The Twelve Disasters of Christmas Read online

  Brad sank down in the chair, shoulders sagging, moaning in despair. His stomach churned queasily at the movement. His legs fared no better when he felt them go leaden, under the effects of the wine.

  “Why the hell are you staring at me?” Brad pointed an accusing finger at Princess and Max. “Hey, I know it’s early. But this is a crisis, and my nerves are in tatters over here.” The whiney sound of his voice had him spontaneously hunching into his jumper.

  Brad snorted. When he didn’t get a response, he directed his miserable face towards Princess.

  Princess’s speculative look had a silly grin slip over his mouth. His dimples winked to life against his will. The absurdity of the moment was not completely lost on him.

  Brad eyed both cats when Max followed Princess as she moved splaying herself across the new, large velvet cat bed. Aaden had bought it, thinking Princess would share. Well, Brad had news for Aaden. There ain’t any sharing going on here, with anything, as far as he could see.

  Her recent run-in with a gun and Joe’s ex had given them all a fright. A fright he could well have done without when he was on his first ever romantic holiday with Martin. The fact that Martin had insisted they finish their holiday and stay out of harm’s way until Aaden could fix things only added to his stress levels. Knowing Princess was injured and enduring all sorts of God knows what while he couldn’t get to her worried him more than he’d let on.

  It hadn’t helped to find on their return that she was still at the vet’s. For some reason, she hadn’t recovered as fast as she should have. He’d panicked, making Martin take him straight to the vet before they’d even had chance to do more than throw their bags inside the house. His guilt had been overwhelming him by the time he’d got to the vet’s.

  Yet the sight that had greeted him of Aaden’s large white Manx cat, Max, sitting outside her cage, had somehow allayed the guilt. He knew that Max’s presence reassured him in ways nothing else could have, and even with the complications, it hadn’t changed his mind.

  Brad stared down at Max, watching him stretch his large, white gleaming body out beside Princess’s tiny black body. His bicoloured eyes never wavered from her.

  Shifting on the wooden seat, Brad considered Max. He was unlike any other cat Brad had ever met. Usually he avoided talking about Princess’s differences, but he’d felt compelled to ask Martin if he sensed how Max seemed the same as Princess. His suggestion that they ask Aaden about Max’s origins was immediately vetoed by Martin, telling him it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  Martin had quite categorically stated “what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.” Brad wasn’t quite so sure about that, but he’d let it go at the time. Now he wondered if he should have when Max turned, locking eyes with him. He held him captive for a second before he slowly blinked, severing the connection.

  Brad shivered when a sudden feeling skittered up his spine, making a question pop into his head. Where has Max been hiding out this past week?

  There was something off about Max since his return on Monday Brad couldn’t put his finger on. It gave him an odd sense of disquiet, which was starting to tick him off.

  As Max lowered his large head, Brad shook off his worrisome thoughts when he didn’t find any answers. His mind decided then to remind him of the other worries he had to be concerned about. One in particular, and why he’d felt the urge to get drunk at eleven fifty-five in the morning. Martin.

  Brad buried his head in his hands.

  He tried to think of a way out of his problem or a way to solve them. He yanked at his curls. Pain registered dully, even as his mind continued to come up blank. The days would start counting down, and that thought had his hands tighten on his hair.

  Brad released his hair and got up. His shaky legs had him grappling for the table for a second as he righted himself. He wobbled across the tiled floor, the wine bottle clutched in his hand.

  “You two are supposed to be helping me.” He slurred, his free hand waving in no particular direction. Brad squinted at the two-thirds empty bottle as he moved slowly down the hall, unsure how much had been left before he’d started.

  He shrugged. What did it matter? He was doomed anyway.

  Getting drunk at least means I don’t have to think.

  Brad nodded at his own logic and staggered up the stairs. Halfway up, he whirled around at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Losing his balance, he bashed into the banister. “Ow. Shit in hell, who on earth put that there?” Scowling down at the banister, he rubbed at his throbbing shoulder. He glanced at the bottle, his sloppy grin growing when he realised he hadn’t spilt a drop.

