A HOBO FOR CHRISTMAS

NOW

LEVI

I hear Coop climb out of his bunk opposite mine. His boots thud heavily against the floor. Arsehole. I want to beat the motherfucker’s head in, but I’m trying this new thing where I don’t hate the lead singer of my band. It’s hard work. Really hard work. I don’t know where the other guys have gotten to, but we can’t check in to our hotel until after three, so we’re parked outside a stadium in Prague. I think Zed had an interview on some fucking community radio or some shit. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Ash is probably at the gym, even though it’s some bullshit temp like minus-sixteen freeze-your-balls-off cold out there. And that leaves douchebag Cooper Ryan, and me.

I crawl out of my bunk and come face-to-face with the cuntfuck in question. It’s closer than we’ve been in months. Closer than we’ve been since there was a hot redhead between us. Who am I kidding? There’s still a hot redhead between us. Only now they’re the ones getting naked, and I’m ... I’m a fucking joke. Pining for a woman I can no longer have. Holding my dick in my hands and just waiting for the kind of invitation I know will never come—or I would be, if Ali were actually still on tour with us, but she’s not. She’s on a plane. Headed here. Because it’s Christmas Eve.

Ryan tucks something in his pocket, and due to a lack of nothing better to do with my time, I glare and ask, “What’s that?”

“Sock,” he mutters.

“What are you, saving that shit up as souvenirs for Ali now?” I glance down at the bulge in his pocket, but it’s not shaped like a sock.

“I gotta go run some errands.”

“In Prague?” I frown, wondering what the hell Cooper Ryan could possibly need in Prague, and then it hits me. “You haven’t bought Ali a present yet, have you?”

He flinches.

“Christ, Ryan, you’re a sucky boyfriend. It’s a good thing I’m here, or Ali would have a really shit Christmas.”

“You’re coming with me?” He looks downright panicked.

“Yeah, two cocks are better than one, right?”

“Pretty sure it’s brains.”

I roll my eyes. “So where the fuck are we going?”

“Really, man, you don’t have to come.”

“Sure I do. Someone has to make sure your arse is back in time to check in to the hotel or Ali’s gonna be hopping on the first flight back to Sydney.”

“Dude, seriously, I don’t need your help.”

“And yet, you have it anyway.” I clasp him on the shoulder and push him forward down the aisle towards the door. Our driver, Greg or Gary or someone, we’ve had a different guy this leg of the tour, waves to us and tells us to be back here by six if we want to grab our shit from the bus before he stows it at the depot for the holidays. I nod and salute him before climbing off the bus into the bitter cold Prague afternoon. We walk to the entrance of the car park to wait for Ryan’s Uber. I pull my coat tight around me and tuck my scarf in closer around my neck. Ryan stops to shield his cigarette from the cold as he lights up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Yeah, it’s bullshit,” he agrees. “How does everyone in this city not freeze to death?”

“Maybe they fuck twenty-four-seven to keep warm. Guess you’ll be fine once Red gets here, huh?” I feel like an arsehole at the look he shoots me.

The car pulls up and Cooper reaches for the handle, but stops. “You said you were fine with it.”

“Fine?” I laugh humourlessly. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He opens the door and climbs in, nodding to the driver. I slide into the tiny Prius, warm air blasting my face. It stings against my cold skin, but within seconds, my body begins to warm. Only marginally though.

“I know this isn’t easy—”

“No. You don’t know shit, Ryan. I’m not going anywhere, because I’m just going to have to get used to it, but don’t mistake this for being easy. It’s not fucking easy. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Silence settles over us, and I stare out the window at the gothic and baroque city around us.

“We’re here,” the driver announces in a thick accent.

“Listen, maybe you should just wait in the car or have him drive you back to the bus. I can get back from here.”

“And leave you at the mercy of Prague all alone? I wouldn’t want you getting lost.” I clap him on the shoulder and climb out of the vehicle. “Then who would Ali snuggle up to?”

