Boyfriend? Oh, but I love the sound of that even more than ‘with him’. We haven’t used labels for what we are yet, haven’t even discussed them, but boyfriend sounds good.
Basil, it seems, thinks it sounds hilarious.
“Boyfriend? Rorik the fucking Randy? Don’t make me laugh.” Around us, silence has fallen over the Inn. Even Pascal’s group is watching us; Pascal himself, I notice, has his eyes on me. “You are just one in a long line, young Elf, and don’t you forget it. A very long line of computer techs and of,” he draws quote marks in the air, “boyfriends.”
Lars takes a breath as if he’s about to yell, but I shake my head. There’s no point engaging with him. I drag my hand through my hair and try to ignore the whole situation. Think about this morning, I tell myself, think about going in The Sleigh.
“They’re taking bets at Poinsettia you know? On how long you’ll last.”
Will it be cold in The Sleigh? Should I take an extra coat? What if I get airsick? I did once when I was flying home from the States on vacation.
“Is it true he’s a yeller? Gertie in marketing says he is, but I think anyone who gets a piece of that sweet little Elf would be a yeller, am I right?”
Gods, he’s vile. I don’t understand how he’s working for Rorik.
“Out!” Lars points to the door. “Now!”
Unperturbed by the order, Basil slides off the stool and picks up his bowtie. Twirls it around his finger.
“He taken you up in The Sleigh yet? That’s his party piece according to those who know.”
The blood rushes from my face and the hot chocolate churns in my stomach. He’s lying. Has to be. Rorik said he’s never taken anyone up before. He said.
“Hey, Matthieu,” Basil bellows across the room. An Elf with one greasy hair and a stained sweater, leaning against the wall, raises a hand. “He took you in The Sleigh, didn’t he?”
“Sure did. Twice. That thing is sweet.”
A buzz of whispers spreads around the room. I hear “Sleigh”, “always knew it”, and “well my sister…” before clapping my hands over my ears.
I’m such a fool. What on earth made me think I’m so special? Well, Rorik said I was; there’s that, but did I honestly think I was different? Why did I think an Elf like Rorik, a Holder, could seriously be interested in me? I’m not even magic.
I find some coins in my pocket and fling them on the counter. Ignoring Lars calling my name, I grab my satchel and run. Past the room of Elves all staring at me. Past the fire. I grope at my coat as I go past but leave the scarf hanging there. Suddenly being able to smell him isn’t so appealing.
Outside, I shove my arms in the sleeves of my coat and button it up. Eyes burning and chest tight with humiliation, I flag down a cab and give the driver my address.
Ten minutes later, I’m curled up on my bed sobbing into Button’s neck.
The worst is I’m not even angry with Rorik. Just myself for being so gullible. Why couldn’t I just be like everyone else and be casual about things? Love, sex, fooling around - all of it. But no, I have to be serious about everything.
On the nightstand, my phone rings; Rorik’s name floats on the screen. I turn the ringer off and flip it over. I have nothing to say to him and nothing I want to hear from him.
Why did I ever agree to go and fix his damned computer system? The next time Lars calls me, I’m not answering.
A car screeches to a halt out in the street and seconds later, someone pounds on my front door. I don’t need to look to know it’s Rorik.
“Boden! Boden, open the door!”
I pull a pillow over my head.
“Boden, what’s going on? I went to The Troll and Lars threw a bottle at me. I don’t understand. What happened?”
I feel a little kinder toward Lars but burrow deeper beneath the pillow.
“Small One, please talk to me.”
He continues to call and cajole for another ten minutes then I hear his footsteps on the path and the sound of the Corvette driving away.
“Good, he’s gone,” I say to Button and burst into tears again.
RORIK
I arrive at the Inn a little after five-thirty, expecting to see my favorite Elf, and instead, I walk in on chaos. People are milling around, talking in loud excited voices about something that seems to have just happened. When someone notices me, silence spreads across the room like fog. Lars is yelling at Basil and Matthieu, that lazy moron from packaging I fired three months ago for stealing, to get out of his bar - and then he sees me.
