Page 70 of Leashed

Slipping past the well-wishers, she pushed into one of the stalls and slammed the lid down, sitting as her shaking hands yanked her phone from her purse. She swiped it to life and fired off a message to Bo.

Merry Christmas.

His response was immediate, a photo of his television and a pizza box.

I’m older than Christmas. Where’s my damn frankincense?

She spun her oversized ring on her finger, her throat tight as she used her fingertip to keep her mascara from running, her shoulders slumped.

It hurts to think you’re alone tonight.

There was a long pause before he responded.

Clotho is dragging me out to some party in an hour. So no worries, k

Erasing her message history, she powered off her phone and walked out of the stall, squaring her shoulders as she returned to the dining room.

*

Bo fixed Clothowith an unimpressed glare as she snapped a picture of him, a ridiculous blinking reindeer headband on his head. “You get I’m too sober for this shit, right?”

She showed him the photo before her fingers danced across the screen of the phone he’d bought her for Christmas. “Your Sage will enjoy proof you are not wholly miserable.”

Biting his tongue, he took a swig of his coffee and sat back in the chair to feign interest in the movie, C’s nest of pillows at his feet making him uncomfortably hot.

The rag-tag group assembled at their hostess’s apartment was smaller than the usual group Clotho had taken to hanging out with topside, most of the familiar faces likely spending the evening with their family.

These, it appeared, were the strays.

And it wasn’t horrible.

The movie credits were rolling when one of the women let out a piercing squeal. “Omigod remember that smarmy guy I introduced you to at the casino? Look what he just sent out in a two-hundred-person group chat.”

He looked over the woman’s shoulder, schooling his expression as he stared at the photo on the screen.

Nixon.

Sage.

One gigantic fucking diamond on her finger.

Taking another gulp of his coffee, he sat back and turned his attention to the television, ignoring the excited squeals bouncing between the women in the room. One of the other guys, completely disinterested in the engagement, tossed on another movie and turned up the volume.

The second movie was half over before he could trust himself to move, to walk across the room without putting his fist through something. “All right,” he called out, dumping his cold coffee into the sink and setting the cup in the dishwasher. “I’m out. Merry Christmas and all that.” He gave his host a wave. “Thanks for letting me hang.”

Clotho vaulted over the sprawled guests as he tugged his shoes on. “You are going to claim what is rightfully yours.”

He shrugged, yanking his laces a little harder than necessary. “I’m going home to bed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This is not your destiny.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not hers, either.” He straightened up and tugged his jacket from the closet. “You got your lines crossed somewhere, C.”

*

Bo pulled hisboxers onto his hips and rubbed the drops from his hair, bypassing his bedroom in favor of the living room sofa where he could crank up the television for enough background noise to drown out the silence of the apartment.

He’d never noticed how quiet cities were in the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

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