by Max Monroe
At the bottom of the stairs, I came skidding to a stop as a blur of red streaked by me and into the living room. Dick Cummings, my father and former stand-up comedian, dressed up as Santa Claus.
Santa. Dick.
Oh. My. God.
First of all, I really needed to work a little harder with Julia and the whole extra S with every damn word situation. And secondly, I needed to force my heart back into a normal rhythm.
I held a hand to my chest and took a few deep breaths. When that didn’t work, I took twenty more and closed my eyes. By the time I’d calmed down enough not to feel like I was going to go into some sort of cardiac arrest, Santa Dick was already passing out what appeared to be sheet music to everyone in the group, while the kids danced around him chanting, “Say Ho Ho Ho!”
Of course, Santa Dick obliged. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
“Yay!” Julia squealed. “Is it time for songs now?”
“It sure is, little lady,” my dad responded, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream or cry.
Lucky for me, it was at that exact moment that my husband came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “You doing okay, baby?” he whispered into my ear, and I shook my head.
He turned me in his arms and pressed me close to his chest while everyone inside the house started the first, very off-key lyrics of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Air filled my lungs again, and the burn in my chest evaporated.
Sometimes, when things weren’t going as planned, you really just needed a hug from your person. And Kline, he was definitely my person.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered into my ear, and I leaned back to meet his eyes.
“You bought us another cabin farther up the mountain that we can go stay in right now?”
He smirked and shook his head. “I called in some favors. Ones that might earn me some of a sexual nature a little later.”
“What kind of favors?” I questioned, even as an excited shiver ran through me. “Tell me you didn’t order Santa’s Dick a prostitute?”
“Fucking hell,” he choked through a laugh. “We really need to get her to cool it with the extra S’s.”
“You’re telling me,” I responded. “When I heard her tell Ace to come downstairs to see Santa’s Dick, I nearly croaked.”
Kline chuckled. “I thought Thatch had made another gargoyle dick faux pas.”
I rolled my eyes, but my body tingled as happy memories assaulted me. Secrets and firsts and everything else that led me to this moment, in this man’s arms.
“So,” I said and nudged my hip against his, “what about these favors?”
“The rest of the meals over the next two days will be catered, by a renowned chef out of the city not with the Meals on Wheels establishment, and I managed to fix the sleeping situation.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “Thank you.” I didn’t even know what to say. Normally, I would’ve asked him one million questions about how he managed it and inquired about the exact details of everything, but I was just too damn relieved that my husband knew I was about to break, and he took it upon himself to find a solution. “Just…thank you.”
He touched his mouth to mine.
God, I’m so fucking lucky.
Tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Always doting, devoted, and thoughtful to his core, my husband was my fucking person. Always.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek and then the other.
“These aren’t sad tears.”
“I love you, Georgia girl.”
“I love you too,” I whispered back. “So much.”
“All right, baby…” Kline smiled and held out his hand as he moved back toward the living room. “I think it’s time we join in on the Christmas carol fun.”
By the time we reached the group, they had moved on to “Jingle Bells.”
“Georgie! Kline!” Santa Dick shouted toward us. “You’re late to the caroling party! Grab some sheet music, and get with the holiday program!”
Cool it, Santa Dick.
Dressed head to toe in red velvet with a big white beard resting at the very top of his rotund belly while leading—more like forcing—our big group into another Christmas carol, my father was out of fluffing control.
But a girl could only handle so many panic attacks in a twenty-four span of time, so the only thing I could do was sing along with Santa Dick.
“Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way…” he sang at the top of his lungs. “C’mon, Cassie!” Dick nodded reassuringly in my best friend’s direction and patted his big, fluffy stomach. “Santa can’t hear that beautiful voice of yours! Jingle all the way, sweetheart! Nobody likes a half-assed jingler. Ain’t that right, Georgie?”
All I could do was sigh internally, but Cassie’s reaction was far more volatile. She glared right into Santa’s jolly eyes. “Suck it, Santa Dick.”
It was safe to say I wasn’t the only one ready to strangle Santa with my bare hands.
“Suck it!” Ace repeated his mother’s words.
“Ah, man, Cass,” Thatch chimed in. “Watch the language around the kids, honey.”
She glared directly at her husband, and before additional, very colorful, completely inappropriate words could fly from my best friend’s lips, I did the only thing I could do in that moment. I started singing. At the top of my lungs.
“Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way!”
Thank everything that it only took half of the first verse before everyone else was singing along with me.
Sometimes you just had to give in to the insanity and make the best of it, right?
White Chaotic Christmas
December 25th, Christmas Morning
Morning light bled into the windows and danced as trees in the yard cut in front of the sun and back again. I reached out and patted across the space on the bed beside me.
Empty.
Where was my wife?
I’d expected her to be here after the workout we’d put in last night, after how hard she’d come—all three times.
I looked up at the headboard and smiled at the small tear in the upholstery she’d put there.
Back arched and moans getting louder, Georgia ground down on my face as she neared her second orgasm. My face was soaked, and I had a brief thought that I would keep it that way, unwashed, so all it would take was a lick whenever I wanted a taste of her.
