Ethan held his breath for a moment, then let it out and cleared his throat. “If Randy is willing, I have an idea.”
Crabtree raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Randy seemed surprised but pleased. “Let’s hear it, Slick.”
“I think,” Ethan said, keeping his voice cool and detached, “Randy should let everyone in the casino who wants to give him a kiss. One kiss. Wherever they’d like to kiss him.”
No one said anything. Mitch looked apoplectic: he viewed kisses as the one line not to be crossed. He’d let an entire football team fuck Sam if his husband was game for it, but even Ethan and Randy had to have permission to kiss Sam anywhere near his mouth, during sex or not. Sam didn’t appear to be quite as scandalized, but he was close.
Randy seemed slightly wary, as if he didn’t mind but was sure somehow this would go wrong. Ethan was confident this was the perfect plan, though. He was sure if he and Crabtree both kissed Randy, the difference between them would be obvious. That tenderness would come through, and Ethan would be the obvious winner.
Crabtree was poker-blank. “I think that’s a fine idea. I think he should do it blindfolded.”
Ethan went still.
You could blindfold me and I’d choose you.
Randy had said that to him but days ago, in the privacy of the Watering Hole’s office, right before he’d fucked Ethan. Had Crabtree found out somehow? Was that simply a lucky guess? Goddamn it, but how the hell did the man always know exactly what to say?
It was a trap. It was a fucking trap. Now the game wasn’t simply who was the better kisser. Now the game was would Randy know the difference between the two of them in addition to who would be the better kisser. The odds were different for this game, the stakes much higher. This wasn’t the setup Ethan had anticipated at all.
Yet his only choice was to accept it.
He could see Randy about to say no. Ethan smothered his panic and doubt and dredged up the smile he reserved for such moments with Crabtree.
You’re the only one who doesn’t see that you’ve already won.
It was time to see for himself, then.
“Sounds good to me.” Ethan turned to Randy. “What do you think? Are you willing?”
Randy didn’t look at Crabtree, too busy studying Ethan as if he were a safe he was trying to crack. “I’ll do whatever you want, Slick.” And not do whatever you don’t want, his gaze promised just as clearly.
Ethan inclined his head at Crabtree. “Then it’s settled.”
The gauntlet was thrown. Now all Ethan had to do was not get punched into the ground with it.
Chapter Seven
IT TOOK EVERY ounce of Ethan’s control not to try to rig the kissing stunt.
In his mind he was even calling it “the contest,” because really, at this point, that’s what it was. Obviously Crabtree was in on the extra layer, as were Mitch and Sam. Some staff seemed to sense a tremor in the Force as they helped decorate for the party that evening, but he couldn’t be entirely sure.
The only one who absolutely didn’t see it as a battle was Randy.
Oh, he knew something was up, and there was no question in Ethan’s mind that his husband was angry. He started out concerned. He spent the morning trying to argue his way out of the party.
“We don’t need to do this.” Randy leaned into Ethan with his hand braced against the counter. “Let’s just go. Skip town. We can go up to the mountains, all four of us, and spend a beautiful Christmas full of snow and cold and no casino.”
“We were going to have Christmas here,” Ethan pointed out. “Our first.”
“We can take everything. Decorations, presents—hell, I can have us a full-course meal packed and ready by three.” He let go of the counter and gripped Ethan’s arm. “Come on, Slick. Don’t do this. All it’s going to do is cause trouble.”
“No.” Ethan shook his head. “I want this settled.”
Randy turned away from Ethan and started slamming dishes around in the pretense of making himself breakfast. “It’s already settled, damn it.” He waved a coffee mug at Ethan’s face. “What the hell do I have to do to prove to you that I love you and not him?”
“It’s not that,” Ethan said, trying to gentle him. “It isn’t even about you, really.”
“Then why the fuck do I have to be your goddamned puppet?” Randy slammed the mug down so hard on the counter that Ethan expected to see it crack in half. It held together, though, even when Randy swore and swept it into the sink with a clatter.
Randy tried to leave, but Ethan stopped him with a touch on his wrist.
