Page 37 of War on Christmas

Twenty-Five

FREYA

Forthefirsttimein my life, I experience something approaching hero worship for Bethany.

Jeremy stayed with the older kiddos so I could take Andy to the flower shop bathroom, and let’s just say the trip has been…illuminating. While Andy takes care of business, I wander the shop, saying a quick hello to my mom and dad, who both wear huge smiles as they buzz around taking care of the influx of holiday customers. Christmas music is blaring (cringe) and poinsettias are flying off the shelves, along with the locally sourced candles, bath products, and Christmas ornaments Bethany stocked. It’s a great night for business.

I've just circled back to the bathroom and am waiting for Andy to emerge when two women line up behind me. Judging by their overly excited whispers, the cold isn't the only thing responsible for their flushed cheeks, and I'm turning around to ask where this godforsaken festival is hiding the booze when I catch their conversation.

“Stone. Cold. Fox,” the blonde whispers, drawing outfoxsuggestively. I lean closer to eavesdrop. Then she adds, “Silverfox.”

“Fucking brilliant,” her redheaded friend responds before burping quietly into her gloved hand. “Seriously, who wants to stand in line at the mall when you can stay in town and seethisguy? Forget Father Christmas.” She snorts. “I want to seeDaddyChristmas.”

Just as the two friends collapse into giggles, the bathroom door opens and Andy steps out, looking much more relaxed. That’s when the pieces fall into place: Bethany’s nerves over “trying something different” and finding a new Santa…the long line wrapping around the ice rink…the two friends’ whispered conversation…

Bethany hired a hot Santa Claus.

Ok, I can admit it. I have severely underestimated my sister and her public relations skills. Sure, Bethany is overly controlling and, I suspect, on the fast track to a nervous breakdown. But hiring a hot Santa for the Northview Christmas festival? This move is legit bad ass. Nope, it’s Bad Ass. Capital B. Capital A.

And as I take Andy’s hand in mine and lead him back to the line, I’m already planning how to use it to my advantage.

***

The line is moving faster than I thought. By the time we make it back to our group, there are only three or four families in front of us. Jeremy welcomes us back with a smile so bright it makes my heart trip, but I ruthlessly ignore it. He opens his coat, a clear invitation for me to return to the warm cocoon of his body against mine, but instead I squish his hat unceremoniously onto his head and comb my waves with my fingers to combat my hat head. I dig into my purse for my lipstick and compact mirror. I can feel Jeremy’s eyes on me, assessing, as I reapply and pop my lips.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes narrowed, just as the line shifts forward and Abi pipes up next to me.

“Um,wow.” Her eyes go wide. “Santa ishot.”

A silver fox who even a fifteen-year-old recognizes as a hottie? My heart accelerates with anticipation. Even the rousing, off-key rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” sung by the middle-school choir can’t bring me down. I shoot onto tiptoe and bend at the waist to look around the crowd, and that’s when I spot him, sitting on a green velvet throne surrounded by white flocked Christmas trees and a pile of giant presents wrapped in silver and gold paper.

Hot Santa.

Instead of the traditional baggy jacket sagging around a bowl full of jelly, Hot Santa sports a sharp, maroon velvet suit that hugs a lean but muscular frame. His shirt is white and crisp, and a green-and-red plaid tie trails down his chest and over what I suspect is a six pack. His hair and beard are the customary snowy white, but his hair is a fashionable crew cut and his full beard is shaped to perfection. His cheekbones are high and sharp. No round, rosy cheeks here. Then, as I stare at him, his gaze slides away from the little girl on his lap, and for one magical Christmas moment, we make eye contact and his wide mouth quirks into a sexy grin.

Daddy Christmas, indeed.

“Did Santa Claus just make googly eyes at you?” Abi asks, her eyes round with holiday wonder. In response, I shrug out of my winter coat, scarf, and mittens and shove them into her arms. The cold air hits me like a slap, but I don’t slow down, turning my back on Santa as I quickly undo the top three buttons of my black, scoop-necked Henley and plump my breasts in their push-up bra. Abi snorts out a disbelieving laugh, Andy bounces from foot to foot—“We’re almost toSanta!”—and Jeremy gawks at me, his mouth slowly sliding open with dumbfounded shock.

“What are youdoing?” he whispers, stepping closer, almost chest to chest. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Bloody Viking.

“What does itlooklike I’m doing?” I whisper back, adjusting my breasts again because I like the way it makes Jeremy’s eyes flare. With lust? With alarm? All of the above?

Jeremy stares down at me, and a vein on the side of his forehead starts to visibly pulse. I want to pump my arm in triumph, but I play it cool, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Are you doing this to punish me?” he finally asks through gritted teeth.

Why, yes. Yes, I am. Enjoying it? Because I sure am.

I grab his coat and lean in, going up on my toes. The scent of his cologne does something goofy to my insides that I refuse to acknowledge.

“Wow. Not everything is about you, Mr. President of Narcissists Anonymous.” He snorts, but I’m not done. “It’s real simple. I’m going to go up there, sit on Hot Santa’s lap, and tell him what I want for Christmas. Got it?”

My fingers release his coat just as the elf at the head of the line yells, “Next!”

It’s not until I turn on my heel, my hand on Andy’s back, that I allow myself to smile.

Santa’s green velvet throne sits on a dais, and as Andy and I walk the three steps up to him, Hot Santa leans back, all masculine ease, and his eyes track me as I get closer. I urge Andy forward, and he jumps onto Santa’s lap without pause, immediately launching into a long, meandering wish list. I stand close by, arms behind my back, and will myself not to shiver as I wait for the opportune moment to make my move. Just when I think I won’t be able to stop my teeth from chattering, Andy ends his monologue with an endearing, “Please, please,please,” and Hot Santa offers him a miniature candy cane as Andy slides off his lap.

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