  Brad lurched back down the stairs to the front door as the bell pealed again. He tore at the door, ripping it open. A fierce scowl darkened his face. He squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus.

  The alarmed face that stared at the bottle clutched in his hand had him snigger. The following look of concern Joe gave him when he saw the several large, bulging bags of booze just inside the door turned Brad’s snigger into a sigh. Trying to keep his legs steady, Brad stepped back, leaving the door open, inviting Joe in.

  Brad stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, plucking at his lip.

  Why was I going upstairs?

  He shook his head when nothing came to him. Brad regretted it immediately when a wave of dizziness had him clutch at Joe as he went to step past him. “Wow, total room spin.”

  Brad narrowed his eyes when Joe’s eyebrows disappeared under his floppy, dark mahogany fringe, and he not so subtly leant forward, sniffing him. Fighting back hysteria the wine was supposed to be helping with, Brad gave a resigned huff when Joe spoke.

  “What’s going on, Brad? I have never seen you drunk. And never mind, getting drunk in the middle of the day.”

  At Joe’s judgmental tone, Brad attempted to straighten his shoulders, poking out his chin.

  Joe raised his hand before Brad could speak. “Hey, I’m not telling you off, okay? I’m just worried about what has brought this on.” The genuine concern in Joe’s musical lilt did little to stop the anger from spewing out.

  Brad jabbed at Joe’s shoulder with the wine bottle, leaning into his face. His other arm kept tight hold of Joe as he was afraid that he might fall flat on his face as he shouted. “I’ll tell you what the problem is. In twelve days, count them…” His indistinct words wavered along with his hand. The same hand clutching the wine bottle he’d not noticed nearly swiped Joe’s nose if he hadn’t dodged.

  “It’s twelve days till Christmas. And somehow I agreed to sort out the Christmas party for Martin’s friends and work colleagues.” Brad swiped his gaze over his hall, his eyes wheeling as he carried on with his slurred rant. “Here… in our home… on Christmas fucking Eve. In less than two bloody weeks… I have to sort it out. People… will be coming… into my home. People… I don’t know.” Brad shuddered, nearly dropping the bottle before continuing. “Whilst also trying to make my first ever real Christmas happen for Martin and me.” He wailed.

  As he raised his hand to yank his hair, he realised he still held the bottle and Joe. Recalling his plan to get drunk, he took another large gulp. He thought that was the most sensible thing to do under the circumstances. The wine splashed everywhere as the bottle was unceremoniously grabbed from his hand.

  Brad inadvertently spat the mouthful he’d just taken all over him and Joe. Wine dripped off Joe’s face, down his chin, and onto the tatty grey sweater he wore, soaking him. Brad swiped at his own chin, his dimples firing to life at the indignant scowl on Joe’s face. Brad’s drunken mind found it impossible to resist pointing out the obvious.

  He giggled. Tears gathered and spilt down his cheeks when Joe drew up his jumper, rubbing at his face and chin. Brad clutched his sides, peals of laughter erupted out. “Serves you right… for wrenching… the bottle… out of my hand…” His stuttering seemed to make matters worse.

  Joe’s hard glare had no impact on Brad. The cushion of alcohol took the blow. Br
ad hiccupped his way back to the kitchen, swaying precariously. He heard the heavy tread behind him, knowing Joe was following him, but Brad was past caring. He slumped back into the seat he’d vacated earlier. His misery seemed not to be completely lost under the fog or the hilarity.

  Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on the cool wood and prayed for inspiration on how to fix what Martin had so blithely thrown at him.

  Well, okay, I’d been a little blissed out from Martin’s lovemaking.

  He clearly couldn’t be held responsible for the shit that came out of his mouth while Martin was doing all sorts of wicked things to him during sex. Surely? His mind had so not been focused on the conversation Martin had started.

  Brad heaved a sigh, hoping the cool surface of the oak table would help give him some inspiration.

  This, I suppose, is what happens when I’m not listening properly. Though I totally blame Martin for all this shit. If he hadn’t blown my mind with that nice little vibrating butt plug and the whipped cream, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  “No siree, I wouldn’t.”

