Harley was quick about snatching the ice cream. The lid came off and Wade instinctively pulled back as she began to devour it like the sarlacc would a strapping, jet-pack clad, space mercenary. "Ruining my holiday? Are you kidding? I've been ruining holidays since I was knee high to a Porky Pig. Or something to that effect. My southern drawl is off." As he spoke he worked the cardboard covering from the wine and produced a translucent bag full of a rosy red liquid. He twisted the spout and poured some down his gullet. "Trust me sugar-bomb, no one is going to out awkward this guy when it comes to civ-o-lized conversation. I'm pretty sure I mentioned my inflatable pool toy fetish to your mom at some point tonight. So no sweat."
Wiping a drop of wine from his chin, he sat back down next to her. "If we're doing the real-boy-routine here and telling the truth.. I should be thanking you. You gave me a normal...well.. a normal-ish holiday. Something I never had. Well, I did one time but that was on a sitcom and those don't count." Wade rolled his shoulder and guzzled some more wine. Everything had been laid out down stairs. That Ennis Del Mar looking dude was back in the picture. So she was going to be prancing off back to him. At least he could tell her how much he cared. Maybe it would make a difference.
Or maybe you just want to do right by you and screw with her head any more. Maybe she has a shot of a good future.
Right. Cause she picks stable men and makes smart choices.
"Voice boxes are you back?" Wade asked of the empty air around his head. He shrugged the sudden mental lapse away and offered her a pull from the bag. "Thank you Rev. These last couple weeks have been.. well.. like an angel spit on me and covered the sticky stuff in glitter. So, you know, the old Rip Taylor routine." A laugh got loose and he just shook that and the sharp pain in his chest away. "It was almost like being in a caring relationship. I think my head almost warped just saying that. Wade you're rambling. Yes I know that, I'm trying to say how I feel and," The sentence was broken by more alcohol consumption. "Mea Culpa, Kiddo. I'm not good at this sorta thing."