by Lacey Black
“Huh,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
“We have the, uh…” I say, stumbling around for the right word.
“Elves?”
“Yep, we have elves. Lots of little big eared, big shoed, short and plump little elves,” I confirm, nodding my head.
“I wanted a hamster for Christmas last year, but got a baby brother. I didn’t want a brother. He takes my toys and slobbers on them.”
“Man, that sucks.”
Instead of calling me on my language, the little dude just nods his head. “My name’s Drew.”
“Mine’s…Santa.”
“I know,” he says with a big smile before pulling the door open and disappearing down the hallway.
I stand in the bathroom for a few more moments, replaying the past ten minutes. Suddenly, I find myself laughing. BS Brandon (that’s Before Santa) wouldn’t have been caught dead in a public bathroom with a child, let alone singing to him while he did his deed in the stall on the other side of the room. It’s like I’m trapped in some alternative universe where kids rule the world, and we adults are just trying to get through the day.
So this is what parenthood is like, huh?
Instead of letting myself think too hard on the craziness that just transpired, I head out of the john to get ready for my next Santa duty. I’m still smiling, and for some wild reason, chuckling, as I step into the hallway and come face-to-face with the Mrs.
I mean Claus.
Not my Mrs.
You know what I mean.
Anyway, she’s there, probably ready to rub my nose in the fact that I failed at the whole bathroom situation. When she sees my smile, hears my laughter, her own grin falters on her gorgeous face. She was probably waiting there, camera ready, for me to come running from the bathroom screaming. And you know what? Not that long ago, that’s exactly what would have happened. But since I’m living in some crazy new reality world where the thought of being surrounded by kids all day doesn’t quite seem like a death sentence, well, I find myself embracing the situation just a little bit.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her lush lips painted a subtle shade of pink.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she asks, her eyebrows shooting skyward.
“Nope. Not a thing,” I say, stopping directly in front of her and crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes slowly lower down my face and stop on my chest. Without even looking, I know the red suit is pulled taut across my arms and chest. Her eyes flare with something dark (and preferably dirty) as she stares her fill. My Noel was always an arms girl. Not that I had big guns in school, but I had enough definition to drive her wild. She used to love caressing and kissing my arms with soft lips and the bite of her fingernails.
I’m hard at the thought.
I continue to stare at her face while she openly appreciates the fine definition God gave me. I make sure to keep my eyes locked on her so that when she finally realizes what she’s doing, she’ll know I totally busted her perusal. It’s quite entertaining to watch, mostly because it’s a pleasant reminder that even though she hates my guts and wants to light them on fire (while they’re still inside my body), she’s still undeniably attracted to me.
Her eyes finally glance up at my face.
That sexy little mouth of hers drops open.
Those ocean blue eyes widen in shock.
And cue her blush in three…two…one…
“See something you like, Miss Winters?” I ask, giving her a cocky grin.
“Absolutely not,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, that gloriously beautiful chest.
“Oh, come on, No. You don’t have to be shy around me,” I tease.
“Shy around you? When have I ever been shy around you?” she scoffs.
“I do recall you blushing a gorgeous shade of pink the night I finally got you naked and in my bed.” Yep. I went there.
“I can’t believe you said that!” she seethes between gritted teeth.
“Oh, believe it, baby.”
“You know what? Uhhhhh!” she practically screams.
Stepping closer, I invade her personal space and catch the slightest whiff of her perfume. “You can admit it. You want me.”
“Not today, Satan,” she growls.
“It’s Santa.”
“Same letters. You’re definitely more Satan than Santa.”
The corners of my lips curl upward, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. If I thought sexy Mrs. Claus was hot, then pissed off sexy Mrs. Claus is downright smoldering.
Before I can do something stupid like ask her out, or better yet, throw her over my shoulder and take her into the office and have my way with her, she turns on her sparkly high heels and storms down the hall and towards the auditorium.
My boot-covered feet follow, though they’ve never felt lighter than they do right now. Even dressed as this ridiculous fictional character, I can’t help but smile a little more and move a little easier.
Because one thing I recall is that Noel was always the most passionate about the things she cared the most for.
No, I’m not saying she’s still in love with me, but I think she’s hiding behind her tough exterior and her snarky words. And getting past that side of Noel is going to be a challenge…and probably the most fun I’ve had in at least five years.
* * *
I barely get the thick red jacket off when my cell phone starts ringing from the pocket of the leather bomber I wore this morning. What I’m not expecting is to see the office number on the screen of said phone. My secretary knows where I am, so to see the number is telling.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Frost. I’m sorry to bother you while you’re serving the public,” Lisa says. And by serving the public, she means serving my joke of a sentence.
“Not a problem, Lisa. I was just wrapping up. What’s up?”
“It’s Mr. Henderson. He called from lock-up again. Left multiple messages with the answering service that he needs you.”
