The Beary Best Holiday Party Ever

The Beary Best Holiday Party Ever

By B.G. Thomas

Before he discovered the Heartland Bear Clan, Ron Corbin figured no one could ever love a “fatass” like him. But the big group of big men accepts him, and likes him just the way he is. Having finally found a place he belongs, he works hard to get elected president of the club—and wins. He’s the happiest he’s ever been.

But Paddy Brennan, a sexy bear cub who blew into town and became Mr. Popular overnight, is elected vice-president. Ron doesn’t think Paddy has earned the honor, and now he’ll have to work shoulder to shoulder (and belly to belly) with the guy for a year.

Ron will do what’s best for the club even if that means setting his personal feeling—that Paddy is a jerk—aside. But then as the two men get to know each other, Ron reluctantly finds he not only likes the guy, but is growing more and more attracted to him.

Deep down, Ron still worries he isn’t good enough, but maybe Paddy can show him there’s a beary happy ending waiting for them after all.

This one is for Catt Ford. For inspiring the story and for having made sure that I have had some of the best novella covers in the world.
I love you, my friend!

Acknowledgments

S
PECIAL
THANKS
to Renae Kaye. Girl! Thank you for what you did to this story! You polished it and gave it its “holiday shine.”

To Tricia Kristufek for saving the day! You’re my hero.

To Stacia Aurore Rose. Your beta skills never cease to amaze me. Thank you.

And to Ann B. and Jane C., editors
par excellence
. There are no words to express my gratitude. XOXOXOX

JULY

W
HEN
R
ON
Corbin heard his name announced as the new president of the Heartland Bear Clan, he could hardly contain himself. He bellowed a loud, “Yowza,” which made everyone laugh. It was only by the grace of God that he
kept
himself from whooping out, “I’m king of the world.” After all, hadn’t nearly everyone thought it a very egotistical thing for James Cameron to shout when he won his Oscar for best director?

Ron had never understood that. It seemed like a logical thing for the
Titanic
filmmaker to shout.
Perfect
, actually. The Leonardo DiCaprio line was one of the most famous from the movie. And it was how Cameron
must
have felt when he won the Academy Award.

It was certainly how Ron felt when Mel Gunter, the man who had run the club for well over a decade, stood up in front of everyone and declared him as his successor. Ron really
did
feel like the king of the world. Or at least
his
world—and his world was the Kansas City bear club.

There was nothing more important to Ron than the Heartland Bear Clan. In many ways the social group had saved his life—at least he felt that way. He’d been one big old depressed bear when he’d been introduced to the group of men. In fact, once upon a time he’d hated the fact that anyone thought of him as a bear in the first place. Bears were fat. And fat was bad, right? Men who couldn’t stop eating, right? Who couldn’t stick to a diet? Who refused to take care of themselves? Who had no self-pride?

That’s what he’d thought. What he’d been told over and over and over again.

“I do not know
how
you can be a child of mine!”
came the voice of his mother.

“Fat! You’re a fatass!”
came the voice of his father.
“My son—
my
son—a fatass!”

But the Heartland Bear Clan had changed all of that. Had changed his life. Okay, so he was a bear. Yeah, he was a bit chunky. But not ugly. He’d worked quite a bit to find his style, as well. He kept his brown hair almost military short and his full beard trimmed fairly tight. Yeah, a bear. And a pretty good-looking one. And now, as president of the club he’d devoted so much of his time to, he couldn’t be happier.

Until he found out who was going be his vice president.

“Paddy Brennan,” he cried while pacing the living room of his best friend Billy’s apartment a few hours later. “Jesus H. Christ! How in the
world
am I supposed to work with that man?”

Billy, Ron’s best friend and a man who was easily seventy pounds heavier—at least—than Ron, shrugged his massive shoulders in his characteristic fashion. He was huge in every way, and when he shrugged, his whole body did as well. Billy was the epitome of the famous Christmas line about shaking like a bowlful of jelly. Which was appropriate, because the first time Ron ever saw Billy was Christmas weekend, and he was strutting comically around on stage at a bar, dressed in a red negligee and lip-synching to a little ditty called “Walking ’Round in Women’s Underwear,” a parody of a certain famous Christmas carol.

“It is what it is, dude,” Billy said. He scratched at his shaggy beard. “I think you just need to make the best of it.”

Ron snarled. He really did—he
snarled
. The fact that he would have to work shoulder to shoulder with Paddy Brennan was as much a nightmare as winning the presidency of the bear club was a dream come true.

He sat on his friend’s couch, sighed, and wondered what Billy had to drink. He needed something. Since it was Billy’s place, that probably meant beer, or maybe, if Ron was really lucky, some cheap whiskey. He needed something strong. Tonight he felt like getting drunk. And why not? He didn’t have to drive. He lived three stories up from his friend in the Oscar Wilde, an apartment building built back in the 1920s by the famous Nelle E. Peters, and for some reason (for at least the last quarter century), predominantly rented by gays, lesbians, bisexuals, the transgendered, and the queer spirited of all walks of life.

“I know you think you have a good reason for not liking Paddington—”

Paddy! He even had a “bear” name. And Paddington Bear was what everyone delighted in calling him!
Aaarrgghhhh!

“—although it’s a reason you refuse to tell me.”

And it was a reason he wasn’t planning on ever telling Billy!

“But, God, Ron. He’s a nice guy. And he’s cute, so—”

Cute?
Cute?
So the hell what? So what if he was (hot) cute? What did that have to do with anything?

