Page 295 of Coach
“I bet the Pizza Shack is still delivering,” was his only reply.
The meal ambled forward, with more champagne and wine going down than Scottish meat, the gang getting drunker with each passing moment. Even Jeremiah surrendered to the season, a couple of tall flutes of champagne painting a glossy sheen to his eyes and planting an adorable grin on his face.
Mrs. H told stories about Christmases past, none of which occurred in Scotland because, honestly, she wasn’t from there and had never even visited. Still,she regaled us with tales of men and women who celebrated their holiday cheer with odd traditions and highland songs. When she tried to sing one, a chorus of groans drowned her out, and Sisi barked, “Just sing YMCA, do the hand motions, and be done with this.”
Mrs. H, never one to miss a beat, threw her hands in the air, making the biggest Y the old woman’s arms could form. Matty jumped to his feet and formed an M beside her.
“Jeremiah, are you gay or what? We need a C, stat.”
Our new recruit blinked a few times before stumbling to his feet and tossing his arms out to form his letter.
By the time Omar finished the song with his A, both the adult and kids’ tables were a riot of off-key notes and worse hand gestures.
“That might be the least Christmas thing I’ve ever seen,” Shane said, not realizing he’d spoken loud enough for everyone to hear.
Sisi homed in. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Brick Wall, any song that makes people laugh and feel good is a holiday song. If you’re not careful, we’ll break out in a rendition of the Gay National Anthem right here, right now.”
Jeremiah—sweet, unsuspecting Jeremiah—fell into the bear pit.
“Gay National Anthem? I didn’t know we had an anthem.”
Sisi gasped. Omar, nearby, mirrored her pearl-clutching gesture. Matty feigned a fainting spell.
“What?” Jeremiah was baffled.
“Class!” Sisi clinked a fork on the nearest glass she could reach. “Class, attention. We have a student who needs a lesson. In the key of G now, please.”
One off-key chorus of “It’s Raining Men”later, dinner had lost all semblance of order or form, Mrs. H was howling from the kitchen, and even Shane’s eyes were filled with tears of drunken laughter. When Sisi reached the line that included “absolutely soaking wet,” she grabbed a water glass off the table and threw its contents all over Jeremiah.
He leaped up, his chair tumbling behind him.
Shane reached out to brace him.
Mrs. H squealed and clapped her hands.
And poor Jeremiah stood and stared as water rolled off his borrowed flannel.
A wolf sensing fear and weakness, Sisi began the chant, “Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”
When Omar and Matty joined in, I knew the snowball was rolling downhill. By the time Mrs. H joined the cheers, Jeremiah had no choice but tobegin to unbutton his shirt.
Squeals erupted from the women—and Matty.
When he reached the bottom button, and most of his chest was visible through the now-parted fabric, one could’ve heard a pin drop. It felt as though all of Gay America held its collective breath for the unveiling of what we all knew would be Santa’s glorious gift this Christmas.
And when he tossed aside the shirt, angels and elves joined and sang hymns of the season—and more of “It’s Raining Men.” Jeremiah was even more stunning unveiled than we’d imagined. Hell, I’d seen him in his work shirt, the one that looked like his muscles tortured it for fun, and I still wasn’t prepared for the glory that was his naked torso.
“Holy shit. We have Shane, Dane, and now Jeremiah,” Omar muttered.
“It’s our very ownMagic Mikeshow,” Mrs. H added.
Sisi’s eyes roamed the table, landing on Shane, then Dane.
“Not a chance,” Shane said, a preemptive rejection of the chants he knew were bubbling behind her eyes.
She winked and chanted anyway.
Dane stripped quickly. It took a few minutes, but Shane reluctantly peeled off his flannel and puteveryone else to shame, his muscles gleaming in the candlelight. As hot as Dane and Jeremiah were, Shane was a beast among men, a statue gifted by the gods themselves so men might gawk and know their glory.
