Page 4 of Stalked By Santa

Frustrated, I finally approach a small stage in a corner of the ballroom decorated to look like the North Pole. The charity gala is adults only, but someone had the clever idea of charging drunk socialites an eye-watering sum to sit on Santa’s lap and have their photos taken.

Other women might be jealous. But I trust Barry. Besides, Santa’s throne is currently empty. But thereisa pretty, dark-haired “elf” in a scandalously sexy costume sitting on the edge of the stage.

“Excuse me, but do you know when Santa will be back?” I ask, struggling to hide my impatience.

“Who can say?” She taps a pointed red nail on a cell phone sitting on the stage beside her, glances at the time, then rolls her eyes. “He went on his fifteen-minute break half an hour ago. Selfish, if you ask me. It will takeagesto photograph all of you desperate housewives. But we’re not allowed to leave the stage unsupervised, and his other ‘helper’ is on break, too. So you’ll just have to suffer with the rest of us,” she says, pointing to the line of women queued in front of the stage.

“Oh, I’m not actually here to get my picture taken. I’m his girlfriend,” I reply, feeling a small stab of concern. It’s unlike Barry not to be punctual. “If you tell me where the break room is, I’ll go check on him.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she says, giving me a strange look, like I’m some sort of fascinating science experiment. “He was bitching about how hot the suit was, so I’m guessing he went back to the dressing room.”

“And that would bewhere?” I press, unnerved by the way she’s still staring at me.

For a long moment, she doesn’t answer, then shrugs and stands. “Come on, I’ll show you. But don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I thought you couldn’t leave the stage?”

“That was the order Barrykins gave, but I only take orders from therealMan in Red.” Grabbing her phone off the stage, she rolls her eyes. “Besides, this should be too good to miss.”

Not waiting for a reply, she strides toward the exit, her skimpy elf costume barely covering her pert bottom. Feeling queasy, I follow her out of the ballroom and down a long hall.

But my excitement over telling Barry about his Christmas gift returns when the elf stops outside of a room and produces a keycard. The elf was surely exaggerating his reluctance to play Santa and projecting her own bad mood.

“Should I do the honors, or will you?” she asks, offering me the keycard.

“Umm, I think I can handle it from here,” I say, taking the keycard from her. “You really don’t have to stick around.”

Silently, I beg her to take the hint. This isnota conversation that I planned to have in front of an audience. But to my dismay, the elf just winks.

“And miss the fireworks? Hardly.” She places a hand on her hip, then adds, “Well, hurry up. Better to pull the Band-Aid off quickly, dear.”

With a sigh, I slide the keycard in the door, deciding that I’ll just join the line waiting in front of the North Pole instead, and whisper my secret when I sit on Santa’s lap.

When I enter the room, however, all thoughts ofmynaughty surprise flee. I shake my head, sure that I’ve stumbled into some bizarre Christmas hell. A hell in which the pieces of Barry’s Santa suit form a trail from the entryway to the bed.

Black boots by the door. Red jacket draped over a chair. A scraggly white mess that must be the beard lying on the floor next to a pair of red pants, a white undershirt, and Barry’s boxers.

And a Santa hat perched on the head of a blonde-haired woman dressed like a slutty elf. A slutty elf who’s lithe where I’m curvy, not to mention prettier, older, and clearly more sophisticated.

Barry hasn’t realized that they have an audience yet, but the woman spots me right away. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t stop what she’s doing. And what she’s doing…

It takes me a few stunned seconds to process what I’m seeing, and once I do, I’m speechless. If I’d just walked in on Barry cheating, I want to believe I’d know what to say. Butthis? I’m at a total loss.

Because, yeah, that’s my boyfriend on his hands and knees.

And, yep, that’s definitely an enormous candy cane.

A candy cane that the elf is shoving into one of Barry’s orifices—andnotthe one where candy canes are supposed to go. But judging by the look of pure bliss on his face, he’s enjoying it.

Enjoying it so much that when he finally notices me, the first words out of his mouth aren’tI’m sorryor evenI can explain. They aren’t even directed at me.

He glares over his shoulder at the blonde. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Behind me, the other elf clears her throat. “Enough, Chrissy. Time to go.”

“Finally.” With a look of relief, the blonde tosses the candy cane in the trash. “Took you long enough,” she says, then grabs her purse from the nightstand and sashays past me before disappearing into the hall.

“What the hell?” I ask, hating how lame I sound. “Thisis why you wanted to be Santa?”

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