JC peered across the table, looking through his perfectly positioned fingers and catching Chris’s glaring eye. He grinned, something Chris couldn’t see because JC’s mouth was currently below the table, and with a quiet snick, JC launched the paper football across the table. It landed with perfect precision through Chris’s hands, and as Chris’s mouth set into his “I am annoyed” line, JC stood up and cheered for himself.
Chris fished for the football while JC finished his enthusiastic bowing and leaned back in his chair. “Bet you can’t do that again,” he said, baiting JC.
JC shook his head. “Oh, no, Chris. Not again. I’m not doing that again, and I’m not playing this game with you just because you’re bored and you don’t want to go out.”
“Shut up, JC. Just because some of us have *lives* is no reason not to take pity on poor lackluster boybanders who just want some small piece of joy to get them through the night,” Chris said, batting his eyes at JC.
JC only rolled his in response. “I have a club thingie I have to make an appearance at tonight, and I should probably get ready for it,” he said, looking at his watch.
Chris snorted. “Are you kidding me? It’s nine o’clock, and you know you’re not going to make an appearance until midnight. You don’t need three hours to style the mullet.”
JC glared at him. “It is *not* a mullet! It is a retro mod style from the mid eighties that has cultural significance and crowd appeal! So fuck off, Kirkpatrick.”
“That is the biggest line of bullshit,” Chris proclaimed, positioning and flicking the paper football so that it hit JC square in the chest. “Anyway,” he said, putting his feet up on the chair JC had been sitting in and splaying his legs just slightly, “I could make it worth your while.”
Chris wasn’t exactly expecting JC to fall into a pile of laughter. His face turned red, and he was wheezing, and he couldn’t seem to move from the floor. Chris looked over him, annoyed. “What? Was it something I said?”
JC stopped laughing long enough to pant out, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, I just–hah!–I just heard that in a porn last week, just that whole line, and Chris, oh my god, you sounded just like it!”
Chris made a face and slumped a little. “Well, fine, Jayce. Go to your club, meet your girls, shake your ass, and don’t film it because you know Johnny would kick your ass no matter how sexy you think it is. I’ll just…stay here,” he said, looking mournful, “with my booze and my paper footballs and maybe some MTV2 because the veejay’s are only half as obnoxious as the ones on regular MTV.”
JC had stopped wheezing and was splayed out on the floor. He grabbed Chris’s ankle as he was about to leave the room, and looked up at him, his red face changing into a look that Chris recognized as “sexsexsexNOWPLEASE.” Chris really liked that look. “Now don’t go like that,” JC said lowly.