Page 8 of 12 Gays of Christmas

“Crap. Gotta go.”

“Wait.” I grab his wrist and ignore the muscles and silky hair beneath my palm. “I’m going home to bingeThe Umbrella Academy. Good luck.”

He glances at Ray. The guy is grinning at himself and licking his fingers. Gil’s gaze shifts back to me, and I can see the desperation in his eyes. “Take me with you?”

I grin. “Get rid of your date first. Then meet me at home. I’ll have everything ready. Ice cream?”

“God, yes. Rocky Road. And by ‘get rid of him,’ you mean…?”

“Say goodbye, not off him. I’m not helping you dispose of a body when the ground is frozen and I left my shovel at home.”

DAY THREE: FRIDAY AND THE TWINKIEST TWINK

DECEMBER 15

GIL

“At least he likes glitter,”I say, pointing a finger at Colin. He’s starting to get on my nerves. He hates every guy on my list, the plan in general, and probably me. I’m not sure we’ll make it to Christmas without one of us blowing up.

“Which tells me this is someone specific and not a general someone.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Gil, for fuck’s sake.”

The apartment building laundry room is tiny, considering how many apartments there are. But doing laundry late on a Friday afternoon has its perks. I still don’t have a date for tonight, so I need to kick this plan into overdrive. But clean clothes for a date also seems important.

Jocks remind me of dogs. They rely on their baser instincts to get through life. And I know that isn’t necessarily true and could be offensive, but it helps me process. But twinks intimidate me. They’re beautiful, self-assured, scathing. They seem to be good at finding flaws. And sure, I’m lumping them all together, but that’s what this experiment is about. Finding out what these guys are really like—not just the stereotypes—and discovering what I want in a guy.

I move my clothes from the washer to the dryer and add a dryer sheet. Colin insists we do our laundry weekly so our apartment doesn’t stink like a locker room. That is the jock stereotype I fit. I hate cleaning and laundry. At home, our housekeeper has always done our laundry. But now my mom has hecked off to Portugal to discover the cure for diabetes or something like that. I went home last Christmas when she promised to be there, but she didn’t show up. Not doing that again. And there’s no reason to mention that to Colin.

“I have several options,” I say, turning on the dryer and leaning against it. “Guys I know. Sort of. I mean, I know them, but I doubt they’ve ever noticed me.”

“So clueless,” Colin mutters, shaking his head as he cleans the lint filter.Oops. Forgot to do that. Then his words register.

“I’m not—”

“Who are these guys? Where do you know them from?”

I hop on the small table used for folding. We made the mistake of leaving our laundry once. My favorite ASU Redbirds shirt is still missing. Jerk wads. I kick my feet back and forth as I think about his question. “Derrick is in my art class.”

Colin holds his hand up, palm forward. He has long, elegant fingers. Does he play the piano? But his gesture is effective. It shuts me up. At least my words. My mind is still going places it doesn’t need to. I’m not fantasizing about those fingers. My dick can shut the heck up. He clears his throat, and my eyes fly to his face. I realize I’m staring at his hand, where it’s settled on his thigh. “You’re a business major. Although I’m not sure why. You love math and science. But that’s beside the point. Why are you taking another art class?”

“Is there a limit?”

“No, but…why?”

“I love art. But I’ve been thinking about changing my major to—” I press my lips together. Nope.

Colin laughs. “How can changing your major be more embarrassing than other things you’ve already told me, like…?” He waves an elegant hand at me, and geesh, I really need to stop obsessing about his hands.

But he makes a fair point. “I want to be an architect.”

“That’s…”

“Lame. I know.”

“Amazing,” he says with a grin. “You would be great at it.”

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