Jingle Balls

by Waltz, Vanessa

I’m miserable once she climbs into the driver’s seat, looks at me, and bursts into laughter.

  "Put the A/C on. Now."

  Gigi wipes tears of mirth from her cheeks. "This is the best day ever."

  "You better be nice, or Santa will drag you over his lap and spank your ass."

  "In front of the children?" Gigi starts the car, and turns the air at full blast. "I can’t imagine you would."

  She pulls from the lot and drives over the speed bump. The jostling is incredibly uncomfortable.

  "Please hurry. I want out of this thing as soon as possible."

  "Get used to it. You’ll be wearing it over and over and over—"

  "Whatever. I don’t care."

  "Yeah," she laughs. "Sure."

  * * *

  Walking into the children’s ward is a sobering experience. I’ll never complain about wearing this suit again. My biggest problems are a busted ankle and a deadbeat dad occasionally hitting me up for money, which seem insignificant now.

  Green cardboard cutouts of trees plaster the walls of the children’s ward. Garlands of fake snow makes rings around the hospital room windows. A kid with a heavily scarred face plays in a miniature car. He stops at the sight of me, mouth agape. "Santa?"

  "Ho, ho, ho!" The beard’s fibers tickle my nose when I smile. I give my best impression of a belly laugh. "Come here!"

  The boy stumbles from the red car, backless nighty streaming as he bowls into my legs. I wrap my arms around him. It feels like hugging a bird.

  "I can’t believe you’re here!"

  "What’s your name, young man?"

  "Tom!"

  "Come with me, Tom." I take his hand, guiding him to the playroom, which is decorated in anticipation of my arrival. A plastic chair sits in the middle of a sterile room. LCD screens hang above, streaming The Grinch. A mountain of toys sit in organized boxes. The kids here are clearly looked after, but it’s a grim place in which to grow up.

  At least I can be a bright spot in their day. The throne meant for Santa is wrapped in gold twine. Red construction paper sticks to the seat, glitter everywhere. I doubt my fat ass will fit, but I have to try for the kiddos.

  Gigi wraps her arm around my shoulder and waves at them, plastic gold wedding ring flashing on her hand. Children wearing glum expressions explode with delight when they see us.

  A scream splits the air. A girl whose head is wrapped in a shawl points at me. "It’s Santa!"

  All decorum forgotten, the children stampede into the playroom and surround the chair.

  "Hold on, kids. Santa needs to sit down." I sink into the seat they decorated, the suit squeaking loudly.

  "Oh, Santa!" Gigi wrinkles her nose and wafts the air. "You have to go easy on the cookies!"

  A chorus of giggles run through the crowd. "Santa, did you fart?"

  "Yes," I say, knowing they’ll love it. "And I’m not ashamed. Tooting is a perfectly normal body thing."

  "Kids, Mr. and Mrs. Claus have lots of children to visit." A harassed-looking nurse wearing festive scrubs ushers them into a line.

  One by one, Gigi hoists them onto my lap. They’re not heavy, poor things, as sick as they are. Most of them ask for better health. Promising them to do my best guts me. It’s hard not to get a little teary-eyed when Tom asks if he could just go home for Christmas.

  After visiting the children too ill to leave their beds, Gigi and I walk to the elevators in silence. Her wide grin disappears the moment the doors shut, after Tom waves goodbye for the fifth time.

  Gigi seems to shrink against the wall.

  I need a pick-me-up. "Jesus, that was rough."

  "Those poor kids." Gigi’s voice breaks. "When Tom asked you for a new face, I almost lost it."

  "Me too."

  A tear streaks down Gigi’s face. "It was worth it, though."

  "Always is."

  "You’ve done this before?"

  "Oh yeah. I visit fans that write to me—mostly kids. They’re more resilient than we give them credit for." I touch Gigi’s shoulder because I hate seeing her like this. "Don’t cry. I’m not sure I can handle it after all the kids."

  She laughs.

  The elevator doors ding, opening to the lobby. She walks to the parking lot. A chime echoes in my impossible-to-reach pocket.

  "Could you?"

  Gigi fishes her keys from her purse. "You want me to stick my hand into your pants?"

  "I’m asking you to get my phone, not grab my dick."

  She sends me a withering look.