  Brad let out a stream of expletives, lost in his abject misery.

  Brad’s vehement words had Joe hesitate on his way to the fridge, and he looked back over his shoulder. Brad’s blond head rested on the gorgeous oak table.

  Joe had struggled to understand in the beginning why someone so full of life could have such little self-confidence. Stuart had filled him in on some of Brad’s past, when he’d, maybe, got a little carried away with his jealousy.

  But hell, who could blame me?

  His gaze lingered on Brad as the sunlight gleamed through the windows, making Brad’s blond curls glitter in a halo of gold. The jeans he usually wore were dark today and paired with a navy-blue woolen jumper, which hugged his small torso. Even in despair, it didn’t hide how stunning Brad was. Though he couldn’t see his face, he knew what lay hidden under all those golden curls. His sea-green eyes, lush lips, pert nose, and dimples drew you to his sweet disposition. Not that there was much evidence of that, if he heard correctly. Brad would have given a sailor a run for their money with the cuss words he was firing out.

  The loud groan pulled him from his thoughts. His eyes focused on his tipsy friend sitting at the large oak table. Joe placed the nearly empty bottle back in the fridge, out of harm’s way. He hid a chuckle behind his hand when he turned back to face what could only be classed as utter dejection. Brad’s forehead seemed glued to the kitchen table. His hands dangled down at his sides as he groaned yet again.

  God, Brad is cute when he gets tipsy.

  Joe knew Brad was not a big drinker by any stretch of the imagination, especially after a certain incident now named “cocktailgate” he’d inadvertently become involved in when Martin had contacted him to ask him to trace Brad’s phone when he wouldn’t answer. Martin’s saucy sister, Sarah, was persuaded into drinking with Brad, resulting in “cocktailgate.” Not that he was convinced there’d been much persuading going on. Sarah was a devil and very rarely needed encouragement to get up to mischief.

  Martin had eventually found it hilarious after he’d found Brad and calmed down. He’d shown everyone the video he’d taken of Brad attempting to dance with Sarah in the Bath and Bottle cocktail bar. The other video of Princess mimicking his movements as she danced around him the following day had been priceless. Brad, on the other hand, had been furious and had tried to delete the evidence with little success. Brad had eventually laughed it off, saying payback was a bitch. Though how anyone thought Brad could do payback was beyond him. He was just too nice to be mean.

  Joe struggled to comprehend why Brad, who normally veered away from drinking excessive amounts of alcohol, was now a drunken mess over a party.

  I mean, really, it’s only a party for God’s sake.

  Joe tried to put himself in Brad’s position, wanting to make sure he’d missed nothing.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me today, the 13th of December, is twelve days from Christmas. And that you have to plan and execute a party for Martin’s work colleagues and friends in your home. Then make sure you have Christmas planned and sorted for just the two of you?”

  He raised his brow, waiting for confirmation.

  He aimed for supportive, holding back the laughter when Brad lifted his head from the table, sniffing loudly and wiping his cute upturned nose across his sleeve. Then much to Joe’s horror, Brad bent banging his head hard, twice, before pulling back up. The red spot in the middle of his forehead showed he’d not been playing around.

  Joe rushed forward, his pulse racing. He gripped Brad’s warm hands in his sweaty ones and pulled him back from the table, out of harm’s way. Frightened he would do something stupid again, Joe growled in frustration when Brad tried to get up. He tugged on his hands, making Brad focus on him.

  “Nope, stop with the self-pity. You have more balls than that.” The loud groan had him wonder what he’d said. He gave Brad a questioning look.

  “That’s what got me into this bloody mess in the first place.” Grousing, Brad settled back into the chair.

  Joe’s brow rose as he didn’t understand what Brad meant. The light bulb flashed on when Brad started to glow rosily. He couldn’t prevent the laughter when the flush spread like wildfire under his probing gaze.

  “Oh, you, err, got played, you mean? Conned big time, and then the artful dodger has left you hanging. Nice move on Martin’s part.” His humour danced in his eyes.