I groaned as a new rush of wetness flooded my mouth and swallowed it down, my dick aching to be inside her so bad he’d started to make signs for a formal protest.
I flicked my tongue against her clit and then swirled, stopping at the bottom to push it inside her.
Her pussy spasmed and she shook, her hands clutching violently into the fabric of the headboard.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed on an angry whisper. “My nail went through!”
I smiled against her pussy, still firmly resting on my face, but that didn’t stop her from seeing the amusement in my eyes.
“Kline!” she snapped. “This is a thousand-dollar headboard, and I just put a hole in it.”
I lifted her up and flipped her to her back so suddenly, she gasped.
“I’m not worried about the hole in the headboard. I’m worried about the hole in you and how I’m gonna fill it.”
I smiled again as I remembered her scandalized face, and my dick jerked at the memory of the soft heat that had followed. She’d needed the release, and God, I’d needed to give it to her. But apparently, even that much pleasure hadn’t completely unwound her.
I hopped from the bed and pulled on a pair of pajama pants, not bothering with underwear or a shirt, and went in search of my Georgie.
The house was quiet, much like the morning before, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before some hyped kids came somersaulting down the stairs, demanding to be shown to their presents.
At the bottom of the staircase, the bodies started—n
ot dead, thankfully—and I danced and weaved accordingly. Only the last, Mr. Quarterback himself, Quinn Bailey, presented a challenge, as he slumbered laterally in front of the doorway to the kitchen. I considered my options only briefly before stepping directly over his giant frame.
Still out like a light, most likely worn-out from one too many jokes from my father-in-law, he didn’t notice.
I was glad they were there, even if they made the house feel much smaller than it was. Wes had explained shortly after their arrival that the players who’d shown up all lived outside of the New York area and didn’t really have time to go home for the holidays. Their next game was a week out, but evening practices started back up the day after Christmas. They could have rushed a flight home and back again, but nobody really wanted to spend their Christmas Eve and Day in the airport for a completely unfulfilling visit. Coming to the cabin had been a win-win situation for everyone—Sean got to spend time with his sister, and the rest of them got to spend time with people who cared about them.
“Good morning, baby,” I greeted and took my time perusing the gorgeous creature in front of me. Her long, blond hair hung loosely down her back, ending a scant inch above the silky fabric of her pajama camisole. I smiled when I reached the luscious curves of her ass covered by a pair of her favorite Christmas-themed sleep leggings.
Have mercy.
She turned at the sound of my voice, a coffee mug in her hand, and raised one pointed eyebrow. “When you said you had the sleeping situation figured out, I didn’t think you meant every available inch of surface area on our floor.”
I shrugged with a cheeky grin. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
She inclined her head in agreement. “Look, Kline. I know I’ve been a little—”
“Crazy?” I offered.
She turned back toward the coffeemaker, but I didn’t miss the scowl that covered her full lips.
“Overanxious,” she corrected, and I couldn’t help but smile at how adorable she was.
“Right,” I agreed, leaning a hip into the counter and crossing my arms over my chest and my feet at the ankles.
“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she admitted.
Practically at that exact moment, the screeching started.
“It’s Christ-masssss! Presents! Santa-s Dick! La la la la la la!”
“Lia! Lia! Do you see any presents with my name?”
I didn’t take my eyes off of Georgie’s face as hers closed slowly in acceptance of her overanxious moments that had occurred during this holiday. Quinn jumped up to sitting behind me, his Southern twang just barely intelligible as he was still waking up. “What in the Jesus is that shit?”
I mumbled over my shoulder. “The kids. And Christmas. When you combine the two, you get lots of yelling.”
Georgia smiled at my remark and pushed a mug of hot coffee into my chest. “We better get in there before they unwrap the upholstery off the sofa.”
I grabbed her by the elbow and touched my lips to her neck softly. “It is perfect, baby. You and me and the lives we created together, little monsters that they sometimes are… How could it be anything other than?”
All of her features went soft, like I’d massaged all of the tension right out of them. “Kline,” she murmured, her voice mellow like her face.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thanks for making it always hurt good.”
Her words hit right me in the chest. Those were our words, ones that held a lot of memories and meaning, and all I could do was smile in response. Ditto, baby.
I locked my hand with hers. “I guess it’s time for presents, huh?”
“You think the guys brought some of their football equipment? We might need it once the kids spot the presents under the tree…”
I laughed and let Georgia take the lead toward the impending chaos.
But before we made it to the scene of the crime—aka, the kids unwrapping presents—the doorbell rang. I thought maybe Georgie would freak out again, but she just laughed.
“I mean…who can it even be at this point?”
“My parents?” I suggested teasingly.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I laughed with my hands up defensively. “Hey, you asked.”
“It was a fully rhetorical question, and you fluffing know it, Kline Brooks.”
“Yoo-hoo!” Dean greeted, and both of our heads turned. He was in a pose, foot turned out with one hand to his hip. After he got done posing for us, he turned to the man holding the door open for him.