  "You’ve changed so much since high school, Good Girl."

  Her cheeks flush when she retrieves my cell and hands it over. "Here."

  I scowl at the screen. "Ugh."

  Lance: Dude, r u coming to my party?

  Me: Can’t right now. I’m in a fat suit. Long story.

  Lance: Wtf? Just come. Don’t be a puss.

  Groaning, I wedge open the door and squeeze into Gigi’s tiny car. "I have a favor to ask you."

  She snorts. "This should be good."

  "Come to a party with me. We could both use fun after that hospital visit."

  "No thanks."

  "Please?" I try not to sound whiny. "I really don’t want to go alone."

  "What are you, fifteen?"

  "It’s Lance’s party. I’m sort of expected to be there."

  She starts the car. "Then cancel."

  "I can’t…it’s complicated."

  Gigi doesn’t understand how deep bro codes run. She had her own posse in high school, but I’m pretty sure her group didn’t have a list of stupid rules. Bros before hoes. Lance still uses that as a mantra. I’m tired of keggers and drinking shots. Really not my thing anymore.

  "If you’re my ride, I have an ironclad reason to leave the party early. Look, some of your friends will be there. Liana is coming, too."

  "How about this—I’ll come if you go as Santa."

  "Seriously?"

  She grins wider. "Yes."

  "Fine. Have it your way, you sadist."

  Gigi

  The snowmen have carrots for penises. That’s when I realize this party will blow. One of them tips, its face eating the concrete. I step over its carcass and walk to a door flashing with red and white lights. Music booms, vibrating the handle.

  I glance at Ronan. "Isn’t this his mom’s house?"

  "Yeah," he sighs. "He told me it was a small get together."

  "Does Lance realize he’s not a teenager anymore?" I peer inside the fogged windows. "Why doesn’t he rent a hotel?"

  "I don’t know, Good Girl. It’s not my place to judge." Ronan scratches his stubble. He left his fake beard in the car. "One hour, and we’re gone."

  I knock. The door swings a second later, revealing Lance, decked head to toe in green. Antlers, intertwined with flashing lights, sprout from a reindeer cap.

  "Sick. You came!" He grabs Ronan, the bells on his ugly sweater jangling. "Love the costume. You’re like a frat boy gone to seed."

  "That’s rich, considering you are one."

  "Huh?" Lance squints at me, deaf from the music.

  Ronan coughs, digging his elbow into my side. "Gigi came with."

  "Hey."

  "Sup." Lance’s grin falters. "Want a Jell-O shot?"

  A tray of jiggling red and white Jell-O shots hovers under my nose.

  I wave them away. "I’m driving."

  "They’re not that strong."

  Not true, Ronan mouths behind his head.

  "Thanks, but I’ll pass."

  Lance rolls his eyes. "Suit yourself. At least this one hasn’t changed."

  A throb of anger pulses in my jaw. "Whatever."

  Ronan pops a Jell-O shot into his mouth, gaze narrowed at Lance. "Be nice, dude. She’s my ride."

  "Ronan! Holy shit." A coterie of bros clutching craft beers drift into the foyer, goggling at him. Their sides burst with laughter, but Ronan takes it in stride, hi-fiving them.

  We slide into the next room. It’s a mess. Drippin
g plastic cups are strewn over a dining table. Sweets and microwaved snacks sit on plates, already picked through. What’s left of a cake stands on a platter, crumbs scattered like confetti.

  Beer bottles cover every surface, moisture rings forming on the furniture. No one’s using a napkin or a coaster, and all I can think about is poor Lance’s mother. She’ll clean this tomorrow morning, not him. The way Lance stumbles from room to room, I’m giving him an hour before he passes out.

  This is so not my scene. I don’t care for chaos. Even when I was in high school, I didn’t seek out parties like this. It could be because Mom let me try a bit of booze when I was a kid, but I never made a habit out of getting drunk.

  Who wants a hangover?

  Apparently, everyone’s here. I scan the crowd as the bros hijack Ronan, which keeps throwing desperate looks over his shoulder. He finally fights his way through them, and clings to my side.

  "I just escaped them." Cheeks blazing, he tears the adhesive from his fake double chin. He removes the entire thing. It disappears into his pocket a second later. "That feels so much better." His face splits with a wide grin when he catches me watching. "I’m way hotter without it. Is that what you’re thinking?"

