Page 2 of Stalker Santa

I consider her offer. Seeing as how we’re already halfway through December, thismightbe a promise she can keep.

Still, what she wants to do is absurd.

I shake my head again.

“Zoe!” she cries in frustration before she clasps my arm and drops her forehead against it dramatically. “You’re my ride or die bestie! Don’t make me do this alone!”

I laugh and pull my hand away from her. “No way. You made the bet to sit on some crusty old man’s lap and have your picture taken with him and for—what was it again?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

Her face brightens. “A thousand dollars! My brother bet me a thousand dollars I wouldn’t stand in line with the kids and have my picture taken with old Santy Claus.” She scoffs. “Sucker, he should have known better. I’d shave my head bald for a thousand dollars.”

A laugh guffaws out of me both at Gia’s words and the thought of her doing that. What’s more is I know she’s serious too. Gia has never been one to turn down a bet—or money. Surely her brother must have known that. I don’t have the heart to tell Gia that her brother probablydoesknow that and uses it to his advantage to get his older sister to do humiliating things just for his sport.

The thing is she always wants to drag me down with her.

“Exactly.” I nod at her. “You’re getting a thousand dollars to do this. What am I getting? What is my motivation behind this?”

She narrows her eyes at me and huffs dramatically. “You want a cut?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No. I don’t want to do it—even with a cut.”

“You can’t let me do this alone!” she whines as she flops back onto the bed.

I just shrug at her, but I can’t stop the huge grin that splits my face at how overdramatic she’s being.

And that’s just Gia—vibrant and full of life.

She finally props up on her elbows and inhales a deep breath before she levels a look at me that lets me know what’s she’s going to say next isn’t going to be anything good for me.

“Okay,” she begins solemnly. “I didn’t want to play this card, but you’ve forced my hand. Remember that time in sixth grade when I saved you from Mrs. Minard’s wrath by taking the heat when you knocked her precious roses her husband sent her off her desk?”

“That was an accident!” I protest, though I remember the incident all too well. Our math teacher had stepped out of the room, and I got up to sharpen my pencil. My shoelaces had come untied without me knowing it, and on my way back to my desk, I tripped over them and knocked Mrs. Minard’s lovely vase of roses off her desk.

Of course, the whole class had watched the entire ordeal in horror. No one laughed because Mrs. Minard was the strictest teacher in the school, and they knew I’d be toast for my mess-up.

Like the coward I was, I skittered back to my desk as soon as I heard the door opening, and when Mrs. Minard demanded to know who did it, Gia had confessed to the crime she didn’t commit while my cheeks stung with embarrassment.

I was so shy back then and terrified of getting in trouble—but not Gia. My best friend had always been fiercely courageous. She knew I couldn’t handle the pressure, so she stepped in and saved me.

And that’s not the only time she did that either.

I sigh as I see the triumph light her eyes. The shit-eating grin that splits her face lets me know she knows she’s got me right where she wants me.

I scowl at her half-heartedly as I grumble out, “So, when are we going to do this?”

“Yay!” Gia jumps up and starts doing her signature victory dance around the room.

And I can’t help but laugh at my ridiculous best friend.

I should have known I’d be doing this with her—whether I wanted to or not.

Like she said, we’re ride or die besties.

Two

Alex

I scowlas I arrange the itchy Santa beard on my face. I slip the fur-lined red cap on my head and scowl in the mirror. I look absolutely fucking ridiculous, and I can't believe this is how I'm going to meet my tiny angel. Out of all the scenarios I imagined when I dreamed of meeting her, it was never like this, but fuck. What am I supposed to do? I can't very well let her sit on some other man's lap.

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