  Joe felt his pity grow at Brad being caught out by Martin.

  The red deepened, and Joe wondered what Brad was thinking about exactly when he shifted uncomfortably, trying to cross his legs.

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” Brad squirmed harder.

  Joe pressed his lips together to stop himself from asking what they’d got up to the night before that would make Brad agree to something he clearly did not want to do. Joe found his own ripped jeans getting a little too tight for comfort as colourful ideas popped into his mind.

  He gave himself a mental slap, telling himself off for wanting to take advantage of a half-sloshed friend. Joe made a Herculean effort to get himself back on track, focusing on Brad’s anguish by reminding himself he wanted to help and put the smile back on Brad’s face.

  “Okay, I’ll help. I have no pressing work, and Aaden has Nick helping him sort the kitchen. And his friend Brody is there as well. So I think he has plenty of help, and your need is greater, right?”

  Brad nodded. His drooping shoulders lifted a fraction.

  Joe grinned. “I’m all yours. Oooh, I know. We could rope in Greg as well. He’s been living at Aaden’s practically since Friday night. I caught sight of him on Monday heading for work. He could hardly walk straight. I bet I know what they’ve been up to all weekend.” Joe gave a hearty laugh when Brad turned a bright shade of purple.

  He secretly wished he could watch Aaden work Greg over. Joe gave himself a mental shake when his tightening pants tried to strangle his cock.

  All these bloody dirty thoughts about my friends.

  What the fuck is up with me?

  Joe disregarded the little voice that reminded him he knew damn well what was up with him. Since Stuart had helped to resolve his Joel issues, his sex drive had returned with a vengeance. And now, with Stuart’s agreement to let him film them together, he’d been on tenterhooks for days, thinking about nothing but that.

  As Brad tugged his hands from Joe’s, he felt his cheeks heat and hoped his face hadn’t given him away. Joe sucked his lips in between his teeth, chewing. He forced himself to meet Brad’s gaze. Joe gave an internal groan when Brad’s sea-green eyes sparkled with mischief.

  Joe tucked his sexy thoughts away, not sure the interest he could see was something he wanted to explore.

  Who am I kidding? Watching Martin and Brad. .… yeah, I could totally go there.

  “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Greg. I’ll text him to see if he wants to help. It’s his p
arty too, so I can’t see him saying no.”

  Brad’s dimples winked at him, making Joe smile in return. It died when Brad got up and staggered towards the fridge. His racing pulse had him rise to follow.

  “Hey, no more wine, or Martin will have my guts for garters.” His strident words made no impact on Brad, who turned towards him. Joe paused at the dreamy expression on Brad’s face, transforming his earlier misery into sheer happiness.

  Joe relaxed back when Brad started talking.

  “I’m not getting wine, but thanks for the concern. No, I’m looking for food, cause you know, the whole plan to get drunk was working. And if we’re gonna pull this off, I need to be sober.”

  Joe watched as Brad dragged the makings of a sandwich out of his stainless-steel fridge. His head was buried inside the fridge as he carried on.

  “The thing is, Joe, I have never had a real Christmas with anyone before. And the ones I had with my shitty family definitely don’t count. So this whole sorta Christmas party threw me for a loop. Princess and me, we never really bothered.”

  Joe felt a sudden overwhelming sadness at hearing Brad talk so matter-of-factly about something he himself had loved as a child. The waking up on Christmas morning, stomach buzzing with a million butterflies as you ran downstairs to see what Santa had left. The excitement of the aunts, uncles, and grandparents all arriving with more gifts than you could poke a stick at. Then stuffing your face full of food and sweets till you felt you were going to burst. Joe vowed right then that he would make sure Brad had some of that. He made a mental note to talk to Martin about what Brad had revealed.

  “Thank you for kicking my silly drunken backside and talking some sense into me.”

  Joe chuckled when Brad turned and shrugged before casting a scowl at the two dozing cats in the corner. “They definitely weren’t helping me.”

  Brad’s genuinely miffed tone had Joe coughing to hide his smirk.