The Pact(80)

That’s currently what James is singing right now, standing on top of his bar of all places and belting out the strangest rendition of “Silver Bells” I’ve ever heard. But at least he’s more entertaining than half the people tonight.

It’s The Burgundy Lion’s company Christmas party and we’re all gathered there to drink cheap punch and strong eggnog and get our ears blown out by each other’s inflated sense of self. It’s like having a front row ticket to the American Idol auditions. No, wait a minute. It’s worse.

I know I can’t sing, so I do the world a favor and stay put in my booth. Linden, of course, can sing and is used to being on the Lion’s stage way back in the day. He’s the only one who has done a decent job tonight. I say decent because he is drunk and he did try and sing the Led Zep song “Battle of Evermore.” Anyone who knows anything about music, or even how ears work, knows that you do not attempt to sing like Robert Plant when you’re plastered.

It’s a week before Christmas and tonight is the first time that Linden and I have been out in public together, among friends. But even though we’re out in public, we’re not out as a couple. I’m sitting on one side of the booth with Penny and Kayla while Linden sits with Dan. All of us are trying not to watch James but it’s like a car accident that just kind of pulls you in.

I lean over to Penny. “You should be proud.”

She nods. “Oh yes, very.”

She’s been a bit different lately. Granted I’ve only seen her on a few occasions and we never talk about the deep stuff, so I’m not sure what’s going on in her life. But she’s quiet, almost morose. I make a mental note to ask her later, in private, how she’s really doing.

“So how are you and Ireland?” she asks. “Ireland Brownglass, right?”

Linden kicks my leg under the table and I fight the urge to look at him. I remember now he has sent me a text last week about this but then when I saw him again, we fell into bed together and it never came up.

“Ireland…good. We’re good.” I nod. “We’re great.”

“And you met in the Castro?”

“Ow!” Kayla shrieks from beside me. “Who just kicked me? Was it you, asshole?”

I turn to see her pointing an accusatory finger at Linden. He holds up his palms, eyes wide. It’s funny how scared he is of Kayla half the time. I think he really feels bad about screwing her over.

“Um,” I say slowly, tearing my eyes off of him and looking back at Penny. “Yes. The Castro.”

“And he’s not gay?”

“Oh,” I say and pretend to consider that. “Yeah. Maybe he is. I don’t know. We broke up.”

She makes a sad clucking sound. “Aw, I’m so sorry.” Pause. “I thought you said you were great.”

“I meant I was great. It was mutual.”

“Oh. I’m still sorry.”

“Yeah,” I say looking down at my beer. “He was probably gay.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kayla whispers in my ear but I ignore her.

“Okay,” I say standing up. “I’m going to get a round of shots, who wants one?”

“Me!” Linden practically bolts out of the booth.

He walks beside me to the bar and I’m so conscious of the distance between us. It feels so unnatural now to be with him and not have his large hand at the small of my back, or his arm around my shoulder. He’s just so touchy feely with me it feels terribly wrong to not feel him at all.

“That was a close one,” he says under his breath as we head over to the bar. James has just climbed off of it and is helping himself to the punch at the other end, so we get one of the working bartenders to pour us both a shot of Jameson.

“Make it two,” Linden says.

“You’re already drunk,” I tell him.

“Where is your festive spirit, baby,” he says, leaning close to me. His lips nestle right below my ear. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Not here,” I whisper softly, smiling for Caroline, the bartender who is pouring us the shots. She gives me a funny look but I keep my fun smile pasted on, like this is just what friends do, whisper intimate things in each other’s ears.

And now he’s nibbling on my earlobe. My body immediately relaxes, wanting more, while my mind is reminding we aren’t safe and this isn’t appropriate.

“Linden,” I warn.

He stops nibbling but he doesn’t pull away. “Have I told you how fucking hot you look tonight?” His warm breath tickles me.

“No. Do go on, though.”