Page 2 of Ms. Claus's List

Don’t get me wrong, I love my big brother like nobody’s business, but he’s kind of a prude.

Okay,a lotof a prude.

Nick would not approve of our behavior in his absence. But you know the saying: when Santa’s away, the elves will play. He embraced this new Christmas to the extreme...no room for immoral misbehavior. Only abstinence and piety all the way.

Whatever trips his trigger.

Often I wonder what, or who, it would take to trip his trigger. Shit, when was the last time Santa got laid? I know most folks don’t wanna think about it, but our lives would be a whole helluva lot easier if the man in charge would blow his load once and awhile. Talk about DSB—deadly sperm back-up. Nicky had a bad case of it.

Donna, clipboard in hand, walked beside me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

“Do you have my list of applicants?”

Ever efficient, she pulled out a small plastic binder decorated in red glitter.Ms. Claus’s Listhad been stamped across the front in gold. “Here ya go. You can go right to page three. That’s where the men start.”

If anyone were to find this list they might just think it was one of those spreadsheets folks use, an inventory sheet maybe. A name, a number, and a flavor. Very innocuous, unless what each item stood for on the list.

“Juny, fruitcake, 8.75.” I arched a brow at my assistant hurrying to keep up.

“Fruitcake? Really?”

Donna gave a sheepish laugh. “Some people actually like it.”

I snorted, whizzing passed the elves scurrying and rushing by as the time ticked closer to launch.

“Look out,” Donna warned, yanking me out of the way in time to stop me from stepping into reindeer shit.

Damn reindeer.Why in the name of Helheimr Nick let them wander inside his workshop was beyond me. I knew my brother’s devotion to the damn things, but did they have to shit all over the place?

But there would be no complaining to Nick. He loved those things like Gran had been attached at the hip of that smelly boar, Hildisvíni. Rumor had it the boar had really been Gran’s shapeshifter lover Ottar, and she liked to be an exhibitionist and “ride” him in public while in beast form.

The slutty old broad. Must be where I got my wanton ways.

“Omar, gingerbread, 10,” I read aloud, focusing back on more important matters—like who I’d be fucking this year. “Ten inches?” I snorted. “Brag much?”

Donna blushed. “Not bragging when it’s the truth. I did the measurement myself. I don’t make mistakes.”

I drew a sharp line through his name. Yeah, I sure as hell didn’t need a ten-inch cock to fill a five-inch hole. Donna giggled. I shuddered, just thinking about it.

“Pip, peppermint, 5.1.” I gave her a look. “Well, now, c’mon. I ain’t a virgin.”

“Lord knows.”

“Hey, now.”

Donna laughed. Over the loudspeakers, reports came in from the North Star Look-Out Tower that the skies would be clear until Nick reached Canada. “I put Pip on the final list because he’s known to be, how shall we say it? Very openminded. And...um, I know you love to watch.”

I smiled wickedly. “So you think he might want to take Omar’s ten-inch junk?”

Donna shrugged, smiling impishly. “Never know till you ask.”

“No, Omar is still off. Even I’m not that cruel.”

“And Pip?”

I grinned. “Let’s see him in person, shall we?”

After perusing the list, I came up with seven male candidates for the pageant, orman-geant, this year. Excitement danced over my skin like champagne bubbles tickling the tip of your nose. Gods, I loved Christmas.

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