So, unexpected plot twist: eggnog turns June Colbern into a super slut.
One minute, Chloe is rejecting the glass of eggnog that June is merrily trying to shove in her face. (Like, why not just drink baby formula? Seriously.) Then June takes like five sips from her own glass, and suddenly she’s singing along to “Santa Baby.” And dancing. At Chloe. Not well, but still. This whole situation just got way more promising than Chloe expected it to be when June announced they were having a “roomie Christmas at home.” Because sure, their apartment is full of twinkling lights and snowmen and reindeer and sugar cookies and all that (non-genital) junk, but June is blowing her kisses and winking in between lyrics. And that? That is fabulous.
“Eggnog June,” Chloe says once June has danced her way over, “are you trying to hit this?”
“What?” June, who is now approximately five centimeters from Chloe’s face, dissolves into not-totally-convincing incredulous laughter. “No! What? Are you crazy? We just live together. We’re like sisters.”
“I always wanted a sister,” Chloe sighs. “A twin. Guys are so into twins.”
June looks shocked. It’s only fitting that even Eggnog June is totally square. “You mean, like a sex twin?”
“We could be sex twins,” June suggests, twirling Chloe’s hair around her finger. She is so lame. Her fingertip grazes Chloe’s cheek.
“Please,” Chloe scoffs. “We look nothing alike.”
“Forget the twins part, then.”
“But not the sex part?”
“What?” June gasps. “No! Why? Do you want to? I don’t want to. No, wait, I want to. No! I’m just kidding! Are you kidding? Because. I don’t want to. Do you want to?”
The lamest part is: Chloe does want to. She doesn’t know how June has turned her into this – this person who wants the kind of sex that would come with feelings attached. She also doesn’t know how June manages to fail so hard at being sexy and make Chloe totally want her all at once. It’s so unfair.
“You’re drunk,” Chloe says, and steers June’s wandering hand away from any potential fun zones. “Eggnog drunk. Which is totally lame, by the way. And while I hate to kill the lady boner you’re rocking, I feel obligated to remind you that you’re straight.”
“For everyone else,” June insists. “Not for you.”
“So you’re gay for me?” Chloe is skeptical.
“I don’t even know what I am for you,” June says. “Maybe I’m just – for you.”
Chloe stares at her. June smiles back, all tipsy-radiant, Christmas lights gleaming bright colors in her hair.
“Gross,” Chloe says after a too-long moment. “Come on, slut. Let’s get you to bed. Alone.”
The worst thing about June is probably what a good listener she is. Well, that and her inconveniently transfixing boobs. June passes out in an eggnog stupor, but not before she murmurs, “You’re the best, Chloe. I love youuuu.” She drags youuuu out like that and everything. Chloe never used to have to deal with this crap.
But now, Chloe gets to spend Christmas Eve alone in the living room, knowing she should be glad June’s unconscious (because now she can go out and have some actual fun like a fabulous person), but just sitting there instead. Finally, she opens all of June’s Christmas presents and sets them on fire. You know. For fun.