Bad Boys Under the Mistletoe: A Begging for Bad Boys Collection

by Anthology

  “So good to see you, darling.” She leaned in and did some kind of idiotic air kiss in the direction of my cheeks, but at least she didn’t try to hug me. Her kids were probably already messed up enough by having her as a mother, they didn’t need to witness her getting bitch-slapped by an elf.

  I mumbled something that might have been “you too”—or a slightly less polite phrase that rhymed with it—and then I focused on her kids. One was a little boy of about three. I picked him up and balanced him on Todd’s thigh.

  Beatrice handed me the toddler, and I took her, softening a little at the sight of her little pink cheeks. Beatrice watched as I positioned her daughter on Todd’s other leg, waiting to let go until I was sure he had a firm hold on her.

  “And who’s your friend?” Beatrice said, batting her eyes in Todd’s direction.

  “This is Santa,” I said firmly. “Now if you’ll step back for a moment, I’ll snap a picture.” Or her neck. Either way.

  She stood back until I was done with the digital camera and then moved in. I picked up her daughter, and she grabbed her son by the hand, tugging him off Todd’s leg. “Don’t I get to sit your lap now? I’ve been an awfully good girl.”

  Shit, she was blatant. All you could see of Todd was his eyes and his nose. Well, and his hands. Yet that was enough to have her throwing herself at him. And she was married!

  She must have seen me glaring at her. “What? Santa’s a big boy. He can answer for himself.” We both looked at him then. He looked for a moment at me, probably seeing my red face as I cradled the little girl. Then he looked over at Beatrice. “Sorry, ma’am. There’s a weight limit to ride this ride.”

  Beatrice gawked at him for a few moments, her mouth open. I stared at Todd in shock, too, but with glee bubbling up inside me. But she recovered quickly. After another long moment, her mouth snapped shut, and she pasted a smile on her face. “Of course,” she said as she took her child back from me. “See you later, Olivia. Santa.”

  She swept her kid away, her head held high. But I wanted to kiss Santa on his barely visible lips. He winked at me, and I held up my hand. He gave me a high five, and I bounced away to get the next child in line.

  But I couldn’t help but grin for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 5

  Jackson

  “And what do you want for Christmas? A Nintendo? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a PlayStation?”

  Liv shot me a look, so I moved on. “Have you been good this year? Really? What have you done to be good?” The little boy eagerly spoke about his recent good deeds, making it sound like being good was an easy thing. I was living testament to the fact that it wasn’t. It was Friday, which meant I’d officially been Jolly Old Saint Nicholas for one week. And it had been hell.

  Not working with the kids. That part was not as bad as I’d feared. Liv did most of the hard stuff. She was great with them, calming the crying ones, redirecting the hyper ones, drawing out the shy ones. And the stories she told were pretty damn entertaining. The other day, she’d told a tall tale about how all elves took a year off when they turned sixteen to live in a treehouse by themselves to contemplate if they truly wanted to devote their lives to making toys. It seemed to be loosely based on that gap-year thing Amish teenagers did before committing themselves to a lifetime of no pizza, beer, or indoor plumbing.

  Midway through her story, half the kids in line were sitting on the floor at her feet as if it were a goddamn story hour. Even the kid on my lap had stopped his recitation of the three hundred presents he wanted to listen her. And I did, too. She was a wonderful storyteller.

  I thought about that for a bit. Had she been in high school? She’d been on the newspaper staff, too, mostly writing feature articles. But I thought I remembered her showing me a creative writing assignment or two for her English class. We’d been friends back then. Best friends. Up until the night of the prom.

  So dealing with the kids wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it was still an exhausting job because I had to pretend to be a decent person instead of a pathetic excuse for a human being. That meant getting there at 5:30 each evening to start putting on my Santa costume. She worked all day and got there on time, I barely did and I hadn’t worked in months.

