Four

four

A Schadenfreude kind of bloke

“Hey, nutso!” Spencer drops a bag of chips and a banana on the coffee shop table. He looks young and delicate with his wavy dark red hair, cute freckles, and loose jeans hanging on his narrow hips, but he’s tough as nails. I can see it in his slightly crooked nose and light brown, almost yellow eyes. There’s a hardness there, a wariness his difficult past left there.

“Hey, you wank! Late to our appointment, that’s very cosmopolitan of you.”

“Sorry if I was being interviewed for a job at this café.” He huffs, pulling his red knit cap off his head.

“Sorry my plump butt cheeks.”

“Plump? Are we sure?” he mocks me. He always has a comeback ready for me.

“You little shite!” I grab my leather gloves from the table and swat his arm with them. My shoulder aches a bit, thanks to that fucking freefall in the maggot’s house.

“Little?” He tsks. “I’ll give you the number of the guy who begged me for round three a couple of days ago.”

“Please, I can tell when you’re lying,” I tease him. I know he can easily get hookups. His wicked smile can charm the pants—habit—off a nun. I saw him in action. And to think that when I met him he was a malnourished, lanky boy from a bad neighborhood. His clothes are still loose on him—that’s just a fashion choice now—he’s filled out quite nicely and has a newly confident air about him that makes me smile proudly. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“You can’t tell shit,” he counters. “You look lugubrious, what gives?” He twists off the cap of his Coke to take a long sip.

“It’s eight in the bloody morning, give your stomach a chance to survive.” His love for everything soda will give him an ulcer one of these days.

I turn around the small café where other people are enjoying a hot drink with muffins or bagels. There’s a group of loud girls and hunky blokes on my left, a couple smiling at another table and a guy reading a book. The long counter and the windows are adorned in red garlands and green wreaths. The huge Santa Claus figure near the door keeps staring at me with that odious small smirk on his red, punchable face. I can’t stress enough how much I hate this time of the year.

Spencer’s hand lifting the banana in front of my face catches my attention. “Eat ass, Dad.”

“Mmmm. I had my fair share last night.” He winces hearing my satisfied tone. “You need to be less mean and more vicious, Spencer Dancer.” I quickly snatch the bag of chips from the table, avoiding his too-slow grabby hand.

“Assface!” he mutters, as I dangle the bag in front of his face and he once more fails to take it from me.

I open the bag with a loud crinkle and smirk at him as I start eating them. I already had my breakfast, this is just a midmorning snack for me, while I bet my new rhinestone jockstrap that Spencer didn’t eat anything yet.

“What have you been popping?” he grumbles, peeling his banana aggressively.

“Popping? Is that code? A cry for help?”

“God, you’re an idiot. I’ll tell Gabe what you did to that guy that was ogling him a week ago.” I ignore his long-suffering tone as I toss a chip inside my mouth. I had to scare off that bloke, he wanted what is mine.

“Petty police, I’m reporting my sadist of a friend.” I point at him as I dramatically look around.

“Sadist? I’m a Schadenfreude kind of guy.” He shrugs. Since he started college, if he isn’t studying or working, he’s buried in the library, reading whatever he can get his hands on while learning sophisticated words. It’s sort of funny to hear them in his strong Chicago accent. Funny and kind of sexy.

“Schadefuffde what?”

“Schadenfreude, it’s a German word, it means enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others.”

Ohhh, I like that, not when it’s aimed at me, though. “You’re a tosser. But I’ll let it slip because I need your help.”

He grumbles. “Fuck no. Last time I did was a few weeks ago and I ended up witnessing you forcing open a fire hydrant on that dude.”

“That dude was leering at my Gabe.” I shrug not in the least shameful about my actions.

“I got drenched as well!”

I stifle a laugh, sucking my lips in. He looked like a sewer rat. “Oops?”

“You and your petty revenges are toxic.”

“I’m not toxic! Krampus is, and I need to find a way to appease him.”

“I’m so going to regret this,” he breathes out, rubbing his face. “Who’s Krampus?”

I take a drink of my tea and scrunch up my nose. Chips and tea taste disgusting together.

“Krampus is a horned demon and brother of Santa Claus who is said to accompany the latter on visits to children. In this tradition, Saint Nicholas rewards well-behaved children with small gifts, while Krampus punishes badly behaved ones with his birch rod.” I grab my phone and start typing. “Where the fuck am I going to find a birch rod? In my fiancés’ pants?”

“Hold on a second. Why do you need a rod?”

