Jingle Balls

by Waltz, Vanessa

  "Of course, man. That’s what I’m here for."

  "Perfect."

  Ronan nestles the baby, who whines at the sudden disturbance. He coos to her as someone snaps a photo.

  I drape an arm across Santa’s shoulder, smile plastered on my face.

  "It’s time to go," I hiss through clenched teeth. "My tits are going to fall off."

  Sighing, he shakes his head. "We still have the dumb secret Santa exchange."

  "The what?"

  He closes his eyes. "Every year the neighborhood does a secret Santa."

  "Let’s just pick a name from the hat and go."

  "How? Kids aren’t dumb, you know. They’ll see me disappearing into my house and put two and two together."

  I gaze the scene of screaming, face-painted children, high on sugar, red-and-white streamers fluttering, and adults quietly getting plastered on mulled wine. Ronan might as well be a blimp in that outfit. There’s no escaping the horde.

  "My house has the side entry. We could pretend we’re heading to the North Pole, or something."

  "Whatever. Get me out of here."

  "Attention, everyone!" I beam at the crowd of whining children and harassed parents. "Thank you for coming, but Mr. Claus and I have some much-needed Christmas planning to attend to!"

  I loop an arm around his. Ronan extricates himself from the seat and wheezes out the millionth ho-ho-ho.

  "Bye, Santa!" Children run into our knees, screaming last-minute toy requests as we escape the tide.

  "Wait!" The neighborhood busybody forces a bowler hat into Ronan’s middle. "Pick a name!"

  Ronan grabs a strip of paper, and so do I. "Merry Christmas. Santa needs to lie down."

  We break free of the kids, pretending to stroll past our backyards into the boundless white void until they stop looking. Then we double back to my house.

  Ronan tears the beard from his ashen face, grimacing as crosses the threshold.

  "You okay?"

  "I will be in a sec. Fuck this fucking fat suit."

  In the mudroom, he yanks the belt from his middle and lets it drop. Then he unzips the red suit that desperately needs a dry clean. I help him take off his extra blubber, and he steps out of his boots, clad in nothing but a white undershirt and boxers. Limping to the living room, he collapses onto the sofa. Then he rests his feet on the coffee table.

  I duck into my room, itching to peel the red leggings off.

  "You get a free show, but I don’t?" Ronan calls. "Not fair."

  "Yeah, well. Too bad."

  I slip into skinny jeans and a tank, running fingers through my hair. I shouldn’t allow him to stay. He’s practically naked, and I’m battling a huge crush. It’s a ripe opportunity for something to happen.

  I’ll let him rest for a few minutes, and then I’ll kick him out.

  I reenter the living room. Ronan’s eyes snap to me with a deep, searching look. Arms sprawled over the couch, he beckons me. There isn’t much room on the loveseat. I’ll be within arms reach no matter where I sit. That’s probably the idea.

  I hesitate. "Need anything? Tea?"

  "Fuck tea." His voice is like iron. "Come here."

  Don’t show him you care.

  A shiver zips down my spine. Stepping over his leg, I sink into the cushions beside him. I’m too close. My bare shoulder brushes against his arm.

  He turns to me, eyes hotter than fire. "I still want you."

  "When are you going to drop this?"

  "Not until you can look at me, tell me you don’t feel the same, and mean it."

  Never, in other words.

  I meet his striking blues, determined to say exactly that, but then he touches me. It’s only a gentle brush of his fingers, but more than enough to jumpstart the lust I thought I’d buried. Images roll through my mind: me straddling Ronan’s waist, embracing him, and meet his lips in a kiss.

  "Gigi?"

  I’ve been silent for way too long. "I should get to my studies."

  Ronan smirks as though he can see into my mind. "Now you’re pretending you have exams when you’re on the quarter system, and you don’t start new classes until after the break."

  "I’m studying for the MCATs, you dork."

  "That’s what you want to be, huh? Can’t say I’m that surprised."

  A bolt of anxiety pricks my heart. "I’m not sure, but I have to decide soon."

  "Why are you on the fence?"

  "There’s a lot of self-sacrifice on that path. I’m not sure if I’m willing to do it."