“Please.” Ethan threaded his fingers into Randy’s, his stomach flipping over in his gut. The crack of that mug kept ringing in his ears. “If you truly want me to call it off, I will. Let me tell you why I want to do this first, though, please.”
Randy snorted. “I know exactly why you want to do this.”
“Do you? Because I don’t understand how you can tell me life is a poker game and everyone is your opponent and then insist I leave this alone. I know you’ll choose me over him, but he doesn’t seem to get that, and it’s making me insane. I want to make him see.” Ethan let go of Randy and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “You’re right, though, I’m making you a puppet, and that’s disgusting. I’ll call it off—”
Randy stopped him with a kiss, lingering against his lips. “No. We’re going to do it. I still know how this is going to go down, but we’re going to do it—with the caveat that afterward you’re going to listen to me while I explain some things. I’ve been waiting for you to figure them out on your own, but this is a bit too much, I think. So we’ll do this one last time, and then I’m giving you some truth. Okay?”
Ethan didn’t like the sound of this, but it wasn’t as if he could argue. “All right.”
He’d risen that morning fired up and ready to take on Crabtree, but now Randy had him doubting himself. He did his best to rally during the day, but when Mitch came to his office at five o’clock, Ethan sat back in his chair and let some of his mask fall.
Mitch settled in the chair opposite Ethan’s desk and braced his elbows on his knees. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No.” Ethan rubbed his temples and shut his eyes. “But at this point I think I have to see it through.”
“I get why Crabtree picked you to be his successor. You’re just like the damn gangster, in love with the game.”
Ethan opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, hating the truth in Mitch’s words. “I love Randy more than I love the game.” Then he added, cautiously, “Do you think I should call it off?”
Mitch’s grin sent a shiver down Ethan’s spine. “Nah, not if you can win. Because like I said—that’s why Randy picked you.”
“He’s always telling me not to play against Crabtree.”
Mitch snorted. “Only because he knows you don’t have the best of it. He’s waiting for you to figure out how to get the better hand. Then you can play all you want.”
“You don’t think I have the best of it yet?”
“Don’t know. Only you and he can sort that out. I sure as hell want you to beat that bastard’s ass, so I’m all for it.” He rose, tipping an imaginary hat to Ethan. “Go get ’em, Killer. My money’s on you.”
At first Ethan thought that was a metaphor, but then he realized where he was and winced. “There’s a book on this? They’re betting on what, exactly?”
“Fuck yeah. They’re betting on who’s going to smother the other one, you or Crabtree.” Mitch said. “You’re the only one not in yet. Want a piece?”
Ethan opened his mouth to say no, then paused. “The only one?”
Mitch winked. “Randy just put a grand on you.”
“Wait. He bet on me? But this morning he acted like…” He frowned at the top of his desk, more confused than ever.
What in the world was going on here?
Ethan opened his laptop again with as much coolness as he
could muster. “Mark me down for five thousand.”
He managed to keep it together through Mitch’s laugh and salute, not collapsing in cold fear onto his desk until the door had closed and he was alone again.
THE CASINO CHRISTMAS party was beautiful, full of lights and music and laughter, but Randy had never felt less interested in the festivities around him.
He wanted to get this over with and get to the part where he was with Ethan and the others, the real Christmas he’d been dreaming of. This was supposed to be the best Christmas ever, and thanks to this fight between Ethan and Crabtree it felt like it kept flirting with becoming the worst. Despite having Sam and Mitch present, they hadn’t done anything Christmasy since these stupid Twelve Days of Randy had started. They’d fought, worried, and plotted. They hadn’t gone to look at lights. They hadn’t gone to any of the big casinos. They hadn’t even been to the damn fountains. Randy felt so cheated. This should have been nothing but a Christmas orgasm, but it was nearly to the point that the sight of a Christmas tree had him tensing up.
Randy was tired of playing the clown for everyone at this party, and he was over this goddamn war between Ethan and Crabtree. Whatever novelty there had been to feeling like the princess in the tower had worn off long ago. This princess was about to get a fucking Uzi and order everybody to the floor.