  Yes. "I’m thinking your head’s too big for that suit."

  His voice deepens. "You know what else is over sized?"

  "Your ass."

  His booming laughter draws stares. I expect him to join the conga line dancing to Jingle Bell Rock, but he sticks to me like glue.

  "What’s your deal? Go guzzle beer and eat Jell-O shots until you’re sick."

  "I’d rather annoy you." Ronan runs a seductive finger down his bursting chest. "You know you want some of this."

  I smile in spite of myself. So he’s capable of making fun of himself. Good.

  "Ronan! Oh my God, it is you!" A perky blonde wearing a lopsided Santa hat elbows between us. "What are you doing in that thing?"

  I vaguely recall her from the group of ditzy girls who attended all the football practices and games and sat in the first row.

  "Hey, Karen." Ronan sweeps me into his arm. "Remember Gigi?"

  She yanks me into a one-armed hug. "Yes, oh my God! How cute. You’re in matching costumes."

  "Yep."

  Karen pulls away, beaming. "So you’re dating now? That’s crazy."

  Ronan opens his mouth, but I cut across. "No—we’re not. We both got roped into wearing these. It’s a long story."

  Ronan slides his arm around my shoulder. "Our moms forced us."

  What is he doing?

  Confusion muddles Karen’s gaze. She stares at me, a question burning on her lips. "Huh. Okay."

  "So how long you in town?"

  "A few weeks." Karen seizes his hand, dragging him from me. "Come meet the others!"

  "But—" Ronan’s comforting weight disappears from my side as he follows the blonde. He throws me an annoyed glance as though it’s my fault.

  "Hey, you!" Liana swoops in from nowhere, clutching two drinks. She laughs, taking in my getup. "Getting in the Christmas spirit? I didn’t know you and Ronan were seeing each other."

  Ugh. I didn’t realize how it would seem if he and I showed up to a party wearing matching costumes. Of course, she thinks we’re together.

  "We’re not dating."

  Liana grins knowingly. "Okay."

  "Honest to God, we’re cosplaying as Mr. And Mrs. Claus for a few events."

  "I see."

  A chorus of male laughter draws our gaze to the next room, where a protesting Ronan is forced onto a chair. Lance immediately sits on his lap. A girl with a football jersey tied around her waist asks "Santa" when it’ll be her turn.

  My stomach turns. I force my attention to Liana, who pins me with her shrewd gaze. "What?"

  "You look like you could use a drink."

  I take her proffered cup and down half its contents. The vodka burns my throat.

  "So how did you and Ronan end up—er—so friendly?"

  "We’re next-door neighbors, not friends." My lips burn as the alcohol spreads over my body. "I run into him wherever I go."

  "He’s the last person I expected to see with you. Ronan was kind of an ass to you in school."

  "He’s still a brat. God, look at him."

  A queue of girls line up to sit on Ronan’s lap. Egging them on, Lance pushes a giggling brunette onto Ronan. She latches onto him, groping his fat suit.

  "Everyone who sits on Santa’s lap gets five dollars!" Lance produces a stack of bills from his pocket.

  Ronan’s audible groan is lost as partygoers line up. The drunken brunette balancing on his knee leans closer and closer, until she’s finally kissing his cheek.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Liana follows the direction of my gaze, laughing along with everyone else. Resentment ripples through me. I don’t know why—only that my feelings are connected with Ronan and the girls vying for his attention.

  Stupid party. I didn’t come here to watch him flirt.

  Why does it bother me?

  If we were friends, I’d laugh this off as ridiculous holiday high jinks, but I’m not amused in the least. The plastic cup snaps in my hand.

  "Whoa. Are you upset?"

  "Nope. I’m annoyed." Needing something to do, I grab two peppermint Jell-O shots and inhale them. Wow, they do taste like candy. And the alcohol flavor is very mild. I pop three more, savoring the marshmallow texture.

  "You should really slow down on those." Liana bites into a pizza bagel, makes a face, and puts it back. "They could really wreck your shit."

  Perhaps that’s what I need. "Good. And then everyone can stop calling me Good Girl."

  "Who cares what they think? You have way more going for you than these idiots."

