Page 19 of The Amazing Alpha Tau Fratmas Experience
I got it. He’d had enough eyes on him today. I took the spot and he sat in front of me, leaning back against my legs.
We started the movie and spent the next couple of hours talking and laughing and handing around the snacks while Dalton kept up a steady stream of cocktails. If he ever flunked out of med school, he had a great future tending bar, because they were delicious, even if Scout did give Dalton serious side eye when he gave him a highball in an old jelly jar. He still drank it, though.
By the time the movie was over, Scout was leaning against my thigh, his eyes half-closed. I held a chip loaded with dip in front of his mouth and he leaned forward and took it. I couldn’t resist petting his hair, leaning down, and whispering “Good boy” in his ear.
Scout tilted his head back to glare at me, but there was no heat in it. Since everyone else was busy watching the explosions on screen and squabbling over the last of the Doritos, I ran my fingers through Scout’s hair once more, pretending I was smoothing it down, and he allowed it.
When the movie was done, Marty dragged out a giant folded square of cardboard that turned out to be a game of Pin the Nose on the Reindeer and stuck it to one of the walls. We all got way too into it, but it was a lot of fun. Scout, true to his word, didn’t play.
By then it was creeping into late afternoon and it was time to start getting ready for dinner. The storms that had been forecast on the weather app had held off, maybe saving their savagery for other parts of the state—the clouds threatened but didn’t follow through, and inside the house it was bright and cheerful. Marty insisted he had dinner under control but I went and helped anyway, partly for my own peace of mind and partly so Scout could have some more time to sit with those feelings he was pretending he didn’t have.
And he must have worked through them okay because when we sat down to dinner and James Two tried to sneak Squirrel a piece of ham, Scout scowled at him and demanded, “What are you doing?”
“It’s Christmas,” James Two said. “I’m giving him a treat.”
“Funny, I don’t remember seeing anything about whippets’ digestive tracts being any less delicate over the holidays,” Scout said, fixing him with a hard stare. “I know you’ve seen the PowerPoint about dog-safe foods. Do I need to go and get my laptop so you can have a refresher course?”
“Sorry,” James Two said. When he saw the way Squirrel was still watching him with wide, soulful eyes, he slipped the dog a Brussels sprout instead. “It’s on the list!” he said quickly.
Scout narrowed his eyes but gave a sharp nod.
“Bro, don’t give him any more of those,” Marty said. “Me and Dalton are traveling to Grandpa’s tomorrow and it’s too cold to drive all that way with the windows down.”
Casey snorted, and I saw Scout’s mouth curve up in the barest hint of a smile.
Dinner was fun, and by the time we were done, we’d eaten half a ham, a heap of sides, and most of the desserts that had mysteriously turned up with the ham. Archer leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach, then surveyed the remains of the meal and said, “We should get someone to clean this up.”
Nobody moved, and I wondered if I’d have to pull rank and start delegating, but Briar beat me to it.
He heaved a sigh and stood, smoothing out the front of the red tartan skirt he was currently rocking. “Archer, Dalton, Casey, Trey, and Marty, you helped cook, so you’re off duty for the night. And Scout because he’s the special party boy.”
Scout glared.
“So Knox, James Two, Eli, Charlie, and Tanner, you’re on cleanup. Follow me.” He strode off toward the kitchen without a backward glance. The rest of the guys looked at each other, then got to their feet and followed him like a row of confused and slightly terrified ducklings.
Casey must have caught my surprise because he said, “How did you not know that Briar’s a bossy little shit? Give him half a chance and he’ll organize the hell out of anything. That kitchen will be spotless in a half hour, guaranteed.” Something in the way he smiled as he said it made me suspect that Casey liked Briar bossing him around just fine.
It was only a minute or so later that Briar came back and shooed everyone out of the dining room, saying we’d only be in his way.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to join the rest of the guys in the living room—they were watchingThe Muppet Christmas Carol, at Marty’s insistence—and when Scout came out of the dining room, he tilted his chin upward, raising an eyebrow. I followed him up the stairs.
Even though it wasn’t late, we showered and got ready for bed. Once Scout was under the covers, I opened my nightstand and pulled out a small box before climbing into bed next to him. I was more nervous than I wanted to admit. I loved Scout, and I wanted to get him something special, but I was objectively terrible at buying gifts.
In this case, I was almost certain he’d like what I’d gotten him, but it was thealmostpart of that sentence that had me turning the parcel over in my hands like it was a fidget spinner until finally I thrust it toward him. “I got you something.”
Scout took the parcel, shooting me a surprised look. He examined the small, flat box, balancing it on his palm. “Well, it’s too small for Dollar Tree scented bodywash,” he said.
“And you already have one of those,” I said. Now that I’d handed it over, I was second-guessing myself. “Maybe instead of speculating, you could just open it.”
Scout undid the bow, rolling the ribbon up. He undid the tape on the package, expertly sliding the small box out of the end of the paper. Then he set the box aside and made a show of smoothing and folding the paper carefully, every crease even and every edge straight. The corners of his mouth twitched up, and I knew he was messing with me. This was his revenge for saying he was the dog earlier.
Finally, he put the wrappings aside and picked up the box and opened it. He stared at the contents for a long moment and I waited for him to say something, my chest tight.
Then he lifted the antique pinky ring out of the box, slid it onto his little finger, and held it up to the light, admiring it. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” he said, flashing me a tiny smile, and I found I could breathe again. Not that Scout would have been anything but gracious even if he hadn't liked it, but we’d been together long enough now that I knew the difference between his practiced Talbot-Smith thank yous and the real thing.
I expected him to take the ring off and put it away, but he didn’t. Instead he looked at it again, straightening it on his finger. He opened his mouth and hesitated. Closed it.
