Merry Random Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

re-enactment of Brokeback Mountain, twenty-first century Boston version.
    “ We’re not gay!” Trevor and I shouted in unison.  
    “Then pretend!” the hostess called back. “We’re up to four-thousand, four hundred bucks. L et’s make it an even five grand, ladies, and see if these boys will make it a menage. I’ll take bids on their third! ”
    A nd with that , Trevor and I stopped arguing.
    Fuck integrity. Fuck Sam and Liam. Fuck the entertainment company.
    We grabbed our coats and left .
    Darla was somewhere out there, desperate and at her wits end.
    She had to be if she’d called my mother for help.

Chapter Three
    Trevor
    As we dashed out of the house and shoved our way through more women, a flash of red metal in someone’s taloned hand caught my eye, and I retriev ed Joe’s phone. Our coats only fell to ass length, which didn’t stop the groping, but by the time we piled out into the frosty December night, we were at least covered in something other than peppermint oil, under-eye concealer, and money.
    “I feel like I just made it through the p or no version of Tough Mudder,” Joe gasped.
    The distant sound of bell ringers with their ubiquitous red pots made the sharp, cold air seem even more surreal after the hot, stuffy apartment and the even hotter mess we’d just escaped.
    “What the fuck was that?” I choked out, flipping off my boots and struggling into my jeans. “ Felt like a Monty Python skit combined with a James Deen porno short.” I grabbed an iron railing that was ice cold, covered in icicles, but that helped me get into my pants. Parts of the denim stuck to my skin. Funny. The oil should make this easy.
    “ We’re way better looking than James Deen,” Joe scoffed. He was shrugging into his shirt and sweater, and we made quick time of getting completely dressed.
    And then the front door burst open, five women in various states of dress running down the steps.
    “Don’t go!” they begged. “Please! We’re sorry.”
    “Things got out of hand,” someone else shouted.  
    “No, lady,” Joe snapped. “ My thing got in too many hands!”
    I gritted my teeth. We had already blown this for Sam and Liam. Hopefully, their boss would still pay us so we could pay them .
    “I’m so sorry,” said the hostess. “Really. We just ask that you not report us.”
    “Report—what?” Joe’s mouth flew open in surprise, a burst of fog pouring out in the chilly night air.  
    “Report us. We’re a group of church organists who decided to have a little fun on Christmas Eve, after we performed all our evening services, and...”
    Church organists?
    “You’re adept at handling organs all right,” Joe mumbled.
    I shook my head slightly. “Did you say church organists ? Like, you play hymns on Sunday mornings? ”
    “ A few of us brought our mothers to this party. Some of us do the organ thing part-time while we finish degrees in music. There’s even an opera singer or two in there,” one of the younger women said.  
    “I know I hit a high note once or twice when people handled my organ,” I said, starting to laugh. Being clothed and away from prying hands made the situation seem more absurd, and less powerful.
    J oe shot me a death glare. “None of this is funny.”
    “ All of this is funny,” I countered.  
    “ H aving our girlfriend in jail isn’t funny .”
    T he group gasped.
    “Your girlfriend is in jail?” one of them asked me.
    “ Our girlfriend,” Joe corrected her.
    “You share ?” Murmurs burbled through the group, and then the hostess peered at Joe, studying him carefully. The air changed, electrified with the whispered intensity of ladies who needed some external excitement and were getting more than they expected.  
    “Wait a minute! I know you,” said the oldest of the group, a woman I’d seen with her hands all over Joe’s ass earlier this evening.
    “Oh, dear!” she shouted. “You’re Joanne Ross’s son. The boy from that video with the