Instantly, I rub my temples and sigh deeply. Mr. Henderson is a frequent flyer, as we like to joke around the office, when it comes to my defense services. Not because I’m the best (even though I am), but because I’m the only one who will put up with him. He’s worked with several attorneys in his seventy-two years on this earth.
“What did he do now?”
“It’s a doozy. I believe the charges include indecent exposure, one count of reckless discharge of a firearm, and DWI.”
“I don’t even want to know what all of those things have in common,” I mumble.
“He was riding a bike.”
“Naked?”
“Allegedly.”
“Remind me, again, why I went into defense law?” I grumble, making my secretary of four years chuckle. “It’s Saturday. What are you doing in the office?”
“When the answering service was unable to get a hold of you, they called me.”
“I’m sorry to have messed up your day off,” I tell her. Lord knows when the last time I actually had a day off was. “Text me the details. I’ll head over to meet him.”
“Sending now. I’ve included information about his bond hearing.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for my clothes before hanging up the phone.
I had plans to try to persuade Noel into accompanying me to dinner tonight, but now I can see those plans have been put on hold. As much as I’d rather spend time with her, while not being surrounded by screaming kids, it’s not in the cards. When a client calls, it’s my duty to answer. Or in this case, go get my frisky client out of the slammer for the third time this year.
Unfortunately, Noel and her sexy little body will have to wait.
Chapter Eight
He Remembers
Noel
I dressed in my street clothes as quickly as I could and headed out into the hallway to wait for Brandon.
There were many things I had to say, and the more I delayed, the more worked up I was getting. I needed to tell him how much he hurt me. I’ve held onto five years’ worth of anger and frustration and pain, and I’m starting to think that Steph is right. The only way to move forward was to face my past so I could move on.
It was time.
I was in the hall for almost fifteen minutes when Sheila stepped into view. “Are you waiting for me?” she asks, that friendly smile ever-present on her face.
“Umm, actually, I was waiting for Brandon.”
“Well, I’m afraid you missed him. He slipped out rather quickly today.”
“Oh,” I whispered, feeling defeated.
“I’ll see you next Saturday, right?” she asks, hopefulness blazing in her eyes.
“I’ll be here.”
“Good,” she says before stepping inside the office where Brandon has been getting ready. When she returns a few moments later, she has the Santa uniform in her hands. It’s crazy, but even across the hall, his scent reaches me, teasing me with its familiarity and warmth.
Without saying anything else, I head towards the exit and out into the late December night. There’s a chill in the air that almost steals my breath, as I make my way to my car. My mind keeps replaying pieces of the day, especially the part where Brandon took little Drew to the bathroom. I knew I was pushing it when I told Drew that Santa would go with him, but I needed that internal laugh. I needed the reminder that big bad Brandon Frost was, in fact, very human.
A human who hated kids.
What I wasn’t prepared for was them to both be smiling when they came out of the bathroom. Brandon didn’t seem put out in the least. In fact, he was laughing. That makes me wonder if my assessment of him is wrong. Maybe five years was enough to change a man like Brandon Frost.
And maybe elves are real.
I laugh humorlessly as I slip into my cold car and crank up the heat. No, there’s no way a man like him could change. At least, not in the way I always wanted him to. After our breakup, I spent about a year wishing for that mysterious knock on my door, telling me he was so sorry and wrong, that he couldn’t live without me. And telling me that what I wanted for my future was exactly what he wanted too.
But that knock never came.
So that hope and longing turned into resentment. Realization that two people who loved each other with their entire heart still couldn’t meet on common ground was a bitter pill to swallow. He didn’t want what I wanted, and in the end, I wasn’t willing to give it all up for him.
Even though I almost did.
No, things happen the way they’re supposed to, right?
It was better that I learned who the real Brandon Frost was back then. Heaven knows it would have killed me to discover it when it was too late and there was no going back. Maybe him walking away was a blessing. He obviously couldn’t give me what I wanted, even though he had always sworn he could.
It wasn’t a lie, not really. He didn’t know. Or maybe he did and wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until it slapped him upside the head and there was no option other than to face it, say it. Or not say anything. Lord knows so much was said when he didn’t even really say much at all. It was his eyes. His eyes gave him away. The man had no ticks, no tells, showed no signs of what he was thinking, but in that moment, I saw everything. And none of it was good.
It’s time to let go.
* * *
The week passes by quickly. Then another. Before I know it, we’re nearing the last weekend before Christmas.
My time is spent in the office, which is located on the second floor of the courthouse, or in one of the first floor courtrooms. After my successful outcome against Brandon, the DA gave me a handful of additional cases to try. Each one a little trickier than the last. I find myself putting in a few extra hours at night, just to prove to my boss, and maybe even myself, that I can handle the workload.
I haven’t seen much of Brandon, except while we’re at the community center. And even then, he splits as soon as our shift is over. He’s working a few big cases that bring him to our offices, but the DA is prosecuting them himself. He always takes the big cases; the ones that will give him the most glory and paint him as the hero.