Quinn had risen from his spot on the floor—though, I should have noticed the fact that I hadn’t had to step over him upon exiting the kitchen—and made it to the front door before us, apparently.
“Well, hell-o.” Dean looked Quinn up and down, following the lines of his sculpted body in a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, and then marveled over the almost perfect good-old-boy features of his face. “Sweet merciful Jesus, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” Quinn mumbled and, even at the sight of an extra guest and all of our pets as they bounded in the door like cattle, Georgia smiled.
“Quinn, this is Dean. He works for Kline.”
“For the right price, I could work for you, honey.” Dean cupped his hands around his mouth and stage-whispered. “It won’t cost much. Just a little slap and tickle.”
Quinn’s eyes widened, but it didn’t last long. I expected him to turn to us for help, or even more likely, turn tail and run, but he didn’t really seem all that fazed.
“Sounds like a good time, but if you want me to do any work, I cost a little more,” he said in his famous Southern twang and punctuated that statement with a wink.
That wink equaled lights-out.
For real. Dean fainted.
Jesus Christ, people are dropping like flies around here…
Lucky for him, it occurred right in front of a professional quarterback with the quickest hands in the league.
Quinn looked back at us then, but we were already rushing forward.
“Come on, come on,” he urged. “Help me get him to the couch.”
Dean came to just as we were starting to lift, but he didn’t seem shaken by his loss of consciousness in the slightest. Instead, he looked satisfied, as though he’d just lived one of his wildest Christmas fantasies to completion.
“Well, well. Merry Christmas to me, indeed.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with the reasons, but the sentiment—that was worth repeating.
By the time we’d gotten Dean back to his feet and reached the tree, we found Julia and Ace jumping around the tree like banshees.
Julia twirled. “Presents! Presents! I loves everything!”
“I want to open presents!” Ace exclaimed.
“Calm down, little dude. We have to wait for everyone else to get down here,” Thatch said through a yawn as he walked into the living room with Gunner on his hip. Cassie followed behind and had my daughter Evie in her arms.
“Thanks for bringing her down,” Georgia said as Cassie set Evie to her feet.
Our youngest daughter didn’t waste any time, running toward her sister and Ace to join in on the Christmas dance.
Wes, Winnie, and their daughter came shortly after, and the instant Julia spotted Lex, she started a whole new round of screeching and excitement.
And of course, the life of the party showed up dressed as Santa Dick with his smiling wife on his arm. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas, everyone! Let’s see what my brother Santa Claus brought us this year!”
“Merry Christmas, Santas Dick!” Julia exclaimed. “Did you leave us some presents too?”
“Of course I did, little lady,” Dick responded. “I left a few presents under the tree with your name on them.”
“Yay!” Julia smiled and then looked at Savannah. “Mimi, did Santas Dick get you a present too?”
Cassie and Thatch burst into laughter, while Georgia just about choked from shock.
But Dick, well, he
did exactly what you’d expect a man like Dick Cummings to do.
“Santa’s dick gave Mimi lots of presents last night.”
Jesus. We really need to work on the whole letter S situation.
Let it Snow Go! Let it Snow Go! Let it Snow Go!
“Good night, Julia,” I whispered as I pulled the comforter over her little body and tucked her in to bed.
She yawned. And, with her eyes still closed, she offered a sleepy smile. “Love yous, Mommy. Best Christmas evers.”
I kissed her forehead. “Love you too, sweetheart.”
My oldest daughter was out before I walked across the room and turned out the light.
With one final glance toward Evie’s crib, to find an already sleeping angel, I headed out of the girls’ bedroom and shut the door.
It was official. All of the kids in the house were in bed, and thanks to Luc Marino—the chef Kline had hired to cook our meals and prevent me from having a nervous break down—and the five staff members who’d come along with him, the kitchen was clean and the fridge was packed full of leftovers and desserts. I smiled to myself at the idea of relaxing by the fire and headed downstairs to spend the remainder of Christmas night with the adults.
Once I reached the bottom of the staircase and walked into the living room, I found the fire aglow, the lights on the tree still glimmering, and the room filled with laughter, smiles, and that intangible feeling you can only get from the spirit of Christmas.
My parents sat together on the leather sectional, holding hands and sipping on my mother’s famous boozy nog, while Cassie and Thatcher chatted about football with Cass’s brother, Sean—who was currently serving as a napping spot for their pet pig, Philmore.
Winnie teased Wes about his social media skills, while Quinn Bailey and Cam Mitchell joined in on the ribbing. Stan and Walter appeared content, snuggled up together in front of the fire. And Dean was busy telling Kline about Leslie’s latest ridiculous office behavior.
Everyone was here. Happy. Together.
I’d wanted this Christmas to be perfect, devoid of my crazy family’s antics and set with a perfectly plotted-out itinerary jam-packed with every possible food, event, and music that signified the holiday. But as I looked around the living room filled with some of the most important people in my life, I realized that even though this Christmas wasn’t perfect, this—spending time with the ones you loved—was what the holiday was all about.