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I finish my drink while we watch the movie in silence, the only sounds in the room from the TV and the crackling fire.
“That was good,” Jesse speaks after a while, and I glance over to see him holding up his glass. “Can I have more?”
I shrug and stand. “Why the hell not.”
Taking both of our empty cups to the kitchen, I pour more eggnog, and even more brandy this time. I’m not trying to get drunk, and I’m definitely not trying to get Jesse drunk either, even though I’m now fairly certain this amount of alcohol could get him there, since apparently he’s not a big drinker. I’m pleased by this fact. I like that he has a good head on his shoulders and knows that drowning your sorrows in vices is never the way.
But I also think I like this new part of our tradition. Opening him up a bit is a good thing. I’d like to know more about his life, and I want him to feel comfortable sharing.
Back in the living room, I hand him his fresh drink and plop down on his toes again. But rather than pulling them away this time, he wiggles them under my thigh.
I can feel my grin, but I squash it, and mutter, “Are you cold?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just… getting cozy.”
I keep my face aimed forward at the television, feeling him relax, leaning back and wedging his feet further beneath my legs. I’m sort of tense, and I’m not sure why, so I ignore it and focus on the movie.
But for some reason, I’m abnormally aware of Jesse while he sips his drink. It’s as if I can feel his buzz as he melts deeper into the couch.
Then it dawns on me that I might be getting a buzz on myself, which is why I’m feeling this way.
Who knows.
The movie continues, and we watch as we always do. Chuckling at certain parts we know so well. By the time the kid on the screen is getting his tongue stuck to the pole, I’m so relaxed I barely even notice that Jesse’s feet aren’t under my legs anymore. They’re resting on my lap.
He has his legs draped over mine. When did that happen?
We’ve never sat like this before, and for some reason, it’s keying me up once again. I’m not sure why. It’s not unusual for him to sprawl out and take up the whole couch. It’s kind of his thing. But his long legs stretched over my thighs seem to be the only things I can pay any attention to, for minutes on end.
I’m acting like I’m watching the movie, but really my eyes keep falling to his feet in those cartoon socks, toes visibly wiggling every now and then.
It’s good. He’s happy. He’s comfortable… That’s all I care about.
Not my own bizarre anxiety, which doesn’t make any sense.
The night wears on. The movie ends and starts up again, on a loop, because that’s another part of the tradition, for everyone apparently, not just us.
I’m lulled into an easy state, my hands resting on Jesse’s shins once the drink is long empty, cup down on the floor. After a while, my eyelids begin to flutter, sleepiness overtaking me.
The last thing I remember is glancing at Jesse, to find him out cold, head lolling off to the side, his chest rising and falling in content breaths of slumber.
A soft smile graces my lips, and I lean back, succumbing to the sleep that steals me.
Warmth.
All I can feel is warm, everywhere.
A heat I didn’t have before has settled over my skin, something like a dream burning me right up.
Tightness clutches, and it takes several generous moments for me to realize it’s spreading from my gut up to my chest.
Starting in my loins.
Foggy and lost in my subconscious, a fantastic sensation washes over me. Tingles sweep through my limbs, settling below my waist.
Sex.
That’s what it feels like. A sex dream.