“You!” His face turns an alarming shade of red as he snatches a bottle of beer from the nearest table and lobs it in my direction. I dodge out of the way and it shatters against the wall, spraying me with glass and warm beer. “I told you not to fucking mess with him! Get out!”
“What the fuck?” I take a step toward him, stopping when I see the look on his face. “Where’s Boden?”
“Get! Out!” He gropes for another bottle and rather than risk him actually hitting me this time, I back out of the door. Standing on the sidewalk, I call Boden but it goes to voicemail. Fucking technology.
I don’t know what’s going on, but it obviously involves Boden and me, so the most sensible thing to do is to find my Small One and find out what has upset Lars.
Usually, it takes twenty minutes to get to Snowdrop Lane. I do it in ten. Fresh prints in the snow covering the path to Boden’s front door and the low glow of his bedside lamp tell me he’s home - so why isn’t he answering my calls?
I hammer on the door and call his name. From the room above I hear Button bark but nothing else. After ten minutes of trying to get him to let me in, it’s clear he has no intention of doing so.
Shocked and confused I make my way home, give Astrid a brief explanation of what’s happening and pretend I don’t see the pity in her eyes. I pour myself a glass of whiskey and sit by the fire to try and work out how things went from amazing all the way down to hellish. More importantly, how do I fix it?
Asking him to go with me in The Sleigh had been a big deal - for both of us I thought. What happened? And why is Lars so pissed at me? None of it makes any sense. The only thing I’m sure of is it involves Basil and Matthieu somehow but with nobody talking to me, I can’t find out how.
I pick at the plate of food Astrid leaves me and wonder what Boden is doing. I try calling him again but just like all the other times, get the recording of his voice inviting me to leave a message.
“Please call me, Small One.”
Astrid takes my still mostly full plate away and I go to bed. The pillows and sheets smell like him. There’s dog hair on the comforter. I toss and turn for a while then pick up my phone and send him a text message.
Whatever it is I did, Small One, I’m sorry. I miss you. Both of you. Please call me.
***
I wake after a restless sleep and grab my phone, hoping to see a message from Boden. There’s nothing but a voicemail from Pascal. I ignore it; he’s the last being I want to speak to. When I try calling Boden, I’m informed the mailbox is full. I drop my phone on the floor and bury my head in my hands.
I’m not sure what this thing is between Boden and me, but I know it’s different. Special. It’s not just about sex - not that there’s anything to complain about in that department - I genuinely like Boden. Maybe, I think to myself, more than like. Can it be more after just two weeks?
I’ve always poo-poohed the idea of love at first sight but from the moment I first saw my little geek, I was hooked. By lunchtime of that first day, as much as I was telling myself it was lust, I think I already knew it wasn’t. Or wasn’t just that. Something about us just… works. More than once, I’ve thought about asking what Leif Amias was doing that day, but the truth is I don’t care. I just care that I have him. Had him. For the first time ever, I really care about someone and have somehow managed to fuck it up.
I can’t even explain what it is about him. It’s his messy hair and his habit of mutterin
g to himself as he works. How he likes coffee first thing in the morning but hot chocolate the rest of the day. It’s the way he jumps when I come up behind him without making a sound. How much he loves his dog. The way he tells me off for saying outrageous things which, of course, just makes me say even more outrageous things just to watch him squirm. How his face scrunches up when he comes and is sweet and peaceful when he sleeps. The way he loops his index finger around my pinky when we’re walking together.
Most of all, it’s the way he just accepts me. He doesn’t try to show off about being with me or drag me out so others can see we’re together. Not once has he asked for any favors or special consideration other than extra whipped cream on his dessert. Even when I asked him to come with me tomorrow, he hadn’t rushed to call his friends and family to tell them. He’d simply kissed me. Oh, his kisses are the best. The perfect combination of sweet and sexy. Of naughty and nice.
Maybe you can feel something more than like after just two weeks. I send him another text message.
Are you awake, Small One? I don’t like sleeping without you. Please come with me tomorrow.