“Because you’re going to be so much help with that.”

“Hey, my mother is from Europe.”

“Your mother is a Macedonian biker whore from Western Sydney. I doubt either of you speak Czech.”

“My mother was from Poland. My dad was from Macedonia. I think. She never really was very clear on the details.” I pull my coat tight and stuff my gloved hands in my pockets. “Either way, I’m not waiting in the fucking car.”

Exultant in the glare he gives me, I step away from the vehicle. We appear to be in a dank, snow slushed back alley. Several homeless men huddle in doorways, seeking shelter from the icy wind.

Maybe Ali is getting a hobo for Christmas.

In the doorway closest to us, a security guard with a flashy silver badge and headpiece steps aside, and a woman with a megawatt smile and tailored black dress welcomes us with a thick Czech accent. She’s hot, and her smile promises either hot cocoa, sex, or booze—I’m sure of it—so I follow her through a long corridor.

Our sexy Pied Piper punches a code into an electronic keypad. A split second later, the door opens. She steps aside and gestures for us to enter. White walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors while crystal chandeliers glisten from the roof, and soft golden lights glint off case after case of expensive-as-fuck jewellery. I glance at the staff around the room, all pretty young things in prettier dresses, waiting with the demure disguises of sales assistants about to make a hefty commission.

“Champagne?” asks our friendly neighbourhood sales girl.

“Bring the whole damn bottle,” I snap, grabbing both glasses that rest on a polished, gleaming silver tray. I knock them back, one after the other, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Cooper fucking Ryan—who apparently didn’t just steal my girl, but plans on marrying her too. That’s the reason he didn’t want me to “run errands” with him. It’s the reason he wanted me to wait in the car. It has to be, because I seriously doubt that he’s closed Tiffany & Co. in Prague specifically to buy his mum or sister an overpriced trinket for Christmas. “You know what? Never mind. I’m going to wait in the car.”

“I’m afraid the doors are closed with a failsafe,” Hot Sales Girl says. “They cannot be opened for another hour.”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

“Levi—”

“You knew this is where you were taking me,” I say through my teeth. “And you didn’t wanna give me a heads-up?”

“I tried to tell you. You’re the one who insisted on coming along.”

“I didn’t know you were buying a ring for the woman I love,” I shout, and the sound echoes off the high ceilings and ornate pillars. I scrub a hand down over my face. “Jesus, Coop. I’m fucking bleeding here, man, and it’s bad enough that she’s coming for Christmas, but this?”

He wraps his knuckles on the counter in front of him. “I don’t know what to do here, Levi. I love her, and she loves me. I don’t want to shove that in your face, but if you think for one second I’m going to put our lives on hold because of you, then you’re mistaken. I know what it’s like to lose her. I can’t do that again.”

“Let’s be perfectly honest here. If she loved me the same as she loves you, I’d probably be buying that ring too, and I wouldn’t give a shit how you felt about it, but that doesn’t mean I want to be here when you pick out the diamond she’ll wear on her finger for the rest of her life.”

His eyes stray from the cabinet up to mine, and for the first time in a long time, he looks remorseful. “I didn’t know how to break it to you.”

“Well I can tell you dragging me into fucking Tiffany’s and locking me in here wasn’t the way to go about it.”

“Probably not.” He nods.

“Jesus Christ,” I glance at the sales girl, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here witnessing our Young and the Restless moment. “Where’s the fucking liquor?”

A different woman pops up carrying a tray with two more glasses of champagne. I take them both—again—and guzzle one down. Then I raise the other in a toast. “To the happy couple, may you never know the torment of losing her again.” I toss back the champagne and slam the glass down on the tray. “We’re gonna need more booze, sweetheart.”

I walk over to a nearby display, wondering what the damage in bail would be if I attempted to smash my fist through the cabinet. Too much. Likely. I’m gonna need a lot more than booze to get through this night.

