A Hotter Touch, A Better F... Than Any Girl You'll Ever Meet

Chapter 28

I wake up to, as expected, Spencer's yells, and upon inspecting the clock, realize that I've gotten about an hour's sleep.

But Spencer on Christmas morning, well, let's just say that it would definitely do me more good to just get up and do what he says.

So I gently shake Brendon awake while the damn Christmas nazi moves on to, I assume, wake up Brent.

"Huh?" my boyfriend groans out, slowly blinking before fully opening his eyes.

I lean over and press a small kiss against his lips. "Merry Christmas, Bren," I mutter.

"Huh?" he says again, then snaps out if it. "Christmas?!" And then the big kid practically jumps out of bed and hurriedly puts on a pair of boxers and a zip-up I must've left on the floor at one point. Doesn't matter, though. We wear each other's clothes half the fucking time anyway. As a matter of fact I'm pretty sure I'm in one of his polos right now anyway.

Slowly, I manage to drag myself out of bed, yawning yet another time and feeling pretty damn relieved I'm already dressed. I'm not sure I have the energy to put anything on.

Brendon grabs my hand and pulls me out through the hallway and into the living room where everybody else is already gathered.

The presents are under the tree, Spencer is jumping around like the little kid we all know he really is.

"Go take a damn present," I mutter at him as I sit down on the floor, Indian style, absentmindedly pulling Brendon with me.

And Spencer does, sprinting to the tree where he looks through the presents before finally finding one that has his name on it.

I recognize the bad wrapping. That one would be from me. Poor Spence. Well, at least I like to feel bad for him. I don't grade my present-finding gifts very highly. Loads of eBay.

Auch! What was that sound? Oh, that would be Spencer screaming. He's now running towards me before tackling me in a bearhug. Okay, so I guess he likes Metallica slightly better than I thought. Good thing too, because the bids on those damn Lars-Ulrich-signed-and-used drumsticks wound up running up to almost forty dollars. And I'm supporting June economically. I like to feel poor.

I lightly pat my best friend's back before pushing him away. "Merry Christmas and all, but I have a boyfriend for that," I say, making the others laugh. Good. That was my intention. Or not. I should've slept some more.

The exchanging of presents goes on for a while. You can never guess what I'm getting an abundance of! Yeah, baby clothes. Loads and loads of tiny pink sweaters, socks that could fit my damn fingers and little pants and skirts with too many buttons. Not to mention the copy of Diapers for Dummies, which Pete has sent out here for Brendon and I. Have I mentioned lately how much I love Pete? Please remember to insert sarcasm.

I seriously should've slep a bit more.

As Brendon opens my presents, though, I'm thinking he's a bit disappointed, but in between being on eBay too much and finishing up the journal, I seriously haven't had the time to do it properly. Which now leaves him a pair of new white dress shoes and a CD, not even signed or anything, by some new band he's been talking about.

He thanks me, but yeah, judging by his look he is kind of disappointed.

I bite my lip slightly, but don't mention the journal. I won't, not until the others have left for their family get-togethers and what-not. Neither Bren nor I have any of those. We're each other's family. "Sorry," I mutter and peck his lip slightly.

He smiles back a bit. Knowing Brendon, he just doesn't want me to feel bad about it.

But I do, even though I know what I've got tucked away. I mean, seriously, the presents Brendon finds are always perfect, but that shouldn't surprise anybody. He got me a collector's edition of one of the early The Cure LPs. Good as new condition. Signed and all. And those pinstripe Converse. How he knows I've been wanting them, I have no clue, but I'm wearing them already and I love them just as much as I thought I would.