“Language,” Tyler reprimanded, tightening his hold.
“Okay, Fat Santa,” Matthew said. “You’re gonna get what’s coming to you. A classic, world-famous pimp hand.”
“World-famous?” he taunted. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s like a bitch slap, but it starts from all the way down here.” Matt dropped the right side of his body until his hand was hanging past his knee.
“Oh, a bitch slap? That makes sense ’cause you’re a bitch!”
“I don’t think the name-calling is really necessary,” Tyler added.
“You’re holding me down, this guy is about to slap me and you’re preaching to me about name-calling? You’re both bitches!”
“I said it’slikea bitch slap,” Matthew clarified. “This is a pimp hand. Pimps are dudes…Okay, now hold still.”
“Fuck you!”
Matt looked up at Tyler and shook his head. “He’s so rude.”
Tyler closed his left eye so he watch the whole thing unfold.
Matt got into position again and practiced throwing his hand a few times in slow motion, making sure the geometry was just right to connect with Fat Santa’s face. “Alright. Stop flinching! Take this like a man.” He took a deep breath, then wildly flung his hand. Fat Santa, however, panicked at the last second and turned his head.
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
The pain caused his knees to buckle and it was like five hundred pounds of dead weight pulling on Tyler’s arms. He just let him fall to the floor and another scream burst out of him when his head hit the hard tiles.
“Fuck!” he yelled, squirming in pain. “You hit me in the ear! Who the fuck hits someone in the ear?!” He clasped one hand over his ear. “It feels like it’s bleeding, motherfucker! Aaaaaah! I can’t hear a thing.”
Tyler felt a bit bad, but Matt showed no remorse or sympathy. “Well, that will teach you to mess withus.”
“We’re such bad-asses,” Tyler conceded, giving Matt a high-five.
They were about to walk away when Fat Santa’s big, black boot came up and kicked Matthew in the groin. He let out a choked groan, his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor.
*****
Tyler kept a piece of steak covered in cling-wrap firmly against his throbbing eye as he took a slow sip of brandy from the bottle. They were sitting on the rooftop of his father’s apartment building, gazing over the Seattle skyline. It was beautiful, peaceful, a nice end to a rather active night.
He took another sip and coughed a bit to clear his throat. This stuff was vile, so repulsive it took a few tries to swallow it. They’d already finished the first bottle and he’d foolishly thought the second one would go down easier. He was wrong. “That was a new experience,” he said, handing the bottle to his right.
Matt reached over and took it, trying not to disturb the packet of frozen peas resting on his crotch. He gulped down a few sips. “Definitely not something that happens every day,” he said, handing the bottle to his right.
Fat Santa reached over and took it, sneering at the both of them as he held an ice-pack against his ear. “You guys are fucking assholes!”
“Screw you, Fat Santa!” Matt bit out. “You started it.”
“I told you four times already. My name is Gary. Why do you keep calling me Fat Santa?”
The alcohol was already taking effect because Matt’s words were beginning to slur. “Because you’re fat…and you’re dressed like Santa.”
“That makes perfect sense to me,” Tyler added. “Also for some unknown reason, you still have the beard on, which forces us to keep drawing the comparison.”
They continued with senseless babble, passing the bottle up and down the line. Matt asked Gary about his job and if he’d ever eaten one of his customers. Tyler remained a little withdrawn, idly staring into the night, thinking about Jordan and the heart-stopping words that had left her lips.
As if reading his mind, Matt looked over at him. “So what happened with Jordan?”
He’d known that question was coming. He took another sip of brandy and released a deep breath before answering. “She…she told me she’s…in love with me.”