I’m disappointed but unsurprised when I get no reply and go to have my shower wishing he and Button were here like they’re supposed to be. I’m brushing my teeth when those stupid bells jingle to tell me someone is calling. I drop my toothbrush and run to pick it up, hoping it’s Boden.
It’s not.
It’s Pascal. What does he want? I’m tempted to ignore him, but he’ll just keep calling until I answer so I may as well get it over with.
“What do you want, Hare?”
“I’m on my way to your place, darling. I take my coffee black and my croissant warmed please.”
“Fuck off.” On the way to my place? I don’t think so. I move to tap the disconnect button, but his voice stops me.
“I know what Basil said to your Elf.”
“What?”
“I’ll be there in five. Coffee, black. Croissant, hot.”
The little shit hangs up on me. I stare, bewildered, at my phone for a moment, then dive for clothes. Within seconds I’m in the kitchen helping Astrid to set the table while the croissants warm in the oven.
When Winston buzzes to tell me he’s here, I have him send Pascal around the back and I meet him at the door. I will give him this - he’s a good-looking son of a bitch. About Boden’s height but where Boden is lean like a swimmer, Pascal is willowy, like a dancer. Glossy black hair hangs in a curtain over one eye, a diamond glints in the exposed ear. He’s dressed, as he usually is, in black. Tight black jeans and boots, a black thermal under a heavy black shirt. Long black pea coat. Intricate swirls of blue and green curl up the skin of his neck; tattoos that, rumor has it, are everywhere. Rumor also has it that he has more piercings - mostly in places I don’t care to think about.
If I have a reputation, I hate to think what Pascal’s got; everyone knows he spreads himself around. Discretion is not a word he’s familiar with if his usual behavior is anything to go by. But he’s a Holder and he’s good at his work and I owe him a minimum of respect for that. Besides, am I any better?
He brushes past me into the kitchen, sniffing the air. Astrid takes his coat and I’m surprised when he offers her what sounds like a gracious and genuine thank you. I direct him to the table where his requested menu awaits.
“Oh, very nice.” Pascal helps himself to a croissant from the basket while I pour coffee. I fill my own cup and sit down.
“Okay, out with it.”
Pascal tut-tuts at me and adds sugar to his drink. He sips and gives a little shrug of pleasure. “You must tell me where you get your coffee. This is to die for, darling.”
“Pascal, I’ve had about two hours sleep, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, I have a fuck ton of work to do, and I’m in a very bad mood. If you don’t tell me what you know, I swear I will shove your Basket up your ass. Sideways.”
The little swine laughs at me. Gods, he’s an annoying Elf. He has another piece of croissant, smirking at me as he chews and swallows.
“Tell me, Rorik, have you ever taken anyone up in The Sleigh?”
“What?”
“The Sleigh. You remember The Sleigh? Have you taken anyone up in it?”
“Not that it’s any concern of yours, no I haven’t. What’s that got to do with anything?”
He sets his coffee cup down and leans on his elbows. “Let me guess, you were planning on taking young Boden, weren’t you?”
I don’t have the patience for his games. “Pascal, get the fuck on with it.”
“Who did you tell you were taking him?”
“What? Nobody. Why?”
“Well,” Pascal helps himself to a second croissant, “somebody knows because when Basil came into The Troll last night, he knew which button on your sweet thing to push and wasted no time in doing so.”
I try to make sense of his words. When I can’t, he continues.
“He started with the obvious stuff. Called Boden your latest squeeze I believe, in charge of your network and your nookie.”
Oh, I’m going to kill that fucking sleazy Elf. I don’t care how many generations of Holder his family has worked for, he’s toast. Fucking toast.
“Then,” Pascal has a mouthful of coffee, “he asked if you had taken him up in The Sleigh yet as that apparently is your party piece.”
“What the fuck? It’s my what?”
“You know, your party piece. When you want to convince them you’re something really special and they should do something a little more… let’s say daring… than usual.”
I leap to my feet, knocking my coffee cup off the table. It shatters on the floor, sending shards of porcelain in every direction. “Boden wouldn’t believe that. I told him I’ve never taken anyone up before.”