  "Yeah, I know what you mean."

  Despite myself, I laugh. How could this spoiled, privileged football star understand anything about me?

  "I could spend the next few years battering my body, or I could do something else." Ronan sobers, sliding a swollen ankle over his knee. "Believe me, I’ve considered it."

  "What did you decide?"

  He massages his ankle briefly before setting it down. "I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out."

  He squeezes my shoulder before lurching to his feet.

  I follow him. "You’re leaving?"

  "You sound disappointed."

  I am.

  My cheeks blaze as Ronan gives me a one-armed hug. "Thanks for letting me hide out here. I’d stay, but I have to run errands for Mom."

  I pat his back, hoping Ronan can’t feel my heartbeat. He holds me for a second longer than he should, sliding from my hands. Regret splinters his gaze.

  I walk him to the mudroom. "I guess I’ll see you around."

  "You will. Promise."

  He smiles at me before disappearing out the side door with his Santa gear, and I smile.

  Ronan

  "Baby, it’s nippley outside."

  Clad in her way too sexy Mrs. Claus dress, Gigi pauses ringing the bell to glare at me. "Will you stop?"

  "I can’t. I’m bored."

  Gigi dragged me to the grocery store to stand on the sidewalk in our Santa outfits and beg for donations. I didn’t want to go. I really didn’t. Dealing with crying children for hours was bad enough. My voice was hoarse.

  But she wanted me to come.

  I’ve got her right where I want her. Panting for me. Gigi’s a woman I could fuck seven ways to Sunday and never get bored. I hope she comes to her senses before we leave. Until then, I’m roped into all kinds of stupid events, like this dumb charity drive. I’ve always wondered how many give money to people ringing a bell outside grocery stores. Now I know—not a lot.

  "Donate to the children’s hospital," Gigi deadpans to customers leaving the store. "Please help others."

  "You could sound more excited. How 'bout putting more pep in your step? A little zing, some oomph—"

  "How about you be quiet?"

  "I was under the impression I was supposed to be loud. You’re sending mixed messages, Good Girl. In more ways than one."

  Gigi halts ringing to face me, agitation written all over her features. "Don’t call me that. I’ve told you a thousand times."

  "I know, but most of what you say goes right through me."

  "Because you’re a brainless jock?"

  "Because I can see your nipples." I point at her chest. The thin velvet-like fabric reveals exactly how cold she is. "I’ve been trying to give you a heads up."

  Mortified, she glances down. "Well, there’s nothing I can do about them."

  "Yes, there is. Let’s go home."

  Her saccharine smile twitches. "I thought football players were supposed to be tough."

  "I don’t want to be here! I want a break from this Santa Claus shit."

  "Fine, then give up like the spoiled brat I know you are."

  Behind her snark is a throbbing ache for my cock. It’s the only explanation for her hostility. "Babe, I’m not going anywhere. Wherever you go, I follow."

  "Lucky me."

  "I’m the one who should be bitching. You think I want to spend my holiday like this? What’s the point, anyway? You hate this Christmas shit as much
as I do."

  "That is the point, Ronan. You hate it."

  Well, fuck.

  "Kids coming," she hisses. Gigi grins a ridiculous smile.

  I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to my side. A family with two toddlers in tow spills from the grocery. The little boy shrieks with excitement, and his Mom and Dad put a five-dollar bill in his mitten, which Gigi slides in the donation box. “Merry Christmas!"

  I splay my fingers over her midsection, thumbing her waistband.

  Should I do it?

  Fuck it. I slide my icicle hands against her bare waist.

  She releases an ungodly shriek. "God, that’s cold!"

  "I had to do it. Sorry."

  "You’ll pay for that!"

  She shoves my chest. My boot slides on an icy patch. "Fuck!"

  I lose my balance and fall, my ass slamming onto concrete. A family walks from the sliding doors, gasping at the sight. Horror fills Gigi’s gaze as she looks at the five-year-old girl in a pink parka, and then to me.

  And the child screams. "You hurt Santa!"

  "Oh no," Gigi moans. "Sweetie, I didn’t hurt him."

  "I saw you push him!"