  And then there was that whole being sober thing. Frankly, it sucked. But I managed to get here sober and on time most days. It helped that I only had to shave every so often. The stubbled didn’t show under the fake beard, anyway.

  Then once I was here, she did most of the hard work, leaving me free to joke with the kids and watch her. And I did watch her. The way she moved. The way she smiled. She’d been cute at eighteen, but now she’d matured into a lovely young woman. A full-figured woman. A goddess. I never would have guessed that at age twenty-four, she’d look like this. Her thick red hair swirled around her shoulders and bounced when she walked. Her breasts really filled out the scoop-neck of the tunic. And her hips… I could look at her hips sway when she walked for hours. And I frequently did. She was tireless, moving around the stage, snapping pictures, getting up and down to talk to the kids. And bending over. A lot. So yeah, there were some definite perks to being Santa.

  But tonight she wasn’t as fun to watch. I mean, she was still gorgeous, but she definitely had less bounce in her step, literally and figuratively. She seemed down, but we were busy and there was no time to ask her about it. “Who’s next?” I asked.

  She led a trembling little boy up to me, his small hand in hers. “This is… this is…” She bent down. “I’m sorry, honey, I forgot your name.”

  What? She never forgot a child’s name. Not once in a week. What was going on?

  The little boy whispered in her ear, and she smiled. “This is Dustin. He’s eager to talk to you, but a little shy.” She set Dustin on my knee, but then crouched down next to him, talking to him, encouraging him to tell me what he wanted. But so far, he’d only whisper to her, not me. It gave me a chance to study her up close. Her face was a picture of concentration, but I sensed tension in the set of her mouth. She’d been upset about something all night.

  Briefly, I wondered if it was me. She’d asked me for coffee the other day and I’d turned her down. I had to. I couldn’t show up at the coffeehouse in full Santa gear, and if I took it off, she’d see who I was and that would be the end of both our jobs. It was unlikely Old Man Reynolds would continue to employ a Santa whose elf wasn’t speaking to him.

  But maybe my answer hadn’t mattered to her. Maybe she’d just been asking to be friendly. Still… the possibility that she wanted to go out with me crossed my mind. That was a tempting thought, but of course it would never work. Not unless she’d somehow consent to being blindfolded for the evening. A preposterous idea, but nonetheless, one that made my balls ache and had me thinking inappropriate thoughts for quite some time.

  Finally, we made it to the end of the line. It was already fifteen minutes past when we were supposed to end our shift, and the store would be closing soon. I said goodnight to Liv and headed back to the stockroom where my clothes were. But instead of changing when I got there, I sat down on a stool, wishing I had a beer. Clearly, something was bothering her. And it was arrogant to think it had anything to do with me. She didn’t even know me. But maybe that meant I could help her. She’d never accept Jackson Young’s help, but she might accept Todd’s. Didn’t they say that it was sometimes easier to open up to a stranger? I’d found that to be true after I came back from the Middle East. Well, not that I’d opened up to much of anyone, but if I had, it would have been a stranger. Most likely at a bar.

  Still wearing my suit, I headed back out to the floor. The store was closed now, but there were workers around, counting up money from the register, sweeping and straightening. But all was quiet on the far side of huge tree. I found Liv at the little computer there, sending the pictures of the children posing with me to their parents. For the first time, it struck me how ironic it was that I was a world famous photographer and she was the one sn
apping pictures.

  She looked up when she heard footsteps. “Santa,” she said in surprise. And then she flushed. “I mean Todd. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see if you were okay.”

  Some kind of expression passed across her face. Some kind of softening of her eyes. “I’m good,” she said. “But thank you for asking. It’s been a rough day.”

  “With work?”

  “No,” she said, resting her forearms on the table. “Well, I mean yes, it gets tiring sometimes, but it’s not that.” But she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. She put the memory card back in the camera and put it in its case. Then she turned off the computer and tidied up the stage area, putting the stool back in its place and neatening the fake presents that kids always seemed to make a beeline for.

  “What’s wrong, Liv?”

