So where the hell is he?
The toilet flushes. Mystery solved. He pads into view, all muscled man-curves in the thin morning light. The shadows of the small room splash across him just so, highlighting the heft of him, demarcating his muscles. I stir at the sight of him.
“Good morning,” he says. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you.” He steps closer and I see his feet. “Nice socks.”
“They were by the bed.” Which he hops back on. “I was like, Good job, Santa.What’s with this floor? It’s like ice.”
“Yeah, I know. Santa came?”
“Well, obviously.” He raises up onto his knees and spreads his arms. “He brought you a good present, too, you lucky bum. I just got socks.”
I laugh. “I gotta tell you,” I say, “if I’da known this is what it’s like to wake up to Cole in your stockings on Christmas, I’da never wasted all those years being a good boy.”
“You weren’t so good last night.”
I affect a monstrous pout. “You said I was good last night.”