“Please. It’s at least two shelves. And don’t knock Boone’s Farm. I have fond memories of it from my youth.” Trick handed me the beer and grabbed a chilled pint glass out of the freezer.

“Fancy,” I said, accepting the glass gratefully. The wolf inside me whined, trying to get my attention, but I put it off. It wasn’t like we were in danger.

“We aren’t total heathens, Dec.” Trick grabbed another glass and a beer for himself.

I pulled up a barstool, catching sight of a framed photo on the wall. A little girl—maybe just a little over a year—sat on Santa’s lap. It was clear from her flushed face and tear tracks that she’d been crying just seconds before, but now she was smiling tentatively.

Trick stood behind Santa, his arms spread, his face goofy. Three women were in the picture with them—a small woman was bent over and holding her sides, her blond hair obscuring half her face as she laughed her ass off. Next to her stood a taller woman with long dark hair and bangs, her sweater sleeves shoved up, revealing bright tattoos. Her expression mirrored Trick’s, totally goofy.

On Santa’s other side a short, curvy woman with auburn hair was caught midclap, smiling at the little girl. There was something so inviting about her face—I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. A kind of warmth. All I knew was that seeing her smile made me want to do the same. It was the kind of photo that made you happy even if you didn’t know anyone in it—you could practically feel the love radiating from the image. The people in this photo, with the possible exception of the bemused Santa, loved each other.

My gaze went back to the curvy woman. Maybe I could get Trick to introduce us. When I was ready. Definitely not now.

“Ah yes, the infamous Santa photo.” Trick leaned on the other side of the counter, his beer in hand. “I’m not sure we’re going to do another. We can’t top that one.” He pursed his lips. “Unless we all dressed as Santa, too. That would be hilarious. I bet I could get Lou and Van on board for that. Not sure if I could get Jules to do it. Maybe a saucy elf, though.”

I was still staring at the picture when Trick’s words clicked in. Lou. Van. Jules.

Shit.

“These are your roommates, aren’t they?” I asked the question though part of me—the part that’s a real shithead—already knew the answer and was fucking cackling at me.

“Yeah, of course.” Trick side-eyed me. “I told you about them.”

“You never mentioned they were women.”

Trick laughed. “Sure I have. It must have come up.” He frowned. “I mean, I can’t remember every conversation we’ve ever had, but it must have been apparent. They all identify with feminine pronouns, except for when Van wants to go by Zool.” Trick crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling, thinking. “I can’t honestly say I bring up whether or not my roommates have vaginas because that would be weird, but surely other contextual clues made it apparent.”