  She frowned at that for a moment, and I realized that “Todd” didn’t call her that. “Or do you prefer Olivia?” I said, feigning innocence.

  “Either’s fine. But I’d just prefer not to talk about it. I don’t even know you,” she said, and a flash of irritation graced her features, making me think that she might be still angry about my turning down her coffee invitation the other day. But whatever else was bothering her was bigger than that.

  I moved close to her and grasped her by the arm when she made to move away. “Come here,” I said, tugging her toward my chair. Without letting her go, I sat down, pulling her to me so that she was standing between my spread legs. Then I took her by the waist and lowered her, so that she was perched on my thigh with her legs between mine. “Tell Santa what the matter is.”

  She laughed at that, but her voice sounded a little shaky. “You’re a toy maker, not a psychiatrist.”

  “I’m a good listener, though. Mall Santas are known for that.”

  She laughed again, but she leaned toward me a little when I wrapped my hand around her hips, pulling her closer to my chest. After a moment of resistance, she relaxed against my body, not exactly slumping against me, but not using the stiff upright posture she’d had a minute ago.

  I lightly stroked her hips with my fingers and spoke quietly. “Tell Santa your troubles.”

  “It’s my mom,” she said with a sigh.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s sick. Got a couple of things wrong with her, and it makes it so hard for her to move around. When I’m at work, she can’t go upstairs by herself, can’t cook… things are getting really bad for her.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said quietly, afraid to break the spell now that she was opening up. Instead, I keep stroking my fingers across her hip, lightly. Hypnotically.

  “The best thing for her is if we could get a smaller house. A one-story one that’s easier for her to navigate. She may need a wheelchair sometime, and our house is not equipped for that.”

  “Can you move?”

  “I’d love to, but we can’t afford it. We had a realtor look at our house, and she said we need to replace the roof if we want to have any hope of selling it. And we just don’t have the money. I pick up extra work whenever I can,” she said, gesturing around us, “but it’s not enough.”

  Moving my hand up to her side, I pulled her toward me, and now she did slump against me. I stroked her hair as I held her to me, enjoying the feel of her soft body against mine. Her silky hair under my fingers. Her breath was light on my neck, and I wondered if she was going to cry. I hoped not. I wasn’t good with crying females.

  But when she looked up at me, there weren’t any tears in her eyes. Instead, it almost looked like… longing. And that I knew what to do about. I buried my hand in her hair, tilting her head back, exposing her throat. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine and my lips. The side of her leg was nestled between mine, and I could feel the heat of her skin through the pants of the Santa suit.

  And then almost at the same moment, we moved to each other. Her eyes closed, and I tugged the beard down, wanting to taste her sweet lips, not the fake Santa hair. Her mouth was warm and soft. So soft as my tongue slid across her bottom lip and then the top. And then she opened her mouth and melted against me, her arm going round my neck. I held her close as I thoroughly explored her lips, her teeth, her tongue. What started out sweet grew into urgency, and I palmed her ass and pulled her even closer to me. Her knee was jammed against my crotch, and I was sure she could feel how aroused I was.

  She didn’t seem to mind as she moved her mouth against mine. Absently, she ran her fingers up my neck to my real hair, and I felt the wig and hat fall off. Then her hand was in my hair, rubbing, tugging, caressing. It was magical. The magical kiss we should have shared on prom night but didn’t.

  I still had my eyes closed when she kissed the corner of my mouth and then my cheek. By instinct, I nibbled my way down her neck to kiss her throat as she leaned her head back and moaned. “Liv…” I said softly as my lips grazed her neck.

  “Todd…” she moaned in reply, but then her moan cut off rather abruptly. I pulled back my head and opened my eyes to find her staring at me. She looked stunned, her blue eyes wide.

  “Umm… hi,” I said, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.

  “Jackson?” she said, disbelief in her voice despite the visual proof in front of her.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Jackson?” she said again, this time in a much higher pitch with a lot more decibels behind it.