Sam, unsurprisingly, had appointed himself honor guard, ramping up the charm when Randy couldn’t muster it, generally deflecting what Randy wasn’t up to managing. When he went to the bathroom to take a break and Sam followed, Randy pulled him into the shadows, drew him close, and kissed him hard in the center of his forehead.
Wrapping his arms around Randy’s waist, Sam kissed his neck. “It’ll be okay, Randy.”
Randy shut his eyes, sucking in the smell of Sam’s hair. “Goddamn it, but I love you, Peaches.”
Sam’s hand slid down to pinch his ass. “Come on. Splash some water on your face, and let’s get back out there. It’s almost time, and then this will be over. Mitch and I aren’t going to get in line to save you some time. He says we’re going to cut out early and go get ready for when you two can come home. He has the tamales all ready to go. Spicy pork and chicken.”
Randy sighed, already imagining the taste. “Tamales. Now it really is Christmas with Mitch.” He kissed Sam again. “And you too, baby.”
“All of us,” Sam agreed. “We’re going to stay up late and have cocoa and cookies and watch movies with snow in them. And play Santa and the Naughty Elves.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to spend an hour on Ethan’s ass, the naughtiest elf of all.” The visions Sam painted in Randy’s head soothed and bolstered him. He drew a deep breath, stepped back, and squared his shoulders. “I don’t need water. I’m ready. Bring it on, bitches.”
On the casino floor, everyone had gathered around the fountain, where a large red and gold throne sat on a velvet-covered dais draped in enough evergreen branches to be its own ground-based tree. Randy suspected Caryle’s work here, which stood to reason since her firm usually got hired for all the decorating at Herod’s. Still, in his present mood it felt more than a little like Et tu, Brute?
He didn’t let his irritation or his weariness show, though. He strode through the glittering Christmas wonderland, the great room dripping with multicolored lights and evergreen boughs, decked with red ribbons and golden tinsel. He smiled at the crowd of employees and guests clad in glitter and satin and velvet, everyone sipping drinks from fluted glasses, selecting tidbits from silver trays borne by handsome men and beautiful women.
Every last one of them can come up and kiss me. Anywhere they want.
Why did this thought make Randy so annoyed? It was the sort of game he loved. Debauchery, free love—it meant nothing to him, not here, not tonight. It all felt hollow and empty, and not because this was also a pissing contest. That didn’t help, but that wasn’t what had his buns so toasted.
It was, he realized, that he finally had the Christmas he wanted within his reach, but he had to sit through this nonsense first, and he resented it. He knew this was important for Ethan so he could work Crabtree out of his system, but he was tired of being patient about it. He wished he would have taken Ethan up on his offer of cancelling this morning. If he had, they’d be at home now having a great time.
Except they wouldn’t. Ethan would still have to be here as the owner. He’d still be chasing Crabtree.
Twelve damn days of giving himself away, and he was still waiting for the thing he wanted most.
Come on, Ethan. Give me a Christmas miracle.
Randy summoned an eager leer as they tied a red sash around his eyes. The crowd tittered and laughed as they lined up to have their turn for a kiss.
Ah, hell, this was going to be the longest night ever.
Randy’s mask began to slip. Not literally—the damn blindfold was still in place, but his façade was no longer operational. He accepted kisses on his lips and his nose and on his cheek, and even one on his left knee, but when a drunken female staff member tried to pry apart his legs and kiss his belt buckle, he gently but firmly pushed her back and told her to give him one on his wrist and nothing else. The atmosphere mellowed after that, and Randy could tell as he received nothing but pecks on his temple from the next ten kissers that he’d put a damper on their fun.
Tough.
The crowd hushed again, and Randy tensed, because he knew what this meant. It was either Ethan or Crabtree coming up to him. This was pissing contest entry number one. Crabtree wouldn’t kiss him anywhere near his face. He’d do something to get Randy shivering, then swoop in for the kill.
