A Swants Soiree by E.J. Russell

Author:E.J. Russell [Russell, E.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-764-3
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-09-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

ONCE BRENT cleared the detritus from his failed attempts off the table, Jonathan laid the Santa sweater on its surface, then removed a pair of orange-handled scissors from his suitcase.

“Those, er, must be the dressmaker’s shears you threatened me with.”

“My favorite pair.” Jonathan grinned at him. “But not my only ones. You can never have too many pairs of dressmaker’s shears.”

“I get it. I’ve got more controllers and trackballs than—whoa!”

Jonathan looked up from where he’d just cut a six-inch gash next to the sweater’s neckband. “What?”

“Don’t you have to measure it or something? I mean, if Sixty-Nine Santa bites it—so to speak—the other options are pretty heinous.”

Jonathan winked again. That’s flirting, right? He’s definitely flirting with me. I think. “Trust me. I’m a professional.” He turned back, and without a moment’s hesitation, slashed the other side of the neckband. “Besides, I’ve done this so many times now, I could do it blindfolded.”

“Please don’t.”

Some of Brent’s anxiety must have bled into his tone, because Jonathan set his scissors down. He turned and gripped Brent’s shoulders, his pretty eyes serious.

“Brent, it’ll be okay. Really. You know coding. I know costuming. And after converting literally dozens of sweaters into swants—” He shook his head and mock-shuddered. “—and I really wish we could retire that piece, because enough is enough. Let’s say this isn’t a process that holds many surprises, okay?”

Brent tore his gaze from Jonathan’s face. “You must think I’m a complete loser.”

“Not a bit. You’re just being pushed outside your comfort zone, and in a place where you expected to feel safe.” Jonathan squeezed a little tighter. “Nobody should feel unsafe in their workplace. But as terror goes, wearing embarrassing clothing for a day when everybody else will be doing the same could be worse. Do you like your job?”

Brent nodded. “So much.”

“Do you really think wearing swants is too much to ask—and I’m being serious. I want to know if this will actually make it impossible for you to function.”

Brent sighed, working up the courage to look Jonathan in the face once more. “I don’t. Not really. But I’m not the kind of guy who likes to be the center of attention, you know? I like to keep a low profile, and when you’re six foot eight, a low profile is pretty hard to achieve.”

Jonathan released his shoulders and patted his chest. “I imagine it is.” He turned back to the sweater and made the final crossways cut, lifting the neckband away from the sweater. “I’ve always had the opposite problem. I’m the shortest one in my family. Even my kid stepbrother is taller than I am. And when people have to look down to talk to you…. Well, they tend to look down, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure.”

Jonathan removed a tuft of black fuzz from the sweater, then stroked its sleeve. “When people achieve theoretical adulthood, who’s guaranteed to be shorter than they are?”

“Well, kids, I guess.”

“Exactly. I’m thirty years old, yet anyone six feet tall or over talks to me like I’m a child.

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