  "Only because I put every waking moment into studying. I’ve never been to a college party. Studying for premed takes over everything."

  "Well, all I’m saying is the grass is always greener." A condescending smirk dimples Liana’s face. "You don’t think Lance has regrets? The guy works at RadioShack. Who the hell shops there anymore?"

  Liana makes perfect sense, but I don’t care to take the high road. For once, I want to let my hair down. Eat a few Jell-O squares, forget about responsibility, and see where the night takes me.

  I grab Liana and drag her into the other room, where ugly-sweater-wearers cheer as we join the line to sit on Santa’s lap. A harassed Ronan tolerates his next visitor, a blushing woman in knee-high riding boots. As she slides from his knees, he grabs a treat bag from a bowl, gives it to her, and reminds her to be good.

  Anger throbs in my stomach, mingling with the warmth from the Jell-O shots.

  Liana shakes with laughter. "I don’t think I’m up for this."

  "Come on! It’ll be fun."

  "No way. I have a boyfriend." Liana bites her lip, grinning. "You should totally go for it, though. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out he likes you."

  "Ronan?"

  "Yeah, he keeps staring at you, hoping you’ll join him. It’s sweet, really."

  She’s had too many shots. There’s simply no chance Ronan has a thing for me. If anything, I’m the one with unresolved feelings. He’s entertaining women on his lap while I sulk, wishing I were one of them.

  Mind swimming, I stand behind a pair of scantily dressed gals having a hushed conversation, but not really succeeding.

  "Fat suit or not, I’d do him. He’s so hot. All I want for Christmas? Ronan between my legs."

  "Jesus, Kara. Keep it down." The blonde swipes the drunken girl’s shoulder. "His girlfriend is here."

  "Gigi? She’s not with him."

  "I heard they came together."

  "Please. That priss couldn’t keep a man like Ronan satisfied," Kara boozily mutters. "She’s never sucked D in her life."

  I laugh, drawing the blonde’s horrified gasp. What a dumb conversation. Is that supposed to scare me off Ronan? Make me curl up in a corner and cry? They’ll have to do better than t
hat.

  Kara has the grace to blush with embarrassment. "We didn’t know you were there."

  "You’re too basic for me to deal with. 'Scuse me." I brush past, stumbling to the head of the line. Ronan looks up, annoyed. His expression transforms when he recognizes me.

  "Gigi. What a pleasant surprise."

  "Aren’t you supposed to be in character?"

  A smirk staggers across his handsome features. "You’ll slap me if I say ho to your face."

  "No, I won’t." I climb onto his lap, straddling his waist instead of sitting across his knees. "See?"

  I’m dimly aware that I’ve taken a flying leap across appropriate and landed somewhere near dirty. I take Ronan’s hands and put them on my waist. Then I link my arms around his neck.

  Ronan’s heartbeat crashes into my hands. I play with his hair, and his gaze widens. "How many shots did you have?"

  "Shouldn’t you ask me if I’ve been a good girl?" The fat suit keeps me from his body, but there’s nothing between my ass and his muscled thighs. His breath hitches as I adjust myself. A bulge rises against my panties.

  His lips twitch. "You’re giving everyone a free show, Gigi."

  "That’s right."

  Ronan seems stunned into silence. He recovers with a broad grin. "You wait until I wear the fat suit to climb onto my lap?"

  "What can I say? Maybe I’m turned on by the extra weight."

  Ronan chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "You are so drunk."

  "Do I need to be to ride you?"

  "You’ve never acted this in front of me. I’m a little taken aback." He turns his head, whispering in my ear. "And really turned on."

  My veins scorch with desire. "Your heart is beating very fast."

  "You’re teasing me and it’s working," he groans, jaw going slack. "Damn."

  Enraptured by my antics, Ronan’s touch glides up my stomach. His head tips back, his lips inviting a kiss. His mouth parts as he breathes my name.

  "Gigi."

  I want him.

  A wolf whistle splits the air, followed by wild laughter.

  Our bubble bursts, and I need to get away from him.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I slide from Ronan, avoiding the kiss that would’ve been explosive. I could feel the sparks in the air, and I’m not sure it’s the booze. Shrugging off the catcalls, I leave Ronan with a raging boner. Their cheers chase my back as I disappear into another room.