Pa-Rum-Pa-Pum-Pum:
"A Grateful Dead album?"
"That's what Seth said he wanted to find under the tree this year." Clay flipped through a rack of CDs featuring Little Boy Blue covers. He picked one up and frowned. "Since when did Precious Moments figurines come anatomically correct?"
"You're kidding me." Anthony snatched the CD.
"Gotcha."
Toni dealt Clay a filthy look and thwapped him on the arm with the CD case. "Grateful Dead. I didn't know Seth liked..." He flapped his hand. "What are they, classic rock?"
"Close enough, Skater Boi." Clay just said no to the lurid emo-punk album by Deathclaw Owl whoever and walked away. He stuffed his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, or, to be precise, Seth's jacket. He'd accidentally-on-purpose plucked the wrong coat off the rack when he'd snuck out in the wee small hours last night so that even if he had to work the graveyard shift at the radio station, he could still smell Seth's cologne and natural musk. When he glanced out of the booth, he could see Seth's jacket and remember how amazingly lucky he'd gotten.
Toni giggled, snapping Clay out of his reverie. His dainty little friend was smirking at him. "You big sap." He patted Clay's hand. "You have it so bad for him, don't you?"
"Yep," Clay agreed. He inhaled the smell of Seth ingrained deep in the denim of the jacket, worn soft and broken in just right. Seth must have had this jacket since high school and the days when Jordache was like, so trendy. "So I have to get him exactly the right present, you know? First Christmas season together and all that."
"And we're suddenly celebrating Christmas because ... oh, wait, I know." Anthony clapped his forehead with feigned surprise. "You're cock-whipped." He looked briefly contemplative. "I've tried that before. It's not as much fun as it sounds."
Clay chose not to ask. Yet. Maybe after he'd had a shot or three of bourbon. Better to focus on the immediate insult. "Say that with a smile, pretty boy."
Anthony batted his ridiculously long lashes. Honestly, Toni was not only as dimpled and sweet-lipped as a girl, he camped it up to act exactly like one half the time. Witness the "i" instead of the "y" in his nickname.
"Cock-whipped." Clay kept his voice low, mindful of the pre-teens milling around them, sorting through the latest Linkin Park and Daughtry. "You're insinuating I am no longer the man in my relationship."
"If the leash and collar fit..." Anthony pursed his lips. "I don't see any Grateful Dead in here. Maybe they're sold out?"
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