***

An hour later, I’ve downed three bottles of champagne, chatted up the sales assistants, joined Snapchat for shits and giggles, and failed to figure it out. I’m bored, and heartsick, and fucking drunk, so I decide taking to IG with a bunch of bling on my fingers, messy hair, and the hashtags #keepingitrealfuckers #praguetiffanyandco #feelingblue is the best idea I’ve had in a long time. Until my notifications go crazy. Bored of sitting by myself, I get up, and finally decide to grow a pair. I can’t avoid seeing the big hunk of rock Ryan is preparing to blow a load of cash on forever, and it’s bound to hurt a hell of a lot less seeing it on the sales girl’s gloved finger, than on Red’s.

There are two rings in the centre of a Tiffany suede blue mat. The first is a big bauble; it’s just a shiny rock with a bunch of other rocks around it. Ali would fucking hate it. The second looks vintage. It’s a huge square-shaped black diamond surrounded by smaller black and white stones.

Cooper picks up the white diamond again and I screw up my nose. “Seriously? Does Ali look like the kind of girl who wants a white, sparkly diamond?”

“No.” He sighs and tugs his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what she wants.”

“Yes, you do.” I scoff. “We wouldn’t be wasting hours in a fucking overpriced jewellery store if you didn’t. No offense,” I say to the sales girl. She smiles as if she too wants to punch me. Hell, I might even welcome it to distract me from the current ache in my chest, as long as we’re both naked.

“You’re right.” Coop exhales. “What if it’s too soon?”

“Of course it’s too fucking soon. You’ve known her a damn year, and part of that you were in a relationship with someone else, or she was.”

He frowns and glances down at my phone, which is still pinging like crazy with notifications. “Dude, what the fuck? You posted to Instagram that we were in Tiffany’s?”

“Relax, it’s too fucking cold to come out. The fangirls are probably all tucked in their bed’s waiting for Santa to come spank them.”

“Did you do this deliberately? Are you trying to ruin the surprise for Ali?”

“Oh, fuck off, Ryan. You know she doesn’t do social media. It’s not hipster enough for her.”

“My future wife is not a fucking hipster.”

Ouch. That stung like a bitch. “How do you know she’ll say yes,” I bite out.

He sighs. “I don’t. I’m kinda hoping the element of surprise will blindside her into agreeing to marry me.”

I must grimace, because he flinches and for once, his pretty boy face doesn’t look so fucking constipated.

A thump against the front glass doors draws my attention away from Coop.

“Oh shit.” I straighten and turn to face the cabinets, away from the glass and the fangirl who just threw herself against it like a hungry zombie from The Walking Dead. Another thump, and my name is being called. Coop turns to see what the commotion is. He glares at me, but there’s a hint of sheer terror emanating from his steely blue gaze, because when I face the front doors, I find the zombie fangirls have multiplied—are multiplying—and now they’re not just screaming our names, but banging on the glass with gloved fists. The entrance is surrounded. Three security guards station themselves at the front door, but another plants himself right at the back entrance.

I glance at Ryan. Beads of sweat break out across his forehead, his eyes dart all around the room, and his chest rises and falls at an unnaturally rapid rate. He heads for the exit, driven by his need to escape the suddenly confined space, and I can tell we’re seconds away from one of his toddler tantrums. The store is huge, but Cooper Ryan turns into a little bitch the second he’s in a confined space. That’s why no lifts. He takes the stairs. The security guard shakes his head, his behemoth arms folded across his chest. Cooper backs away and flops down in a nearby chair, yelling at a sales girl to bring him the champagne. She scurries away, and I tell her to open several bottles because we’re likely going to need it.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and Cooper will keel over before he can buy the ring. Yeah, and maybe my giant cock and shining personality will win me back the girl of my dreams. With any luck, I’ll drink myself into a stupor and die of a broken heart right here on the floor of Tiffany’s surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of ice.

A man can dream.