“A birch rod,” I clarify.

“And what’s the connection with Krampus?”

“I non-accidentally summoned him when I was ten, and since then, the month of December is studded with unlucky events—as Gabe calls them. He’s a holds-a-grudge-forever kind of demon.” I clench my teeth thinking about my initiation attempts.

“So, you want to do what? Summon him again and rod him to death… birch rod him?” he corrects himself before I can.

“No, I want to put a halt to his diabolical curse!” I snap.

“Seriously, Lori, whatever you’re smoking has melted your brain.”

“I was born like this, thankyouveryfuckingmuch. And rodding a demon is ridonkulous.”

“Lori.” Spencer gives me a serious look while taking my hand for a moment. “This whole thing is ridonkulous.”

“Wanker! The birch rod is replaced with a whip in some representations of Krampus. That should be easier to buy. He also has a sack or a basket strapped to his back.”

“Why?” Spencer asks distractedly while glancing to his right.

“To cart off evil children for drowning, eating, or transporting to hell . I don’t think I’m going to need that.”

“He’s a charm. Why do you need to buy the tools he uses?” Spencer tosses the banana peel in the trash near the counter and takes the half-full pack of chips I left on the table.

“I have a plan.” I slide a piece of paper out of my Miu Miu suede Beau bag, and read. “First, the altar. I build an altar in my apartment all dedicated to him: bells, skulls, broken toys.” Bugger! Amazon won’t send the items in time. I need to go shopping. “Second, the spirit. I’ll embrace his dark essence by dressing like him and chant for him. Third, the sacrifice. I’ll give him a gift , hoping he’ll stop haunting me.”

“I need to tell you that each one of those steps is very disturbing. How do you even know this creepy plan of yours will work?” Spencer pushes his back against the chair as he takes another sip from his Coke. His eyes go to his right again for a moment.

“Research. I’ve dived into the occult, black magic, and chatted with demon groupies. Some of them are nutters.” I had to pretend to be one of them on the dark web—Dare helped me getting inside the right places. It was truly bonkers to exchange messages with people who believe in grimoires, moon orgies, vampire encounters, and more. Oh, so much more.

My belief in Krampus is totally different, though. I have proof!

“And you aren’t mad as a box of frogs?” He snorts. “I’m afraid to ask you about the sacrifice. Are you going to Fatal Attraction your hen?”

“Ahhhh!” I suddenly scream, grabbing my chest as I simultaneously get the attention of the whole café. “A bomb just exploded inside me,” I gasp.

“Hope it was an orgasmic explosion.” Spencer rolls his eyes. Fuck, I thought my performance was brilliant, but he doesn’t seem to be taken by my act. He didn’t worry even for a second about me.

“How dare you question my love for her! I’d never hurt a feather on Wednesday’s fluffy black and white head,” I snarl. But he’s not even looking at me. No, he’s once again trying not to get caught as he tosses another look toward a certain table.

“You’re overly dramatic,” he adds after a couple of seconds.

“Side-eye alert! Why are the protein-pumped blokes sitting at that table glaring at you?” I ask him with nonchalance.

His head snaps toward me. “Mm,” he lets out a very equivocal hum. But I notice the faint red painting his cheeks.

“What the fuck happened? The brown-eyed Thor looks particularly taken by you.” But not in an angry way, he seems more guilty? Annoyed? “Did you graze his hettie dick or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbles.

“What the fuck, Spencer? You know very well I want all the juicy details of your college life!” I scold him.

“This is hardly that.” He shakes his head.

“I’ll be the mighty judge of that. Spill!”

“You know I started the part-time job as a janitor a month ago.”

“Yeah. Even though I told you I’d give you the extra money.” He’s so fucking stubborn, but I’m so in awe of him. He’s twenty years old, but he’s more self-determined and purposeful than most of the thirty- and forty-year-old people I meet every day. He’s the epitome of resolution.

“Fuck that. You and Gabe already do so much.”

I let it go…for now. Only because I admire his strong-willed personality. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was cleaning the showers in the football locker room, and I sprayed some cleaner on the floor. Then you called, and I…” He sighs, running a hand in his hair. “Look, it’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“You can’t stop there. I need more!” I whine. “I remember calling you. I told you about meeting you today, and we hung up. What happened afterward? Did Thor find you with your arse up and couldn’t resist the temptation? Did he catch you using the cleaner as lube as you oiled your tool? Flashdance your way through the shower butt naked?”

“No! Your mind is fucking sick, Lori.”

