Page 50 of Ho Ho Oh No

Pew pew. And I’m dead. RIP Mia. You had a good run.

“I’llneverforgive you for this,” Kri hisses at me under her breath, adjusting her skirt to tug it lower.

My knee-high, patent leather boots squeak as I cross and uncross my legs, trying to get comfortable when I’m beginning to fear for my life.

I sort through my card catalog of funny responses to ease her fears about her costume, ultimately coming up empty. How can I be expected to think straight when her glare holds me hostage like this? And considering I’ve been tied to a chair and threatened with death on more than one occasion, it’s impressive she’s rendered me speechless.

Am I intimidated by Kri and all her badassery? Maybe a little.

Especially since she’s back to full strength. I bet she can throw a mean right hook. However, I’ve taken bigger cocks to the face before and lived to tell the tale, so I’ll be good if she snaps and charges at me.

Probably.

Oh. There’s an approach worth trying. When in doubt, make it kinky.

“Kri, you look sexy as hell. I’m considering switching teams.” I run my hand over her thigh playfully. “Wanna go fool around in the closet?”

She brushes my hand away. “Bitch, please.”

“I’m betting Shep will make it worth any discomfort your feet may be experiencing from the boots.” I waggle my brows at her, then pump my arms toward my groin to mimic thrusting. “In fact, he’ll probably make you keep them on. The gloves too.”

She blinks at me three times before shaking her head and tossing back a swig of non-alcoholic reindeer punch. “It isn’t only about the boots, you gingerbread bitty. It’s the entire getup. I feel like a freak show. Everyone’s looking at me, and I hate it.”

“If they’re looking at you, it’s only because you’ve reminded them that you’re a woman with a smoking hot body. That’snota bad thing. You can be beautifulanda fucking badass. If these fuckers see you differently because of what you’re wearing, that’s on them. It shows way more about their character than yours.”

Exiting my mini-soapbox, I hover my cup of spiked eggnog in front of my lips. “Plus, they aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at those two morons.”

At the mention of Jonesy and Aaron’s unexpected costumes, Kri snort-laughs into her cup.

They’ve gone full douche, wearing horrendous early nineties night club attire. Accessories and all. We’re talking sunglassespropped on their heads, layered gaudy chain necklaces, and tacky blazers with shoulder pads.

But wait. There’s more.

Aaron trimmed his stubble into a goatee, and Jonesy drew on a flavor-saver patch on the center of his chin and a pencil-thin beard along the outline of his jawline.

And we’re still not done.

As thepièce de résistance, they tied fully decorated Christmas gift boxes to their belts, positioning them so they hover over their crotches.

Yep. You guessed it.

Jonesy and Aaron are dressed up like Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg from the hilariousDick in a Boxsketch fromSaturday Night Live.

I fear for their jobs if Boss figures it out.

Lettie comes bounding over. She’s dressed in the sameMean Girlsholiday sexy Santa costume as Kri and me. She’s barely able to contain her giggles as she sits beside me, looking every bit the glowing sweetheart. “Let’s hope they didn’t cut holes in the boxes.”

“Do the lids on top of their boxes open?” I ask, more than a little curious if they went full monty. “Someone should check. For science.”

“Not it,” Kri blurts almost instantly, her shoulders bunching up by her ears.

“Me either,” I add, laughing off my joke and expecting Lettie to do the same.

She doesn’t, though.

Instead, she narrows her eyes at the pair of dinguses while tapping her gloved finger against her pursed lips.

Kri and I trade glances, our eyebrows arching higher as the seconds tick by.

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