Holiday His Stories (BXB short stories)

A Christmas Feast

A Christmas Feast

"Oh my fucking God, what a crap show!"

I looked around, mortified to realize I'd spoken so loudly in the quiet room. The very few people in the hospital lounge ignored me, as I rushed to the counter next to the vending machines, grabbed a fistful of flimsy napkins and then hustled back to my spot to mop up the murky coffee I'd spilled everywhere.

"Here, you okay?"

A hand entered my field of vision, with actual paper towels. I took them without even looking, repeating my thanks under my breath, as I tried to clean everything up. There was coffee on the little table, the chair, my laptop, even splattered next to the wall where I sat. It was like, a full freaking extra large cup of hot coffee.

"It's cool, calm down," the voice added, kneeling next to me, helping me with their own fistfull of paper towels. "Oh man, did you burn yourself?"

Mess cleared up, I collapsed into the chair, checking my laptop. I still had five more months of payments, and it better fucking not be broken due to my own clumsy ass...

"Hey, guy, my friend, stop. Look..."

I finally looked up, to take in the sight of my helper, putting down my computer as he reached for my hand.

He was fine. So fine. Same age as me, early twenties probably. Fit body, a little taller than me, in a dark blue security guard uniform, long thick curly black hair barely contained in a ponytail that reached below his shoulder blades. Olive skin and a distinctive nose. A thin mustache and beard, dark eyebrows, dark eyes.

I looked back down at my hand, so small compared to his, and startled, realizing there was a huge red patch, livid.

Wow. Now it was starting to heat up.

"Ouch," I said inanely. "Wow. Shit. That hurts. I didn't even feel it."

"Burns don't, not right away, but it's going to freaking sting like hell."

Without asking he pulled me to my feet, and behind the counter, where there was a little sink.

"It says restricted area," I said, again, stupidly because that's how I roll.

"I work here, it's fine."

He held my hand under the cold running water, still holding it. I let him, looking up at him and then back down at my hand. I mean, he was so fine. And I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he felt like playing knight in shining armor, I wasn't about to say no.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, he turned off the water and I inspected my hand.

"Better?" He asked, frowning down at my still red hand.

"It's okay," I said, trying not to wince because it really did sting like a mf.

"Go sit down," he ordered. I immediately went back to my seat, wondering why I was so compliant, but...again, happy to be the quasi damsel in distress. Basically he could have ordered me to do just about anything and I would do it, I was so tired.

It had been a long long day, and it was almost three in the morning on Christmas Eve. Technically Christmas Day, but I don't consider the holiday official until I open presents.

I was in that zombie mode that exhaustion creates and so emotionally strained that I was content to let someone else, even a handsome stranger, be in charge.

He sat back heavily in the seat opposite me, a compact red first aid kit on the now dry table. I watched with growing interest as he took out some antiseptic wipes and a little packet.