Pascal’s laugh is far more cynical than I would have believed him capable of. “That’s where Matthieu comes in. According to him, you took him up twice.”
My mouth drops open. Why in the hell would he do that? Because I fired him? “I never took him any fucking where. I never went out with Matthieu.”
“Yes, well you see, darling, there’s your problem. Boden is getting the thing both Matthieu and Basil want. You. One wants your body, the other wants control of your computer system. What is it they say about an Elf scorned?”
“It’s a woman scorned, not an Elf. Are you sure about this?”
“Whatevs. Still applies.” He takes a phone from his pocket and thumbs it on. After a moment or two of scrolling, he turns it so I can see. In the foreground is Basil calling to Matthieu who confirms that yes, he’s been in The Sleigh twice, then the screen is filled with Boden. My Small One. My sweet Elf, who has no magic but two degrees most Humans can’t get. Head down, he runs for the door.
It feels as if someone has reached inside me and is tearing my heart to shreds. Forgetting Pascal is there for the moment, I touch my fingers to the screen. “Oh, Small One, I’m so sorry.”
“Small One? Huh. Cute. I didn’t have you pegged as the terms of endearment type.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I snap. One thing still puzzles me. “Why are you here, Pascal? Why are you telling me?”
“Goodness of my heart?”
I snort. Sadness flashes in Pascal’s eyes, he looks like he’s about to say something, seems to reconsider, and starts again.
“I guess I deserve that. I can be a little bitchy now and then.” His usual cocky demeanor is nowhere to be seen and I feel a pang of shame. What would Boden think of my behavior? Pascal didn’t have to come here and my questioning his motives is kind of a dick move. “I’ve seen you two around these past few weeks and I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him. You’re different with him. Gentler. It’s a good look on you. If you get a shot at real love, don’t you think you should take it?” He stands up and brushes a few errant crumbs from his shirt front. “Besides, isn’t it what friends are supposed to do?”
I don’t know what he sees on m
y face, but my shame deepens when I see the hurt in his. Then he gives himself a shake and just like that, it’s gone. “I understand. Well, I thank you for your hospitality, darling, but I must hop off. Hop off. See what I did there?”
That’s the Pascal I know. I’m about to roll my eyes but that flash of pain stops me. Fairly sure I’ll live to regret it; I hold my hand out. Pascal eyes it for a moment, as if my fingers might bite him, then accepts it.
“Thank you.” I take a deep breath. “I appreciate you coming over.”
Maybe it’s my imagination but I’m sure he squares his shoulders and his smile brightens as we shake hands.
“You’re welcome.”
I let Astrid show him out while I pour myself another cup of coffee and make a plan.
***
An hour later, I’m standing on the doorstep of my brother’s house, begging to be let in.
“I don’t know what you said or did to my Lars but he’s very upset.” Otto folds his arms over his chest. “He is so upset he won’t talk to me and far worse, I got no loving last night. None at all. Not even hand stuff.”
I could have lived quite happily without hearing that but when Otto is on a roll, nothing can stop him. Well, Lars can but that doesn’t appear to be an option today. One of the few Elves able to look me in the eye, where I’m muscular, Otto is plump. Where my hair is long and silver-gray, his is short and chestnut brown with just a few strands of silver beginning to show. Where I was born by simple order of birth, to be Holder, he was born to be Reserve. It’s harsh and many probably think it’s unfair but it’s how it is. It’s also how Otto likes it. He never wanted anything but to decorate houses, have his men, and maybe one day breed fluffy, grumpy cats. I don’t know how Lars feels about that last bit but since they make everything else work, I’m sure they’ll make that work too.
“Come on Otto, let me in. I need his help.”
“Well you’re not getting my help, you arrogant, jumped up, lying, piece of shit.” Lars pushes Otto one side and steps out onto the porch.
“Lars –”
“Don’t even bother. I told you not to mess with him. I fucking told you!”
Naughty & Nice: A Holiday Storybook Novella Page 6