Page 10 of Must Love Christmas

“Miles better.” Garen dashed to the dining table, pulled the lid off his plastic cup, and gulped the rest of the iced chai. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his green jumper, he returned to the center of the living room floor. “Watch this.”

He placed the cup on the floor, open side up, and took a step back. Then, standing on his left foot, he bent over, his right leg stretched out behind him like the tail of a drinking-bird toy. As he slowly lowered his head toward the cup, his hair swept forward, hiding his face.

“Almost…there.” Garen’s left heel came off the floor until he was balanced on the ball of his foot. His head descended farther and farther.

There was a rattle of ice, then Garen suddenly rose, still on one foot, spreading his arms and grinning at Simon. In his teeth he held the near rim of the cup, keeping it upright and its contents within.

Simon applauded slowly, downplaying his awe. “On second thought, do the straw thing again.”

“Oi, think it’s so easy?” Garen handed him the cup. “Gonnae try it yourself.”

Simon stood, feeling the wine rush to his head as the blood flowed out. “What do I win if I do it?”

“A million pounds,” Garen said as he flopped onto the couch.

“Come on.”

“You cannae do it. I’m the only adult at our rink who can pull off the cup trick. Someone of your height, with a runner’s tight calves? Nae danger. But fine—ten pounds.”

“Deal.” Simon set the cup on the floor. “Right. Here we go.” He undid his tie and slid it off, then tossed it to Garen.

“Wa-hey!” Garen gave a wolf whistle as Simon untucked his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “That won’t help, mate, but I still approve.”

Simon stood on his left foot, arms out, and started to lean forward. “A tenner if I can do it?”

“Aye,” Garen said. “And if you can’t do it…”

Simon stopped, his balance wavering. “What do you win?”

“A new flatmate.”

Simon looked down at the cup. He could already tell this was going to be harder than Garen had made it look. Odds were, he’d lose this bet.

Would that be so bad? After an awkward start, they were getting on well now—almost too well, as their camaraderie verged on flirtation. Also, there was that amazing view, not to mention a lift and an automatic dishwasher.

Simon sighed, still on one foot. “You clean the bathroom—all of it—every week.”

“Okay.” Garen picked up his wine glass and toasted him. “Now gie laldy.”

Simon was pretty sure that was Scots for “Do your best.” He leaned over until his upper body was parallel to the floor, and still the cup was far out of reach.

“Bend your left leg,” Garen said.

“Obviously.” Simon lowered himself as far as he could go, but then got stuck. His body just wouldn’t cooperate. He leaned forward, arms waving for balance…

…and fell on his face. He hit the cup, scattering the ice across the floor.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Garen rushed to his side. “Did you injure anything?”

“Just my pride.” Simon laughed as he sat up, rubbing his sore nose. “I’ll wipe up your drink.”

“Naw, there’s nothing but ice, and that’ll dry.”

“But your hardwood floors—”

“Aren’t real wood, just laminate.” Garen set the cup on the coffee table. “Now try again.” When Simon hesitated, Garen clapped his hands and said, “C’mon, finish strong. Isn’t that what runners always say?”

“Okay, okay.” Simon got to his feet. With the cup on the table, the trick required only a slight bending of the knee, and in a few moments, his teeth locked around the edge of the plastic cup. He rose up in triumph, giving a double flourish with his hands.

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