Page 9 of 12 Gays of Christmas

“Really? All my school counselors said I should try for something more…” I trail off, not wanting to repeat the hurtful words.

“Attainable?”

I give a quick nod and check my phone without really seeing it.

“They’re idiots, Gil.” The warmth in his voice has me looking up. “That’s the perfect career for you.” He looks sincere. Full of excitement and…pride? The black rims of his glasses do their job, framing his emerald eyes like a breathtaking picture, full of light and emotion. I get caught in his gaze, unable to breathe. Neither of us looks away.

“Are you kidding me? It’s the Friday after finals.”

I jump and almost fall off the table. Remington Laske, our obnoxious neighbor, drops his laundry basket and glares at us. “Don’t you guys have a home or a party to go to?”

“Fuck off, Rembini.” Colin never restricts his cussing. Remi already lived in the building when I moved in. And he hates us. Not sure why. Colin said the feud between them—which includes me, by extension—has been going on for a long time. He never explains why they have this rivalry. But he also seems to have zero interest in making it go away. I once tried encouraging Colin to fix things with Remi because I hate conflict. But I also love a sport where trash-talking and pounding others into the ground is encouraged.What can I say? I’m a complicated man.

“Shut it, Colon-breath.”

“Original.”

As usual, Remi is dressed in various shades of dark. Mostly black and grays. His long black hair is pulled back and secured with a skull scrunchy. I can’t tell if he’s goth, emo, or he just sold his soul to the devil and wants to look the part. His eyes are the brightest thing on him. Iridescent gold.

He checks each of the now-empty washers and then glances at us. His dilemma is clear by the scowl on his face: wait for us to be done? Trust us alone with his clothes? Or hang out and enjoy our company? “You just started the dryers? Great.”

I try to hide how much I enjoy his discomfort.

Colin doesn’t. “You can trust us.” But even I don’t buy the smile on his face.

Remi snorts. “No fucking way.” Then, to my surprise, he loads his clothes into two of the washers. “Try not to annoy me, asswipe,” he says, pointing at Colin. He barely glances at me as he pulls out his phone.

I’m not even worth an insult? I can banter. “I guess you don’t need to sort your clothes since you don’t own any colors,” I say, nodding toward the washers. “Do you work in a funeral home or something?” I’m usually better with trash talk, but this guy unnerves me.

He stops all movement as his eyes—bright pools of molten gold—meet mine. I try not to squirm. He shifts his gaze to Colin in a really-this-guy look and then back to me. “Yes, I do. Do you have a problem with that, Bill?”

“Gil,” I say, lifting my chin. This guy doesn’t intimidate me. But I don’t respond to his question. I’m not sure if he’s being honest or hecking with me.

“This is too much fun,” Remi says, pushing off the washer and giving me a side-eye. “Don’t let him mess with my shit, Calogne-balogne.” His glare scorches over me, and then he shakes his head as he walks to the door, mumbling, “No respect for the dead.”

Once the door shuts, the whir of the washers and thumping of the dryers are the only sounds left in the room. After a minute or two, Colin shakes his head. “Now you’ve done it.”

“You guys are always insulting each other.” My voice gets a little high at the injustice of it all. “And how are you the trustworthy one?”

“Truth hurts.”

“No. No truth.” It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t like the guy. Don’t trust him. But Colin siding with him hurts. “Do you really think he works at a funeral parlor?”

He sets his phone on the table and studies me. “Your trash talk needs work.”

“I can trash talk. I can be intimidating. Just ask Nebraska’s defense.”

“Like a Saint Bernard?”

“Guys run from me—”

“Because you’re trying to block them, and they get away?”

He’s not completely wrong, but my mouth drops open at his words. “You know football?”

“I dated a football player, remember? And I’ve lived with you for two years.” He picks up his phone again, just holding it in his hands.

It’s no secret that Colin doesn’t like football players. That a quarterback broke his heart. It was the reason he almost said no when I responded to his ad for a roommate. But his answer doesn’t explain everything. He knows way too much about my position as a wide receiver. “You’ve been watching the games.”

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