Only One Bed

“What?” he rasped.

“You know how tomatoes are actually fruit? Are there fruits that are really vegetables?”

He thrust out the pizza box. “Take this?”

“Oh, sure.”

I sucked the candy cane back into my mouth so both my hands were free. As I stood, the towel slipped. I caught it and re-tucked it around my hips before taking the box. Etienne bent to take off his boots. He fiddled with them a long time, adjusting them on a mat by the door. When he stood, his face was beet red.

“Pineapples are fruit.” He took back the pizza, turning to the kitchenette. “Want to watch something?”

“Sure.” I turned on the TV sitting on top of the dresser across from the foot of the bed and grabbed my boxer shorts and sleeping T-shirt from my bag. I hung the towel in the bathroom, squishing it to the left side of the bar so Etienne would know which one was mine.

The cabin smelled like cheese and grease and meat, and I groaned appreciatively as I got settled on the bed. “Ho-ho hell yes.”

Etienne laughed weakly and passed me a plate with three slices crammed on it as well as a garlic dipping sauce he’d known to order for me without asking.

It was also our usual pizza order—regular crust, extra sauce, extra cheese, sausage, ham, pineapple, and mushrooms. We’d agreed on these toppings years ago and never deviated. It was weirdly comforting.

As I flipped channels, my mouth full of delicious pizza, Etienne changed into his PJs. When he was a kid, his family had done the matching holiday pajamas, but he was only wearing normal flannel bottoms and a ratty Skate Canada tee.

It was so worn around the collar that it was stretched out of shape and dipped below his left collarbone. The wiry ends of his chest hair brushed the dip below the bone.

“Don’t you sleep naked anymore?” I asked for some weird reason.

Etienne stared. “Um, yeah. When I’m by myself or…”

“Right, right.” The bed squeaked as I fidgeted.

“You want to watch the Mormon Tabernacle Choir?”

“Huh?” I turned my gaze from his old tee back to the TV. “Oh, sorry.” I kept flipping, and we both exclaimed, “Yes!” when I hit pay dirt.

John McClane was tapping the ancient screen in the lobby of Nakatomi Plaza and being butthurt that Holly was using her own name.

“It just started too!” Etienne grinned around a mouthful of pizza.

“It’s a Christmas miracle.” He’d gotten me a can of beer from the fridge, and I popped the top and held it up for a cheers.

We devoured the pizza and called out iconic lines along with the actors.

Etienne put on a fake serious face as we said in unison, “You throw quite a party. I didn’t realize they celebrated Christmas in Japan.”

This was one of our faves since when I was a kid, someone had actually asked me why my family celebrated Christmas—as if my parents weren’t born in Canada, where pretty much everyone did Christmas in my experience. Hashtag not-all-Canadians, but mostly everyone I knew.

We groaned at Takagi’s cringey answering line about Pearl Harbor, which I couldn’t see making it into a movie these days. Eighties movies had a huge cringe factor. Die Hard got a pass on being the best Christmas movie ever, and no, it wasn’t up for debate as to whether it was really a Christmas movie. It was. The end.

And being here in this cozy cabin with my best friend, eating pizza on the bed and watching a holiday classic, was an awesome Christmas. Shit, I really had missed Etienne so much. I almost reached over and hugged him and told him that.

But it would be weird, right? Instead, I took another gulp of beer and shouted out the next line.

Chapter Four

Etienne

I’d imagined this moment so many times, but I’d never pictured waking up with Sam under the glow of Christmas lights in a cabin in the mountains. The colors were like a rainbow over his slack face. His lips looked particularly pink and tempting.

He was sprawled on his stomach, his right knee sticking out. Curled on my side facing him, I’d only have to shift an inch and our knees would touch. I’d only have to shift a bit farther to kiss those pink lips.

Obviously, I wouldn’t.

His green-tipped hair stuck up wildly in the glow of the colored lights. He hugged the pillow to his face and neck. The plaid duvet had slipped down to the middle of his back, and I worried he was cold, but I didn’t want to wake him by adjusting it.

The memory of Sam’s nipples peaking in the cold air invaded. When I’d opened the door and found him there, damp-skinned and only in the towel, that candy cane in his mouth…

Tabarnak.

No more thinking of Sam practically naked and sucking things. Not when I was in bed with him, my morning wood threatening to grow into a giant sequoia like the ones on Vancouver Island. It was ridiculous—we’d slept in the same bed before in high school. Or in the same tent, like on that trip to Tofino.