Page 21 of Naughty Santa

Yep. He was fucked.

There were three condoms in his wallet, and he’d made a vow to himself that would always be the case until the day he died. No more getting caught unprepared.

He’d been a Boy Scout, for God’s sake. He had a reputation to uphold.

She was looking at him funny, and Joe realized he’d yet to say anything as he played out the kinky fantasies that had been on auto-repeat in his brain for days.

Talk, you jackass.

“Hi, Paris.”

She stepped aside, so Joe crossed the threshold, holding out what he’d brought. “Mom wanted me to drop off a pair of boots for you. She worries about you walking on the ice, ever since you took that tumble the other morning.”

Walking Paris to and from work had become part of his morning routine ever since she slipped and fell on her ass the morning after her arrival in North Pole. No matter how many times she nearly lost her balance, or he had to catch her, she refused to give up her impractical boots.

Joe had to hand it to her. She did a pretty good job of schooling her features as she took the boots from him. “Oh. Um. Wow. That was nice of her. Is she sure she doesn’t need them?”

He grinned. “Nope. Women around here tend to have a few pairs of winter boots. And,” Joe extended his hand, showing her the coat he’d brought, “this is from me. Figure this is gonna be a lot warmer than that zebra jacket you keep insisting on wearing.”

She was less successful in hiding her disdain for his faded black parka. “I couldn’t take that from you.” Her nose wrinkled when she said that, like the damn coat smelled of skunk.

Joe pointed to the coat he was wearing. “Don’t worry about it. I have other coats too.”

“Right. Well…”

“Paris,” he said. “Nobody cares what you wear in North Pole. Why don’t you give these a try today? You’ll be able to walk yourself to work, and you won’t freeze your ass off while you do it.”

Paris tilted her head toward him in that girly, flirty way that had his cock twitching. “That doesn’t sound like much incentive to switch boots. I like when you walk with me. I liked it even better when you carried me. And as for coats...” She leaned closer, and he caught a whiff of coconut from her shampoo.

Paris unzipped his coat and slipped her hands inside, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked.

“Seeing how warm this coat is compared to mine. Mmmmm. You’re right. It’s nice and toasty in here. Maybe we should just share.”

“You’re not going to wear the boots or coat, are you?”

She laughed, still clinging to him, his coat wrapped around both of them.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in either of those things. It would be the equivalent of giving up. But I do appreciate the offer.”

Despite his best intentions to keep his hands to himself, Joe wrapped his arms around her and patted her ass. “How’s your ass feeling?”

For a couple days after her fall, she’d taken to sitting on a donut.

“Still sore. Maybe you could kiss it and make it better.”

Time to get them back on track. “Maybe you should get dressed for work. I have a slave driver of a boss, cracking the whip to get a bunch of repairs done to her store, so she can escape back to sunny California.”

Paris had hired Joe to make repairs to the Holly Jolly, in hopes of making the Feed and Seed appealing to potential buyers. He’d taken the job because what could be more sadomasochistic than working for the woman he was trying to avoid.

Paris let go of him, though he could see she didn’t want to. He liked that fact more than he should.

“I just need to put some clothes on, and then I’m ready. Will you try to catch Roscoe for me? I think he really liked spending time at the store with us yesterday.”

Joe grimaced as she bounded upstairs to change. God only knew where the cat was hiding. He walked through thedownstairs room, searching for Roscoe. As he entered the back family room, Joe spotted Louis, dozing on the couch, the bright morning sun warming the room. He always felt like he’d gone back in time in this room, like he should be wearing a plaid leisure suit or something.

“Where’s the cat?” Joe muttered to Louis, surprised when Roscoe slowly crawled out from under the coffee table at the sound of his voice. The cat gave him his usual “eat shit and die” look before hopping up on the couch, just close enough to Louis’s head to terrorize the small dog.

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