“I prefer the word mystical,” I retort, sniffing all my outrage. “Am I close, though? Come on give me a hint, a Lilliputian, minikin one. I bet his abs look like sections of a Hershey bar.”

I witness the confirmation in his darkening hazel eyes. Blimey! Something definitely happened.

“Please, let’s forget about it.”

“But I can’t. Not with the hatred floating toward us from their table.” I wiggle my fingers at the group, which only increases the glaring looks. Homophobic much? “Do you need me to rearrange their faces? I’d do it gladly.”

“I can do that myself.” A street boy against a group of jocks? I'd bet on him every single time. Spencer is fucking hard core. Also, I might have taught him some new moves.

“Thor seems very interested in you—in a serial killer kind of way. He’s leering at you…with contempt or desire? I can’t seem to grasp it.” I wink at the bloke near Thor. He could be the face of a steroid commercial—his muscles have muscles.

“Aha!” Spencer exclaims incredulously, his eyes firmly on me. Too firmly, almost like he’s forcing himself not to glance to Thor’s table again.

“It’s definitely contempt. Let it go. He’s nobody.”

“A nobody who got you fired?” I raise a questioning eyebrow at him.

“How do you know?”

“You’re looking for another job here, so…elementary, Watson,” I say, feeling all smug and shit.

“Actually, this job at the café might be better for me.”

I stare at him, trying to see if there’s more to this. What am I bloody thinking? Of course, there is. Spencer, though, is not used to having people in his corner. He stubbornly does everything by himself. It reminds me of…me, before I found Gabe and Bez and the rest of the sausage fest. Ollie and Sully have always been my family, but I tended to help them not the other way around.

Spencer suddenly pushes his chair back and stands. “Want something else?” he asks, waving his thumb toward the menu board.

I shake my head. “What’s wrong with your leg?” He’s limping slightly.

“Just fell asleep.”

“Ookaay.” I let him go even though I know that’s a lie. There’s no way the pig-headed fool will tell me anything, though.

I look at the jocks again. Thor is following Spencer’s tushy before the very fleshy girl near him grabs his arm, looking for attention. Interesting.

I send a flying kiss to the muscles-plus-muscles bloke. My lips are a shag magnet—Bez and Gabe are evidence enough. His eyes fall on them for a second, but then his murderous gaze goes back to my face. He’s smaller than the rest, the Capitan? Boss? First liner? Don’t know much about football apart from the fact that those uniforms don’t leave much to the imagination. Delish!

“If you start trouble—” Spencer comes back to the table with an apple and another bottle of soda.

“You'll burst my bubble?” I chuckle at my rhyme.

“KLM,” Spencer mutters and then adds when I frown with confusion at him, “Kill. Me. Now.”

“So overly dramatic.” I huff, repeating his own previous words. “And FYI they are just a bunch of prejudiced dicks that can all go blow themselves. Up …blow themselves up. The dick self-sucking is quite impossible to do. Although, I’ve heard a bloke got two ribs removed and now he can bend down and…”

“I got the picture.” He makes an unhappy expression. “Your tastes in conversation are a huge red flag, buddy.”

“No red flags here. But a bouquet of entertaining facts.”

Spencer gives his apple a bite and chews on it before replying. “A bouquet of entertaining facts? Fuck, you’re a lawyer alright.”

“Hashtag hottest legal practitioner.” I sniff haughtily, Gabe’s arrogance is rubbing off on me.

I check my phone screen. There’s a couple of texts from Rami about a maggot and one from Bez ordering me to let him know when I’m done. I’ll answer on my way to class; Spencer and I have only ten minutes to cross campus and get to Salomon Hall.

“Remember safe-mate protocol,” I tell him, which is a slight revisitation of the safe-bestie protocol I created with Ollie. I send a glance to the jocks’ table. Thor is the only one staring at us leaving. And that look means trouble. Hopefully the kind that leaves Spencer with slick underwear. “If you need me, just ring me once.”

He nods as we get outside. The white snow peppering our surroundings is a stark background for all the colorful wool hats and fleece scarves worn by the other students strolling on campus.

“I hate the cold. It forces me to cover my fabulous body!” I complain, snuggling deeper in my green down jacket. Spencer hums noncommittally.

I get lost in my thoughts as we start heading south. I’m back to my list. I need to buy a few things for the altar and the spirit parts. The preparation is going to be fun—I pat my jacket, feeling the bump underneath, the tiny urn hanging around my neck.

And what did Gran use to say about fun? It needs to be shared.