“—can’t you give him a chance? You might find you like the guy.”

Fat chance of that happening.

Fat
…. How ironic he used
that
word.

Ron’s cell phone rang, and when he looked to see who it was, he didn’t recognize the number. He normally wouldn’t answer, but this
was
the very evening he’d won the presidency of the Heartland Bear Clan. What if it was a member of the club?

He answered the phone with a “Yowza,” and got a happy “Yowza” in return.

God
. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Paddy Brennan.

“I just wanted to congratulate you once again,” said Ron’s new partner (and not the good kind of partner). “You deserve it.”

Why yes
, Ron thought.
Yes I do.
Because didn’t he? Hadn’t he worked his butt off for more than five years now? Attending nearly every meeting. Arriving early to help set up. Staying late to help clean up. Volunteering for everything under the sun. Working on every fundraiser. Writing little articles for the local gay news rag about bears and their part of the greater gay community. And plain just wanting the position? Most people didn’t want the job. They just wanted to show up and drink. Heartland was his mission in life.

Billy stared at him, scratched his beard, and raised both eyebrows questioningly.

Say something.

Ron cleared his throat. “Thank you, Paddy.”

“Well, you cleared out pretty early tonight, for a change, and I didn’t really get a chance to talk to you.”

Which, of course, had been on purpose. He’d taken care of everything he’d needed to, gathered up all of Heartland’s stuff, except for the treasurer’s money box and the secretary’s notebook, and gotten Billy and a few others to discreetly help him pack it all into his car (because he hadn’t wanted Paddy’s help, hadn’t wanted so much as a moment alone, or near alone, with the man).
His
car for the first time—the final sign that he was now president of the Heartland Bear Clan. It seemed like he’d been helping to pack everything into Mel’s car forever. But even the thrill of that little ceremony had been shadowed by Paddy.

“I imagine we’re going to have plenty of time together over the next year,” Ron said, struggling to keep his tone neutral (since he couldn’t make it sound cheerful).

“Year? I’m shooting for us to break Mel’s record!”

Ten years? Over Ron’s dead body!

Paddy chuckled in that way Ron had thought so sexy on the infamous night they met seven months before—a night Ron
had
told Billy about; he just hadn’t told him Paddy’s name.

“Ten years is a long time,” Ron said instead of what he wanted to say. “I think I’m going to focus on the next year.”

“Sure,” Paddy said. “And I’ve got lots of ideas for what we can do.”

Oh joy. Just what I need. Like I haven’t been making plans of my own for several years now.

“Especially for the big Christmas party,” Paddy continued.

“
Holiday
party,” Ron corrected. It had been voted by a slim majority two years ago to change the name of their biggest fundraiser and outreach event. “We want to be inclusive, remember.” He had been part of that. He knew what it was like to be left outside the cliques or the most popular circles, or even not-so-popular circles. He didn’t want anyone in the club to feel that way. The end of the year was about more than Christmas. It was Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saint Nicholas’s Day, Solstice, and Yule. And they did have non-Christians in their group. And what about atheists and agnostics? Big Christmasy themes often kept them away as well. One guy had shared with him once that his Baptist family had kicked him out of the house when he was fourteen for being gay, and to this day, just passing a church with a nativity display outside could give him the shakes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paddy said (and even his tone set Ron’s teeth on edge—like Paddy was blowing off something Ron considered important). “You’re right, of course. Inclusive. They did that where I work too. Changed the name of our Christmas party. They call it the December party, though….”

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn’t like Paddy had been around in the days the club
had
a Christmas party. He’d blown in out of nowhere six months ago (
seven months, actually, Ron—don’t forget that!
) and suddenly become as popular as mobile phone payments (which Ron loved), shirtdresses (that information came from Billy, of course—he
loved
them), and movie reboots (why come up with something new when you could redo something a studio already had the rights for?).

“Well, thanks for calling,” Ron said. “But I’m sort of worn out. I’m sure we’ll see each other very soon.”
Unfortunately.
“At our first meeting in a few weeks, at least.”

“Wait. Before you hang up. Just a quick thought.”

Then make it quick!

“What say you and I get together for coffee or a drink—lunch, even. Before the meeting? See where we both stand. We want to present a united front to the board, right?”

Oh joy.
Joy to the world. And a holiday appropriate “And Heaven and nature sing.”

He sighed because he knew Paddy was right. The two of them should be on the same page. He just didn’t feel like admitting it. At least not yet. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said.

“Well, I know you usually go to The Male Box on Sunday evenings—”

You do? How do you know that?
Ron grunted, still uncommitted.

“—and I thought I could meet you there? We could talk a little bit? Meet out on the back patio? It’s not as loud there. Discuss a few things? I think I’ve got some good ideas….”

Oh you do, do you?

“
Especially
,” Paddy continued, “about the Christmas—I mean,
holiday
party. Last year’s was a
little
lame, don’t you think?”

Ron gritted his teeth. Again. Ron had helped with that party. A lot. In fact, in his estimation, he thought he’d done way more than Mel. He thought the former leader had, for the past few years, left the party to inertia rather than put in the hard work. Which Ron didn’t think was suitable, especially considering how important the party was to the club. It was their most important fundraiser, and the money it brought in was what kept the club in the black the rest of the year. He knew that Mel had run things for a long time, but maybe it was a good thing he was leaving. Ron thought that maybe Mel was getting tired of running the club but hadn’t quite been able to give up the reins.

“Not,” Paddy said, “that I want to step on your toes or anything—”