  Much as it’d be hilarious to continue watching Gigi’s epic fall from grace, I should probably save her. I stand, grinning. "I’m okay, little girl."

  She peers at me. "Are you really Santa?"

  I rub my beardless chin. "Nah. I’m one of his helpers. So’s my wife. We were only horsing around. "

  "Oh," she says. "Okay."

  The mother tugs the child along, and the family walks to the parking lot.

  Gigi releases a sigh.

  "Close shave, Good Girl."

  Tension knots her jaw as she rings the bell.

  "Gigi, seriously, how long are we going to stand here?"

  "Until my damn toes fall off. Is that all right with you?"

  "No, not really." A couple in their twenties approaches us, smiling. I put my hand on Gigi’s shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

  "You guys look so cute together!" The woman in a blue North Face jacket drops coins into the box.

  "T-thanks," Gigi chatters.

  "Gigi, you’re freezing," I whisper when they’re gone. "Come on. Let’s go inside."

  "No."

  "Then I’ll be forced to resort to desperate measures."

  An eyebrow arches high. "Which are?"

  "I’ll say filthy things to get your blood running hot." My hand wraps around her shoulder as I pull her closer. She leans into my warmth. "The first thing I’ll do to you when I get you alone—"

  "—if you get me alone."

  "Hush, I’m talking. When I get you alone, I’ll tug that dress down your unbelievably tight body, starting with the straps. Like this."

  I slide my pinky through the tantalizing strap, snapping it against her skin.

  "Ronan, don’t be a troll."

  "Shh, I’m just starting. Now, you’re cold, so I’ll probably do this in front of the fireplace. When I’ve pulled your dress and stockings free, I’ll hold your body, cradling you against my chest. I liked having you on my lap—I want to feel your naked ass touching my cock—but I’m getting ahead of myself."

  Tight-lipped, Gigi watches the customers ignore us as she keeps ringing the bell.

  "First, I need to remove your bra. Like so."

  Finding the strap takes a moment, but once it’s in my grasp I twist. The latch pops, and Gigi’s eyes widen. She stops ringing, hands white against the brass.

  "Then I’d slip off that bra and spend a lot of time playing with your tits. They’re cold, especially your nipples, and they need my attention."

  Gigi’s cheeks are on fire. "Stop."

  "Not until we’re breathless and spent from fucking."

  Suddenly, Gigi marches to the parking lot, bell tolling at her side. She snatches the red hat from her head and stalks to her car.

  "Why?" she snaps.

  "Why what?"

  "Why should I have anything to do with you? Sell yourself."

  I laugh. "Do you want the numbers of the girls I’ve banged? I’m an amazing lay."

  She pops the trunk and hurls the hat inside, along with the donations. "So are hundreds of other men."

  "First of all, I seriously doubt that. Second, we have unresolved sexual tension."

  Slipping her hair behind her ear, she yanks open the driver’s side of her mom’s car. I slide into the passenger seat, sighing when a blast of hot air strikes my knees. She closes her eyes, basking in the heat, thawing her hands in front of the vents.

  "Just because I gave you a boner once, doesn’t mean I’m lusting after you."

  "Enough with the I-don’t-want-him act, because you’re not fooling anyone." I slip from the Santa suit, throwing the jacket in the backseat, watching her gaze rake my chest and arms. "You want me. And why shouldn’t you? I’m the hot, young stud next door, who you’ve always dreamed of—"

  "Always?"

  "Yeah, you’ve clearly had a crush on me since the beginning."

  I expect her to blush and turn away, but Gigi laughs, the sound like chiming bells. "Ronan, I hated you. You were the jerk who pulled down my pants in front of everyone—"

  "I apologized for that!"

  "How about the time you filled my locker with condoms? Or when you snuck into my house and glitter bombed my panties? Or when you sent me an invitation to the 'party in your pants?'"

  It was getting harder to smile. "I’m sorry. It was all in good fun, honestly."

  "Was that your excuse for ruining my sixteenth birthday?"

