I can’t remember the last time I spent a Christmas with anyone or actually looked forward to any holiday. At this point, I’ve engrained in myself to ignore they exist, though Whitney made that impossible for me the night she burst into my life.
The crash of my bathroom door has me looking out of the glass shower to see two girls, one dressed as a sexy… bee? The other a scantily dressed devil rushing toward the toilet.
“Oh, my gloddddd,” Satan exclaims just before a wave of projectile vomit spews out of her, narrowly making the mark. The putrid smell of regurgitated alcohol fills the air and my steaming shower, as the bee—a petite blonde with killer legs accentuated by yellow and black knee-high’s and a scrap of fabric too short to be considered a skirt—bends to reveal a shot of ass and the hint of a black thong. There are bee antennae strapped to her head, covering the top of her angelic locks. Fixed on the sight of her toned thighs and pert ass, I make quick work of rinsing as the no-skirt Bee speaks.
“I told you not to pound that mystery juice. You have no idea who made it.”
“Just hold my hair, Whitney!”
Whitney. I like it. And I like the view she’s gracing me with a lot more. I wait for some sort of acknowledgment from either of them that they’re in an occupied bathroom with a naked guy and running water, but neither seems to be my level of alert.
“Courtesy flush, please,” I sound up a second before I cut off the shower and open the sliding glass door. Surprised brown eyes fly to mine in the mirror before they slowly lower and linger. I stand there, dripping and naked, giving her ample time to get a look—because it’s only fair—before she finally lifts her gaze to mine.
“S-sorry. I d-didn’t realize…t-the music is so loud…she drank too much of that hot pink punch, and it hit her all at once, and all the other doors were locked.” Still holding her friend, she lifts her eyes back to my reflection. A smirk playing on her lips, she flushes the toilet just as the girl wretches again—thankfully, it’s dry. I reach for my towel and obstruct her view. “Looks serious.”
“That punch is strong.”
“It’s Pink Flamingo.”
“Well, it’s lethal.”
“Looks like it.” I don’t miss the flare of her eyes as I step out and begin toweling off.
“Ob by glod, it’s on my costume. This is bad. This is so bad.”
“I’ll clean up the mess, but I think she had pretty good aim,” Whitney offers in sincere apology as the devil again dry heaves. “I’m so sorry.”
I nod towards the counter. “Don’t worry about it. Mind handing me my briefs?”
“Uh, sure.” She plucks them from the counter and holds them out to me. I drop the towel and take them as she turns to fully face me, getting another eye full. I can’t help the lift of my lips.
“You all done? Am I free to dress?”
“Sure.” No shame. I can’t help my smile. She’s clearly buzzed from the rum concoction and unapologetic in her perusal, which I like, a lot. I then decide there’s nothing sexier than a bold girl.
“We’ll be out of your way in a minute…she can usually handle her liquor a little better. Thanks for being so nice about this…”
“Eli,” I say. “I’ll leave a sweatshirt for her on the bed.”
“Whitney,” she points to herself, which I find adorable.
“I heard.”
“I appreciate you.”
“Funny, I find myself appreciating you, too.”
“Please tell me you’re not picking up a dude while I’m puking,” the devil pipes up from beneath her.
Whitney laughs, and the sound increases my pulse as I head into my bedroom.
“I really should get back to this.”
“If you don’t mind, lock the door from the inside when you’re done. I have a key.”
“Why didn’t you lock it before you got in the shower?”
I pull some jeans out of my dresser—which sits against the wall just outside the bathroom door—and pull them on. “I usually don’t. Most people have the decency not to enter a closed bedroom door.”
The devil groans and manages to get to her knees, holding her stomach. Whitney leaves her there and walks to the edge of the bathroom, leaning against the frame as I button my jeans and break our stare off by pulling on a hoodie.
“So, then this is your house? Your party?”
“I’m one of four that live here, and definitely not my fucking party for this very reason. I find gifting devils and bees cups full of liquor very dangerous.”