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"What did I tell you kids about screwing around in... oh," Zach said, faux dad-voice slipping away as his gaze fell on the two of us. "Oooh," he went on, eyes widening, as he took in my messy hair, our flushed, and, more than likely, guilty faces. "In that case, you two kids take all the time you need," he said, grabbing the door, starting to pull it closed. "But we are doing the White Elephant in about fifteen minutes," he added, giving Crosby a beaming smile before shutting the door.
"Apparently, we weren't the first people to use this room tonight," Crosby said with a lopsided smile as he reached up to bring some order back to my hair. "Come on. Let's go finish the party," he suggested, reaching down to grab my hand, pulling me along with him.
And then, well, it was just a party. With Crosby by my side. Like always. Except now, he was holding my hand, he was curling my body in at his side, he was pressing little kisses to my forehead, to my lips, to the top of my head.
I thought there was no way a party could be better than with my best friend at my side.
I was wrong, though, because it was infinitely better with the man I loved. In the capacity I had been denying for so long that I wanted.
We left the party each a little tipsy. Crosby was now the proud owner of a set of triceratops taco holders while I checked out my "Fowl Language" cup that was a compilation of actual birds with dirty-sounding names. Red-billed Oxpecker, Southern Screamer, Blue-footed Boobie.
"Where to?" the cab driver asked, making a surge of panic move through me.
Because I needed to go home to Lock.
But I wanted to go home with Crosby.
"Two stops," Crosby said, rattling off my address, making my stomach drop.
Was that really it?
He was just going to drop me off?
Go back to his own place?
Then what?
Act like nothing happened?
Was he done with me? That quickly? Old, half-buried, mostly-denied insecurities welled up, making me think of all the times men lost interest in my mother after she spend the night or the weekend, about how she spiraled down after each rejection before throwing herself back on the market, trying to hook the next man, and how I swore I was never going to be like her.
I tried to object when my therapist told me that, in order to be as different from my mother as possible, I always sabotaged and ended my relationships before they even got a chance to get going.
I owed her an apology because she was absolutely right.
And the one time I didn't do that, I was getting driven home on Christmas Eve by a man who meant way too much to me.
"Hey, Dea," Crosby called, giving my hand a tight squeeze to bring my attention back to him.
"Yeah?"
"Stop," he said, giving me a knowing smile.
"Stop what?" I asked, trying to pull my hand away, but that only made him grab it tighter.
"Doom spiraling," he told me, chuckling. "We have two stops because you need to go grab Lock as well as a bag with your clothes for tomorrow and makeup and whatever else you need, and then we are heading back to my place for the night. So we can watch Christmas Vacation together like usual."
"Oh," I said, feeling hope swell up, chasing away all the dark and ugly that had been welling inside.
"You think I've waited this long for just half a night with you?" he asked, leaning over to press a kiss to my temple. "Don't be ridiculous," he added as the cab pulled up to the curb outside my apartment.
"Okay. Give me five," I said, rushing out of the cab and running into my apartment, confusing poor Lock as I threw half of everything I owned into my weekender bag—since I didn't see myself going home after Christmas day either—and then strapped him into his harness, and all but dragged him along with me, giving him promises of Lillybean and Dasher.
And then, well, it was practically like any other night with Crosby. We got back to his place, grabbed the dogs, took them all on one last quick walk in the cold, then changed into comfy clothes, climbed into his bed, and started watching Christmas Vacation together.
The only difference was, I was curled up on his chest, and his hands were absentmindedly drifting up and down my spine, eventually lulling me to sleep.
It was the best Christmas Eve of my entire life.
And, apparently, waking up in his arms with three dogs asleep at our feet was the best Christmas morning of my life as well.
"I'll do dogs, you do coffee," Crosby suggested when we eventually couldn't ignore the expectant looks on the dogs' faces for a moment longer.
