Page 76 of Hot Doggin'
Mandy snatches it from his hand. “Give me that. I’ll grill the damn things myself.”
“Okay, but what I really want to know,” Nash asks, “is what’s with this inflatable unicorn in the living room?”
“It’s our mascot.”
Jax shakes his head. “How did no one figure out you two were gay? It’s so fucking obvious.”
“Hey, check out this tree.” Brandt touches the ornaments, decorating our Christmas tree. “A motorcycle, an American flag, Army boots and a rifle, a hot dog, of course,” he laughs. “Where’d you get this one?” He inspects a round white ornament with the BALLS logo.
Mac joins him at the tree. “Picked that up from the gift shop when I volunteered to take over that girl’s shift.” Mac carefully removes our newest ornament and holds it out for Brandt. “Check out this one.”
It’s a sticky note, like the colorful ones that decorate every surface of our house to remind me of shit. It says, “Don’t forget it’s Christmas.”
“That’s perfect for Stiles,” Brandt agrees. “Hey, we need ornaments like these,” he tells West.
Eventually, the party moves out back once the grill is lit. “Is that an ammo shed,” West asks.
“Damn, right it is,” I boast.
West slides the metal door open to reveal a four by four foot shed stocked with homemade ammunition and fireworks. There’s enough explosives to detonate our entire neighborhood.
“Homemade Molotov cocktails? Get the fuck out of here. Brandt,” he calls, “how come our ammo shed doesn’t have Molotov cocktails?”
Brandt rolls his eyes. “Because you would blow off your other leg. You’re dangerous and foolish.” Then he adds on, because he’s Brandt, and he has to, “The enemy’s dangerous, but right now you’re worse. Dangerous and foolish.”
“Fuck. You had to stir him up,” I complain. “Now he’ll be quoting TopGun all night long.”
“Cut him off,” West insists. “No more beer for him.”
Everything devolves from there. Jax and Rhett get hold of the fireworks and shoot off Roman candles. Nash gallops around the yard on Josh, my unicorn mascot. Brandt and West get into a sword fight with raw hotdogs. And every time Mac steals a kiss from me when he thinks no one is looking, the guys sing “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross.
It’s a good thing we don’t have neighbors close by because, after this, they would hate us.
If only the ALR shindig was going as smoothly as our housewarming had. The clubhouse is packed with American Legion Riders to celebrate the Christmas toy drive. Many of these people worked tirelessly to collect toys and donations for needy kids. There’s a potluck buffet, door prizes, a garage band some of the vets put together, and when it’s all over, the collective donations will be distributed amongst local charities for needy kids.
Unfortunately, not everyone can behave themselves. Bruce showed up glassy-eyed and unstable on his feet, and he’s only been drinking more since he arrived.
“I bet ten bucks he gets in a fight today.”
“Oh yeah,” Mac nods, stroking his beard. “He’s gonna get his ass kicked today.”
“And Barbie.” I tilt my head in her direction. “The fuck is she wearing?” She thought it would be cute to come dressed as an elf.
Mac follows my line of sight. “I guess she missed the memo that this party wasn’t being held at a strip club. These baked beans taste like shit,” he gripes as he shovels another spoonful into his mouth.
“Then, why are you still eating them?” Honestly, I think he would eat cardboard if it had barbecue sauce on it.
“Because I don’t wanna go home hungry.” He eyes my plate of leftover baked beans. “You gonna eat that?”
I slide the plate in his direction. “Be my guest.”
The emcee calls out the ticket number sitting next to Mac’s plate. “Hell, yeah! I won.”
The door prize that he won is a black T-shirt that says, “I make this bike look good,” with a stick figure of a man on a motorcycle. I’m sure it’ll be his new favorite shirt.
Bruce stumbles into me, pushing me further into the table, and when I turn around to glare at him, he looks surprised to see me and plops his ass down beside me.
Fucking swell.
