(then)
the party of the year takes a hell of a lot of planning for -- the flowers, the invitations, hiring waiting staff and renting enough glassware, figuring out if cava would be too cheap -- or if asti spumante would be too try-hard...
otoh, this was a student party, so it wasn't like Stuart really gave a flying fuck about whether his choice of beverage was going to cause grave offence to her ladyship the Mayoress, should she chance to drop by and graciously accept a plastic glass of Newkie Brown Ale, below the glow and sparkle of the chandeliers.
Plus, his housemates had crapped out of even giving the place a quick clean, or going on a beer run. One -- Desmond -- was hungover and holed up in his room, one had disappeared at the prospect of doing any work. And the third, Molly, had brought home a bel ami last night. She'd taken him out, now, for a really, really late breakfast, at the caff around the corner.
Stuart cursed them all, bunch of lazy arses. He dragged the overflowing bag of rubbish out of the bin, because maggots, flies and pest control agents didn't enhance any social do. Not even in this infested student rat-hole they called home.
Of course he ought to wait till the idle wasters got home, finally. Make them do a stroke of work around the place, for once. He chewed at a hangnail, leaned on the kitchen countertop, and let the rubbish bag drag and snag over the the rough cork tiles of the kitchen floor. It ripped a hole in the thin plastic, and let trash trail out over the floor.
YOU ARE READING
Erase You
RomanceMichael is a musician, Cambridge-educated but living in London. He's successful, attractive and has plenty to keep him busy and happy. So why can he still not get over his old college boyfriend, Ben? Fortunately his old Great-Aunt Millie, a notor...