  “Yes,” I said. “Look, I know I should have told you, but—”

  She leaped to her feet and backed away so rapidly that she almost fell off the stage. I jumped after her, grabbing her arm, not wanting to have to explain to the kids tomorrow how Santa let his elf break her leg.

  “Look, we’ve been working well together, could we just pretend that—”

  “No,” she said flatly, wrenching her arm away from me.

  “Liv, I know how you must feel about what happened after the prom, but—”

  “Actually, Jackson Young, you don’t know how I feel about that.” She drew her hand back and then slapped me across the face. Hard.

  “Now you do,” she said, and she grabbed her purse and stormed off.

  Chapter 6

  Jackson

  Where was she? I needed her. I was outnumbered here, big time. “One at a time. Just you. Yeah, you with the bowl haircut. Hey, it’s a compliment. But no, you wait. Go wait in line. Hey man, can you put the phone down for one minute and teach your kid what a damn line means?”

  It was five minutes into the Saturday shift, and I was never going to make it. Not without her. “Next? No, not the crying one. The one after that who looks like he’s on drugs. Why? Because Santa only takes pictures with non-crying children. What do you mean where’s the camera? You’ve got one on your phone, right? So take one with that. A flip phone? You have got to be kidding me.”

  This was a fucking nightmare. A woman was trying to deposit a screaming baby on my lap. Another little boy was clinging to my leg. And a woman was standing next to me, leaning over, trying to get a selfie with the two of us. Suddenly I wished I were back in a war zone. It kind of felt like I was.

  And then the cavalry arrived with a whirlwind of red and green. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go back in line, sir,” she said. “And ma’am? Could you please wait down there with your child? And you, young man, you seem to be first in line. What’s your name?”

  She bent down and listened for a minute and then scooped up the little boy and deposited him on my lap. “This is Marcus.” Without looking at me, she went to unlock her camera.

  As Marcus rambled on about some sort of Lego set, I watched her shoot the photos. She was pissed off at me, that much was clear. But I wasn’t sure if I was pissed off at her, too, or just grumpy because it was morning, and I hadn’t been able to sleep through it.

  Liv was crouched down now, facing us, and as she shifted positions, I caught a brief glimpse of her inner thighs before she glued her knees together agai
n. For some reason, that made me mad. I wasn’t trying to ogle her, I was just trying to do my fucking job. Spread a little fucking holiday cheer. “Don’t take the picture from below,” I snapped.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Stand up to take the picture. And step to the side a little. No one wants to see us a hundred percent straight on.”

  “Maybe the picture would look better if Santa’s eyes weren’t bloodshot.”

  “Fine,” I growled. “Take a lousy picture. Is that part of your elf-lore? Do you have some story for why elves are bad with cameras?”

  “Would you like to take the picture, Mr. Big Shot?” It was a little disconcerting to see a pointy-eared elf glare at anyone like that.

  “I’m just saying, if you listen to me, you’ll take a better picture.”

  “And if the kids listen to you, they’ll learn to swear and complain about everything.” She set the camera down on the table and lifted Marcus off my lap. As she did so, she hissed at me. “Next time, you can take the pictures, and I can sit there on my butt doing nothing the whole day.”

  She stalked off, holding the boy under his arms. “Just remember, nobody comes here to sit on an elf’s lap,” I growled after her. It felt good to get the last word in even if those words had been pretty fucking stupid.

  After that, we fell into an uneasy truce. We both realized that sniping at each other in front of the kids was a pretty fucking bad idea. As a teacher, she knew this, but I felt I should get points for coming to the realization myself. Putting others’ needs before my own was not my wheelhouse.

  And in the back of my vodka-soaked brain, I knew that she had every right to be mad, and I was an ass for being mad at her for being mad. But neither of us had left high school unscathed. In one night, I’d lost my best friend. The woman I’d come to care about very much. That it was my own fucking fault didn’t change that.