Whether that was good for me or not.
When we walked up to the building, we could hear the music and chatter from down on the street.
“Sounds like shit’s already in full swing,” Venezio said as we reached the door.
“Dammit,” Andy grumbled at the locked door.
Sammy tried all of the apartment buzzers to no avail.
“Want me to get it?” Venezio offered.
“Sure,” Andy said, moving back a step to stand by me. “Get it how?” she whispered.
I had no answers for her, though, until Venezio pulled something out of his pocket and got to work on the lock.
Fifteen seconds—that was all it took.
“I don’t know if I’m impressed or concerned,” Andy admitted before Sammy pulled her into the building.
“Picked a lot of locks, have you?” I asked as I walked past him.
“Something like that,” he agreed but, again, didn’t elaborate.
Speaking became difficult by the time we made it to the top floor that Drake and Adam had converted from three apartments into one giant one.
It featured an open floor plan, save for the three bedrooms. And every square inch seemed to be covered in holiday decor.
Wreaths here, stockings there, a collection of nutcrackers over the center of the dining room, and no fewer than four Christmas trees, each featuring its own color scheme.
I made a beeline for Drake and Adam, wanting to say hello and do a quick catch-up.
Venezio didn’t follow.
By the time I untangled myself, I’d worried that he’d taken me at my word and headed out.
Because I hadn’t exaggerated. There were servers moving around in full elf getups. And the Santa sitting on a captain’s chair? He was shirtless and greased up. His ear was getting tongued by a guy dressed in a moose sweater.
The music? Glitter pen holiday cheer.
The food spread? Impeccable as always.
I was just perusing the appetizers when a frosted glass appeared in front of me full of thick red liquid.
I glanced over to find Venezio standing there holding it.
The rush of relief I felt was almost embarrassing. As was the warm, gooey feeling I got from him getting a margarita for me.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice raised to be heard over the music. “What did you get?” I nodded toward his other hand as I took my drink.
“Think it was called a Stocking Stuffer.”
“What’s in it?”
“No fucking idea,” he admitted, shaking his head as he raised it to take a sip.
“Any good?”
“It’s strong,” he said as a half answer. “How’s yours?”
