more interesting.”
“No, it’s more embarrassing. This incessant jabbering must be a side effect of my medication. I’m not usually such a blabbermouth.” I briefly squeezed my eyes shut and snapped them open a moment later. “What about you? Are you experienced in the gay side of your bisexuality? Have you had male lovers? I think that’s a yes, since you seemed to know what to do when we…”
“Had sex?” he supplied with a wry smile.
I cleared my throat and squeaked, “Yeah…that.”
His eyes were still twinkling. “I’ve had boyfriends and girlfriends. I came out in high school. The guy I had a crush on asked me to prom. I was seventeen and let me tell you, I was nervous as fuck. Part of me was screaming that it was a bad idea, but the louder voice in my head said, ‘Do it. Do it now. Say the words, kiss the boy, and be true to yourself.’ I’ve never regretted that decision once.”
“No one in your manly circle of cowboy cohorts took issue with your sexuality?”
He shrugged. “The only one whose opinion mattered was my dad’s. He had some archaic views about what constitutes being a real man. Honestly, that wasn’t easy…but he came around.”
“That’s good. Now you might be surprised to know this, but I’ve been out since birth. Or at least since I was seven years old and asked Santa for a Holiday Hostess Barbie. The cat was out of the bag and out the door then.” I snickered at the memory, straightening my legs on top of the blanket in my little nest on the sectional. “I don’t think my dad was surprised, though. He never asked if there was a girl I liked at school. Not once.”
“So…hold up.” Hudson held up his hand like a stop sign. “You used to like the holidays?”
“Oh, gosh, yes! Of course, I did.”
“What did you like the best?”
“Everything. I grew up outside of Pittsburgh. We had plenty of snow, bright lights on every house in the neighborhood, and big faux reindeer on our lawn. My dad and I always chose a tree that was far too big for the living room, so it was a hassle to get in the house and ladders were required to decorate it. My mom would always fuss about it. But we had music and hot chocolate and a fire in the fireplace and…” I sighed wistfully, lost in an old memory, adding, “It was fun.”
“Holidays are fun.”
“Meh.”
“I bet you were a cute kid,” he commented, nearly blinding me with his sexy dimples.
I fluttered my eyelashes like a lovesick fool. It was involuntary, I swear, but I was instantly annoyed with myself. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
Hudson barked a laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, most kids love the holidays. I know I did. We had hayrides with Santa, caroling in the park, and…lots of other activities.”
“As you might have guessed, Christmas Town is rife with cheery pastimes.”
“What would you say is the best?”
“It’s all…blah. Terrible.”
“But if you had to name something…what would it be?” he pressed.
I shot a suspicious glance his direction. “Well, I don’t hate baking and decorating cookies, so the gingerbread house competition is passably fun. It’s something I’m fairly good at too. Or used to be.”
“Ah, good to know. How do you feel about Christmas trees?”
I used to love them, I thought to myself.
“I think they’re a waste of time and timber,” I replied.
Hudson put his hat on and stood abruptly. “Cool. I think I want one.”
“A tree?”
“Yeah. Where should I go?”