  "Oh, come on. I didn’t—"

  "You’re really going to sit there and deny you filled those balloons with glue?" Gigi starts the car and pulls from the parking space, her rage growing the further she goes down memory lane. "You egged my prom date. Remember that? Because of you, I spent the whole night crying on my couch."

  "It was a coincidence. I didn’t know he was your date."

  "Whatever. You were in every horrible incident of my childhood."

  My insides churn. "You’re right. I was an unbelievable prick, and I’m sorry."

  She softens. "Thank you."

  "I’m not the same guy. I’m really not."

  She keeps her eyes straight ahead as she shrugs. "I want nothing to do with you."

  Does she mean it? "Look, that’s not only the reason I tag along everywhere you go. I promised Mom I’d watch over you."

  "Why?"

  "Er—she was worried about you after your breakup."

  Gigi turns onto our tree-lined street. "So all this time…you weren’t just trying to get into my pants?"

  "I’m a complicated man."

  "No, you’re not." She pulls into the driveway. "And you can tell your mom your services are no longer needed. I’m fine."

  But people who are fine don’t hurl the word as though it’s a dagger. I leave the car after grabbing my suit, wishing I could trash it. I sling it over my shoulder without a goodbye from Gigi, whose Christmas wreath falls when she slams the door.

  I walk home, heaving a sigh. A pale, malevolent face shines from my brother’s bedroom window. He smirks, giving me two thumbs up.

  Gigi

  My ex-fiancé’s text fills the screen.

  James: Just checking in…r u okay? Btw still no sign of my sweater

  Reading his name makes my stomach cave in, but my anxiety gutters out before I drop the bag into the shopping cart.

  Does he really have nothing better to do but badger me about clothes? How am I supposed to know where it is?

  Dear James, I stab my reply. Kiss my ass.

  I’m rooted to the spot with my thumb poised over the send button. Then I delete everything and tuck my phone away. I don’t do drama. I always rise above. Hell, I earned the Good Girl moniker because of it.

  Shoving James from my mind, I push the shopping cart. Its squeaky wheels roll down the baking aisle, where I grab ingredients to make apple crisp. Mom should be home tomorrow,
so I want to stock up on groceries. She doesn’t need to know I’ve sustained mostly on bananas and bags of chips while she was gone.

  I pass the butcher counter, scanning the packaged, sterilized lumps of chicken breast. A man in a long wool coat leans over the glass, blocking my view of the prices.

  "Two double-cut pork chops, please. And do you have ham hocks?"

  God, it’s Ronan’s brother.

  Growing up, the only person I hated more than Ronan was his brother, the co-conspirator to many of Ronan’s pranks. Liam and Ronan aren’t twins, but they’re very similar in Dave and James Franco way. Liam is his younger brother’s identical, except in his slimmer build and narrowed eyes.

  Liam orders the food in his oily manner and spots me before I slink away. "Gigi Gallo!" He says my whole name as though I’m a student in one of his classes.

  "That’s me."

  Liam grins through flattened teeth. It’s a very Ewan McGregor smile. "How’re you doing?"

  "Good." I have to get out of here.

  "Stay and chat a little."

  A harmless request, but I know better. The Smith boys are nothing but trouble. "Sorry, can’t."

  The butcher slaps the bundled meat on the counter. I walk away, heels tapping the floor as I search for a place that a man like Liam would never dare venture—the feminine products aisle.

  I wade to the center of the bright-pink packages, pretending I don’t hear his footsteps. My face burns as he walks past. I pray he’ll head straight for the craft beer section, but he stops and makes a beeline for me.

  "Are you hiding from me?" Liam picks one of the heavy flow tampon bags, and offers it to me. "Is this what you’re looking for?"

  "Asshole." I slap it out of his hands. The package bursts on the floor, scattering plastic wrapped tubes everywhere. "Damn it."

  He chuckles heartily, bending to help me scoop them up. "Relax, I don’t bite."

  "Since when?" An angry flush fills my face as he shrugs. "You and Ronan were the terror of the neighborhood."

  "Sorry. I like to think I’ve learned the error of my ways."

  Doubt it.

  I face a wall of genital itch cream and Vagisil, hoping their proximity will melt his flesh away, but Liam is nonplussed. Maybe he really has grown up.