He could suck his own dick, because Randy wasn’t shivering for anything, not tonight. If it was Ethan approaching him—well, Randy had put a grand on Ethan, so he wasn’t going to deliberately shun his husband. Crabtree knew Randy had made the bet, so the gangster would try to rig this somehow. Goddamn this blindfold anyway—
He cut his internal rampage off as someone stopped at the foot of the dais. The casino went silent.
Randy dug his fingernails into the arms of the throne and shut his eyes against the red-tinged world of the blindfold, every cell in his body full of tension.
The dais shook under new weight as someone stepped in front of him. Then it shifted again.
Gentle fingers pried his right hand from the armrest, lifted it reverently as they turned Randy’s hand over, and damp lips placed a soft, bone-melting kiss in the center of his palm.
Randy shivered.
When the man before him began to withdraw, Randy latched on to his hand. The gesture lifted him to his feet so he could stand, still blind, at the foot of his throne. There wasn’t a single sound from their audience, and the man before him said nothing either. His thumb stroked the back of Randy’s hand, though. Randy’s heart, already willing to bet every stack he’d ever had that he knew who this was, rose through his chest to the top of his throat and pushed him all in.
Still blindfolded but no longer blind, Randy lifted his hands to the right height, grabbed his husband’s face, and pulled him forward into a bruising kiss.
The crowd became a sea of whispers, but Randy didn’t give a damn what they said. He just opened his mouth wider and swallowed more of Ethan, tasting his lips, his teeth, his tongue. His fingers shoved into the fragrant, familiar hair, cut so carefully, kept so tidy and clean. They strayed to the collar, crisp and ironed, to the suit coat, exquisitely tailored. They stole back up to his skin, soft and damp and vulnerable.
As his brain caught up with his body, he stilled, startled, and then he laughed.
Ethan had won without trying, but now Randy understood why Ethan couldn’t seem to believe him, what Crabtree had known and exploited simply because he was a slimy little bastard who liked to poke at people. Ethan couldn’t see that he’d won.
Randy showed him.
After ripping off the blindfold, he opened his eyes just enough to steer Ethan around and slam him into the throne, at which poin
t Randy climbed onto his lap and ground their hips together as he went in for another kiss. He held nothing back, only kissed him, over and over, his husband, his lover, his friend. He showed everyone how much he loved Ethan, let them see in the light how he kissed his husband in the dark. There was no debauchery, and Randy did not play the fool. He was the man who normally didn’t let anyone see how much he wanted a sweet, old-fashioned Christmas full of sugar and spice and home and love.
For his final trick, Randy allowed the world to see that he was, in fact, a man who had that and more, with the man in his arms.
Eventually the terror of so much exposure caught up with him. Trembling, Randy stopped the kiss and sagged onto Ethan’s shoulder.
The room broke out into applause. Randy lifted his head enough to scan the crowd, and he saw nothing but smiles and bright shining eyes. Also the back of Crabtree’s head as he disappeared toward the elevator that would take him up to his office.
“That what you were hoping for, Slick?” he whispered into his neck.
Ethan gave a choked laugh and nuzzled his cheek. “Up until the last second, I’d meant to give you the kind of kiss you gave me. But when I saw how much this was getting to you, I realized this wasn’t the way to do it at all.”
Randy nipped at his chin. “I knew you by nothing more than the brush of your hand on mine. Which, if you recall, is exactly what I told you I could do.”
“Even as angry as you were with me, you’ll still kiss me like that?”
“I wasn’t angry with you. I was frustrated because I want to get to the only celebration I care about, which is the one with you.”
Ethan stroked Randy’s cheek. “I finally figured it out, by the way, what you’ve been telling me about Crabtree and my need to win.”
Randy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”
“You kept saying you’d choose me over him, and I never doubted that, but it didn’t seem like enough to me unless he saw you make that choice. When you knew me by only a simple touch, though, when I was trying to let you go and you pulled me in—that’s when I realized. It wasn’t ever Crabtree who needed to understand. It was me. My fear of my inadequacy was the problem all along. I was my own enemy. Why didn’t you tell me I was playing poker with myself?”
The Twelve Days of Randy Page 9