Work, work, work. That’s why I choose to finally head home on this particular Friday night, instead of going with Steph to a small club she loves to frequent. The music is loud and the drinks expensive, which helps keep the younger crowd from taking it over. She has gotten me there once, right after I moved here, but I haven’t been too excited to go back.
On my way home from the office, I stop at a strip mall for some Chinese takeout. I’ve been here several times, stopping and grabbing my favorite fried rice and teriyaki shrimp before heading home to get lost in a case file. But tonight, as I pull into the familiar parking lot, I find myself walking towards the Barnes & Noble. Even though I do most of my reading on my tablet, there’s just something amazing about holding a paperback in your hand. It’s been so long since I’ve read anything for pure enjoyment, and not pertaining to work, but I think that’s why I’m smiling warmly as I slip inside the large book outlet in search of something mysterious and steamy.
I generally gravitate towards Lisa Gardner or James Patterson when it comes to my mysteries, but not tonight. This evening, I find myself needing something a little sexier. I’m sure it has to do with the fact that my hormones are all sorts of crazy since the start of my little Saturday run-ins with the devil.
I have tunnel vision as I make my way over to the romance section. It’s weird being in this particular area of the bookstore, but I’m determined to grab something packed with mystery with a side of love story. A few of the titles catch my eye, but if I were judging by the mostly naked man on the cover and the suggestiveness of the title, I’d say they are light on the mystery and heavy on the romance.
And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad either…
Finally, I find a small section of romantic mystery books. I pay no attention to the author or cover, but flip over the book and read the synopsis on the back first. I want a book that draws me in immediately, just by reading a handful of sentences about the book, not by the gorgeous guy gracing the cover.
Within a few minutes, I have two books that have my complete attention. One is about former lovers who are thrown back together when the heroine finds herself in trouble. Of course, the hero is the only one who can protect her. The second book is a murder mystery where the main suspect and one of the detectives investigating appear to be unable to stay away from each other. Both look really good.
“I’d go with the left one. I mean, I’m all for former loves finding their way back to each other,” a husky voice says softly over my shoulder.
“Then I’ll go with the right,” I quip, keeping both books in my hands and slowly turning to face the man I loathe.
“Suit yourself. Either way, it looks like the heroine is gonna get some.” Brandon winks once and the corner of his lip slowly curls upward in that sexy way I remember.
“Anyway,” I start, slowly walking towards the cashier, “It was nice to see you again.”
“And to think, you’ll get to see me again tomorrow. All day long.” Again, he grins.
“Lucky me,” I mumble, giving him my back and standing in line to check out.
“So, no big date?” he asks, completely ignoring the cold shoulder I’m giving him and standing beside me.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’ve been working long hours this week and turned down an invitation to go out tonight in favor of heading home and relaxing with a book,” I reply, grabbing my credit card from my wallet and setting my books on the counter.
“Naked relaxing?” he whispers. His breath fans against my ear and sends shivers down my spine.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I retort, paying for my books.
“Actually, I would. I recall several instances of naked studying.”
Rolling my eyes, I sign my receipt and grab my bag before heading towards the door. I don’t have to glance over my shoulder to know that he’s following behind me. It’s like my spidey sense is tingling.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, turning on the sidewalk and heading towards the Chinese restaurant next door.
“Nope,” he says, holding up his own Barnes & Noble bag. “I was planning to do a little reading this evening.”
Stopping on the sidewalk, I turn and face him. “Reading? What kind of reading?” I ask, slightly curious as to what types of books Brandon reads. Instead of answering with words, he holds open his bag. Glancing down, I see three books. The one on top is a biography on William Shatner, which doesn’t surprise me in the least, since he’s a closet Star Trek geek. The second book is a historical novel about Wyatt Earp and his brothers, but it’s the third book that has all of my attention.
Reaching into his bag, I grab the copy of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. It’s a newer children’s edition with large pictures and big print. Without even realizing it, I open up the book to the first page and absently touch the photo. Suddenly, the words are flowing from my lips without reading them. I know this book by heart. It was always my favorite growing up, and I recall my mom reading it every Christmas Eve to me before bed.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. Glancing down, I had turned the page of my favorite storybook. Quickly, I close the book and slide it back into his bag, my cheeks warm with embarrassment.
“Don’t be. I see it’s still a favorite,” he says softly, reminding me of the way he used to talk to me…right before he kissed me silly.
“It is.” Clearing my throat, I glance up into his startling eyes. They’re focused intently on me, and I swear he can see directly into my soul.
Clearing his own throat, he says, “Listen, I was just about to grab some dinner. Do you want to join me?”
My heart speeds up, but I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or something else. I shouldn’t want to go to dinner with him, but here I am, faintly ecstatic that he offered. Of course, there’s no way I can go. Sure, there are many things I need to say to him, but I don’t need to do it in a crowded restaurant. For all intents and purposes, I could invite him back to my place – so we could have the talk – but I don’t think that’s a wise decision either. The thought of Brandon Frost being in my personal space again is doing things to my body that would surely land me on the Naughty List.