Page 14 of Wrong Number, Right Santa

Santa approached me, and I got up. He was much taller than I was, and when I studied his eyes and what I could see of his face, I guessed him to be around my age. Not that it would have mattered if he’d been old; a mate was a mate. But we’d have more in common being of the same generation.

He held out his hand, and I took it. It hit me that I hadn’t thanked him for saving my ass.

“If you hadn’t stepped in today, I would have been in the Santa house wearing a baggy suit and a scraggly beard.”

“Oh no! That wouldn’t do at all.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his thick white hair.

Wow! While I could never have done as good a job as him, I was peeved he was aghast at the idea of me taking his place.

“But I can think of a way if you want to thank me.”

Sweat trickled down my spine and my cock engorged. Was I about to have sex with a Santa?

He’s our mate. You need to mark him.

“What’s that?” My voice was decibels higher than normal as my mind whirred, wondering if the old sofa in the storeroom would hold both of us.

“Dinner.”

I glanced around at the flattened cardboard boxes. “There’s no food left.”

“I was thinking of eating dinner together.”

“Sounds good. You can change in the bathroom.” I laughed. “If Santa appeared in a restaurant, people would want to takea photo with you.” It wouldn’t be an enjoyable meal if the restaurant clientele and staff pestered him.

“I can’t change who I am.”

What was that about?

“Oh, I’d never expect that.” Besides, it didn’t work. People were who they were. With a lot of effort, they might be able to change their habits and eat less meat, do more exercise, or give up smoking, but expecting anything more was foolhardy.

“But you’re right about me being mobbed when in public.”

I had the perfect solution if he agreed. “As a thank-you, I can cook dinner at my place.” My exhaustion had evaporated and I was energized. While eating a meal with my mate, I hoped to discover the man underneath the costume.

“I’d love that.” He grinned, and despite the beard almost covering his mouth, my heart flip-flopped. My mate and I would be alone.

He took out his phone.

“Does Santa use GPS?” I snorted, picturing him and his reindeer staring at a device while hovering over a bunch of houses. “Does it tell you naughty or nice?”

His white brows furrowed. Oops. Maybe he didn’t appreciate Santa jokes. After giving him my address, I explained I needed to tell him something.

“I understand.”

He knows you’re his mate. My beast was convinced we’d mark one another later this evening.

But that seemed too easy. I hoped he wasn’t going to say he was on the run and used the costume to hide from the law. Was aiding and abetting Santa a crime?

“See you soon.” I opened my mouth to joke about whether he was using his reindeer to reach my place, but clamped my mouth shut. He took his Santa role seriously and didn’t appear to appreciate me joking about his job.

“Swing by when you’re ready.”

“Something is already swinging.” He winked and left.

What was that about?My reindeer was perplexed.

I might be wrong, but I think Santa made a reference to part of his anatomy. No way was I discussing details about arousal with my beast.

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