Page 66 of King of the Crease

Did he just say…I gulp down a very nervous, very excited lump in my throat. Nick is unfazed.

“I went to a really good university with some of the dumbest wankers in the world. The only thing between their ears is a light breeze. You’re smart, and you’re wonderful, and you’re such a good father and friend, and you’re this beautiful, sexy light that…shines in rooms where…darkness…and there’s a light switch.” He collapses into a silly ball of laughter, giggling into my chest. “I can’t believe you’re into a guy like me.”

“We’re both into each other!”

“Could that be any more exciting?” he says in his regular voice, which now that I think about it, sounds a lot like Chandler in Friends.

“Hank!” he yells in my ear, back to his drunk British accent. “Can I call you my boyfriend?”

My heart does more somersaults than an Olympic gymnast. “Yes!” I yell back over the music. “Can I call you my boyfriend?”

“Yes!” Nick flails his hand on a passing girl’s shoulder, which I think is supposed to be a tap. “Excuse me?”

“What?” she asks, annoyed.

“This is Hank. He’s my boyfriend.” Nick hugs himself tight against me so that our cheeks touch.

Her face melts instantly. “Old people are so adorable.”

She forms her hands into a heart and holds it against her chest, then walks back to her friends.

“She’s a queer ally,” Nick says.

“You’re really rocking this accent. I had a friend who used to speak in a Spanish accent with the lisp when he got drunk. Now that I think about it, was that racist? Eh, I like your drunk accent better.” I scratch at this beard, something I’ve wanted to do for a while.

“It’s my real accent!” He presses his forehead against mine, then cups his hands around our eyes. I do the same thing, and together, we form a secret vision tunnel only we can access. We block out the whole drunk world.

“Can I tell you something, Hank?”

“Anything.”

“I’m actually a crown prince. I’m part of the Ardenian royal family. I have loyal subjects, a personal secretary named Agnes, and I live in a castle.”

I snort a deep laugh that shakes my whole body. “You are so fucking drunk.”

A little bit later, Griff looks close to death after his beer pong game, and I’m surfing on cloud nine with Nick at my side.

Red and green spotlights circle around the dance floor as a DJ pumps out Christmas-themed jams. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blares from the speakers. Groups of bar crawlers party the night away, drinks sloshing from their cups as they get down.

I take Nick to the center of the dance floor. Our dancing is more like jumping with some shuffling back and forth. It’s the best we can manage while drunk. Mostly, it’s an excuse for us to touch each other. His arms around my shoulders, my hands on his hips going up to his back, quick kisses here and there. His smile lights me up, makes everyone around us disappear.

I was never much of a dancer. I spent school dances and club nights on the sidelines, watching my friends use their swagger to get the girls.

Tonight, I lead. I’m drunk on holiday-themed beverages and main character energy.

I get to dance. With my boyfriend.

Soon, Nick and I basically turn to slow dancing, even though the beat is still fast. We sway back and forth while the young’uns around us shake their groove thangs. I could stare into those big, beautiful eyes all night.

“Oh my God!” The girl from before who called us cute (and old people, but let’s ignore that one) comes up to us. A young guy wearing Santa pants, red suspenders, and no shirt hands us a little league baseball trophy, an imposing tower of fake gold topped with a mold of a baseball player swinging away.

“We’ve selected you for the Best Couple Award,” the guy says.

“You are so cute!” The girl squeals.

“There are awards at the bar crawl?” Nick asks.

The girl and guy nod yes.