Page 1 of Christmas Eve Do-Over
1
The only way out is through.
Shasta
"Hey, watch it with that hand, buddy. I'm not due for a gyno exam."
The seated man in question looked startled and far too overcome by my beauty to launch a comeback. But he did move his wildly gesturing arm out of my way, allowing me to squeeze past the barrier holding back the loud mass of humanity looking to flood Main Street.
I was searching for my friends who'd just texted me they were outside the surf shop on the north side of Main. That meant I needed to cross the street. Not an easy feat on any day in Huntington Beach, let alone Christmas Eve when the Santas on Harleys were set to parade through the city.
Putting some extra oomph in my step, I stepped off the curb and hustled to cut across. A horse-mounted cop just a few yards away raised his hand in a hurry, probably to get my attention and make me go back. Instead, he changed directions with that hand, tipping his hat and shooting me a wink. Slowing my pace to get a better look, I saw it was a gentleman I'd had an interesting few weeks with a year or so ago.
Knowing he'd seen me in my birthday suit previously, I gave him a broad smile and maybe even added a little extra hip swing. Not that these hips needed any extra to draw attention. But when one was jaywalking in front of a cop and a large crowd, it was best to do so in style. Besides, I knew he'd never arrest me. I had too much dirt on him. Like the fact that he required a little blue pill to let the happy times commence.
I'm trusting you to keep quiet on that one. Cops are manly men with a reputation to protect, you know.
I continued my hustle, just getting to the other side when I heard the first Harley make its turn onto Main. Everyone's attention shifted to the end of the street so I used that distraction to wedge my way through the crowd to my gaggle of girls. I could always see Brinley's head above everyone else's, her being so tall. Plus, each and every one of them was so beautiful they turned heads everywhere they went. And before you think I'm only friends with them because they were the "it girls," had we still been in high school, their beauty came from their golden hearts, their goodness oozing out from their pores like a pheromone.
The universe hadn't provided me with my own children, and that biological ship had since sailed, however Ihadbeen gifted with this group of women that made me smile through all seasons of life. They were all a good fifteen to twenty years younger than me, but age didn't factor in our friendship. The Beach Squad, as we affectionately called ourselves, was the shit.
"Yo, bitches and snitches! Merry Christmas!" I finally reached the group and hugged as many of them as I could fit in my outstretched arms.
"Shasta!"
"You made it!"
"Merry Christmastide!"
After we all squealed like the gaggle of girls we were and hugged some more, we turned to watch the first Harleys make their way down the street with loud cheering from the crowd. I hated to say it but I must be truthful with you: I disliked Christmastime due to an unfortunate incident with the king of assholes. That's a story for later, but for now just know I'm not a huge Christmas fan. I know, I know. Bah, humbug.
BUT. That said, evenIgot excited about the Santa Ride. Shiny Harleys riding down the street with big-bearded and big-hearted men dressed as Mr. Claus, off to deliver toys to the foster kids at Orangewood. If I had functioning ovaries, I'm sure they'd explode at the sight of all that testosterone. As it was, I enjoyed the eye candy and the challenge of trying to figure out who each rider was underneath the beard and the suit. As the years had passed, I'd also started tallying up how many of the Santas I'd slept with.
Now before you write me off as some sort of trollop, I think you need to get to know me better before you get all McJudgypants. After a disastrous marriage (referenced earlier as the king of assholes), I was now in a long-term commitment with the single life. I had "relationships" with available men when it suited me. If they started getting on my nerves or requesting too much of my time, I cut them loose. I wasn't looking for Mr. Forever, I was looking for Mr. Right Now. I was up front about it and they were willing participants. Until they weren't, and that's when I ended things.
It was because of such heavy and detailed scrutiny of the Santa Riders I saw a particular scene unfold this year. Here's another thing you need to know about me: it's my profession and life's passion to help young women empower themselves so they never fell prey to abuse or attack. I owned a Jiu Jitsu studio here in downtown HB, teaching self-defense classes for everyone, with a particular focus on reaching out to women to teach them the skills they needed to defend themselves. If they got a little confidence boost and self-esteem lesson on the side, that was an added bonus I was happy to provide.
So when I spied a Santa Rider stop in all the chaos and bend down to snatch a young woman off the curb and onto his lap, I saw red. And not from his festive Santa suit.
Pushing off the sidewalk yet again, I crossed the street like that Crossyroad game that was so damn addicting, jumping around bikes that thankfully went fairly slow since this was a parade, after all. I had the blonde in my crosshairs, heading her way like a mama bear to her cub. I hadn't planned what I would do when I got there, but I had full confidence in my ability to adjust on the fly and defend that girl no matter how burly the guy looked sitting on his Harley.
"Keep it moving, Santa, honey. There're kids waiting on your sack of goodies." A stiff tap on his shoulder got his head swinging my direction. "And if you don't let her go in two point five seconds, you won't have a sack left. You catch my drift?"
A tall kid with a skateboard tucked under his arm reached out and hoisted the girl off Santa's lap before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and steering her away, a wide-eyed look on his face as he stole glances at me. The pretty girl swiveled her head back and shouted, "Thank you, Santa!"
"What the hell?" I muttered. What kind of girl thanks her attacker for an unwanted lap dance?
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking too." Santa's blue-eyed gaze turned steely as he focused his attention on me. And damn it all to hell if I didn't get a little wiggly kneed as the center of his scrutiny. Which was seven kinds of wrong. The guy was clearly an asshole. A seriously gorgeous one from the three inches of face I could see above the beard and below the hat, but an asshole none the less.
I straightened to my full height and brought my hands to rest on my hips. "Listen, I know you're doing a good deed here with the Santa Ride, but don't fuck it up by hitting on girls half your age, m'kay?"
His eyes blinked but nothing else moved, like he froze there on the street.
"Yo, you in there?" I snapped my fingers in his face, wondering just what layer of fresh hell I'd stumbled upon. I should have guessed my day would start that way, with it being Christmas Eve and all. Wasn't exactly my lucky day of the year.
Like pressing play on my fave Netflix show, he came to life, those eyes narrowing and the smile lines bracketing his face pinching into a frown.
"I don't know what you think you just saw, but you're wrong. First of all, I'd never hit on a girl anywhere close to that age, even if she was legal. Second of all, I like my women experienced. Well lived. With a whole life of stories to share with me over a glass a wine and a walk on the beach." He leaned in close, so close I got a whole lungful of cologne and sunscreen, the scent stirring things in my belly that shouldn't have been stirred. "So I know you're doing a good deed here, trying to save a girl from a lecherous Santa, but don't fuck it up by falsely accusing a man you don't even know."
