Mitch gave serious thought to what Alan Blue would say he should do in this situation. He couldn't see not helping out, especially when the Alpha Bitch had personally asked for his help. He pictured himself in a Santa suit, fake beard and all, and felt a pain in his chest akin to indigestion. In the end, there was only one acceptable response.
"Ma'am, I would consider it an honor to help you," Mitch found himself saying.
"Wonderful!" Vanessa beamed. "You have no idea what this will mean to the children!"
Mitch managed another smile, this time showing some teeth, and got the details of what he needed to do.
***
Mitch stared at himself in the men's room mirror at St. Ailbe's. With his snowy white beard, red jacket trimmed in white fur, matching hat and black boots, along with the prosthetic fat belly, he looked fucking ridiculous. He practiced smiling in the mirror. The more he practiced, the less genuine it seemed. Why did he agree to do this? Why? He looked like an idiot.
Blue had been pleased as punch to learn his protégé was fitting in so well with the good people of Perdition, Texas.
"It's about damn time you started acting like a member of the community!" Blue had told him, right before asking Mitch about his plans for Tu. The older man wanted to know whether there had been anymore "slip-ups" with Tu. This was the term the old man used to describe screwing the woman Mitch professed not to want in the back of the thrift store. Mitch felt not a shred of guilt when he told Blue there had not been any more room run-ins like that with her. It wasn't technically a lie. It was more like...a conservative interpretation of the question.
Blue wanted to know what his plans were for the holiday, and Mitch gave the bullshit excuse of taking it easy that day. The truth was, he was spending the holiday alone. Again. Blue was not happy with this answer and told Mitch in no uncertain terms that he was to find someone to spend time with, even if he had to go to his sister's house in Houston. Mitch had agreed, and then quickly got off the line with him.
The North Pole photo op had been set up in one of the function rooms of the Parish. Mitch found it and spent a few minutes getting acquainted with the set, which consisted of a North Pole backdrop, a large Christmas tree with many ornaments and lights, piles of festively colored fake wrapped presents, and a throne-like, somewhat majestic looking chair. It looked like it was made of icicles and had plush, red velvet upholstery. Fake candy canes, tied together by a red, velvet rope, lined a red-carpet path up to the Santa Throne.
The set had been shut down for lunch. There was a sign on a stand that could be turned around. One side said, "Naughty or Nice?" The other side said, "Back at" with the time indicated. In this instance, the time indicated "2 pm." That meant he had about five minutes before the onslaught.
There was a sound at the door leading to the function room. He turned around to find what could only be his elf assistant.
She wore a pair of candy-striped tights, a red tunic trimmed in white, fake fur, and a matching hat with a pom-pom at the end. On her feet were a pair of black lace-up boots that she'd adorned with white and red pom-poms. Lust slammed into him as he considered how long it would take to bend the little elf over, roll down her tights, and flip up the tunic to expose the fine, fine ass he knew was underneath that ridiculous costume.
Petunia Greene, looking as cute as fuck, her braids cascading over her shoulders, was the elf in question.
Mitch licked his lips and swallowed the dry lump in his throat.
He would spank that ass. He would bite that ass. He would...
"What the hell are you doing here?" Tu said, looking pissed off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Santa's Little Helper
Tu really wanted to know. Tu really deserved to know why Mitch was here. The big bastard sat there on his Santa throne, surprised to see her, then amused, his mouth twisting into an easy smirk, the most natural smile she’d ever seen on his face. A smile that caused her heart to stutter. A smile she knew without question was for her, and only Mitch wore full-on Santa Claus drag: the fur-trimmed jacket and pants, the shiny black boots, and the hat. Mitch made the Santa suit work for him, and he looked pretty darn jolly. But also, hot. Hotter and hunkier than a jolly, old elf had any right to look.
If Tu were still talking to him, she would congratulate Grinch McAsshole on getting into the Christmas spirit. What was he wearing under the jacket? An undershirt that clung to all those gorgeous, powerful muscles? Or nothing at all? She remembered vividly the way it felt for his crisp chest hairs to rub against her nipples, how it felt to run her fingers through it...
Tu blinked, shook her head, and put the intrusive, inappropriate thoughts aside. She considered the indiscretion in the back room of the Foundlings Thrift Store a momentary lapse in judgment, never to be repeated. She intended to keep telling herself this until the burgeoning feelings for this man went away.
"What are you doing here?" she repeated.
Mitch stood up, put his arms out, and presented himself for perusal without a word. Something seemed to trigger in his brain, a little voice that said “smile!” maybe, and he grinned broadly.
"It should be obvious," he stated. "I'm polishing my shoes."
She squinted at him quizzically, puzzled for long moments.
Polishing his shoes?
"It's a joke!" she realized out loud, and a little too loudly. "Did you just make a joke?"
He grinned even broader, and she smiled back. It had to be some kind of a breakthrough.
Tu looked around them at the empty function room. Outside, the Christmas market bustled in the quad in the middle of the strip mall of church function rooms. She and Mitch were alone in the room, and Tu didn't know what to think about that. Mitch seemed to be coming out of his seasonal funk, a positive development. On the other hand...
Thanks so much, universe, for tethering me to the one man who cannot get his shit together enough to want me without making it an issue.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Tu said, aware for the first time how totally ridiculous she looked in her costume. She felt foolish in her elf costume, complete with a Peter Pan like tunic, curly toed shoes with bells, candy cane striped tights, and a hat with a bell at the tip. She jingled when she walked. She looked like an idiot.
But Mitch didn’t think so, judging by the way he looked her up and down, taking in the ridiculous outfit with lust in his pale green eyes. Inappropriate thoughts of Santa-elf role-play assailed her.
"Alpha Bitch asked me to," he said, referring to the female half of the pack’s Alpha Pair. His lips twisted in that smirk of his. “I wouldn’t dream of disobeying her.”
He walked toward her, and Tu's heart fluttered with excitement and panic. She forced herself to stand in place. She wouldn’t be pushed around. Nor would she be influenced by how weirdly sexy he looked in his Santa suit. He got so close she could smell his masculine scent. Her eyes stayed fixed on his until she felt she was being sucked into him.
"That's an interesting costume you have there," he crooned, his voice a deep, rumbling purr. "You don't look like any elf I've ever seen." He leered at her.
What was his deal? They had agreed they weren't going to be involved, and flirting only confused the issue.
"You know, when you say things like that, it makes me think you aren't sure about being 'just friends.'" She made air quotes when she said, "just friends."
He blinked at her, his confusion evident. "I’m just paying you a compliment," he said.
"It didn't seem that way on my end," she said. "Excuse me for saying this, but it seems like you aren't really sure what you want, Mitch."
His face softened. "I really just want you to be happy," he said. He seemed so sincere that Tu wondered whether she had misread the situation. She didn't think Mitch realized how some of the things he did came across. She didn't want to get into it with Mitch about their so-called relationship.
Time to change the subject.
"Why do you think Vanessa Cerm
ak would want you to be Santa? You really don't seem the type," she pointed out.
Mitch sighed heavily. "I have no fucking idea," he said. "She said something about her regular Santa catching the flu, but I have no idea why she wanted me to do it. Honestly, I think she maybe saw me on the sidewalk, and I was convenient."
Tu nodded. Mitch’s magnetic proximity rattled her. She moved away on the pretense of examining the Santa chair, turning her back on him. The wingback chair had a gold frame, red and gold tufted upholstery, and a matching footstool. It was a perfect fit for Mitch. Still, to Tu, the exaggerated lines made it look like the chair had been designed by Dr. Seuss.
"How did you get roped into being an elf?" he asked her back. Tu climbed the footstool and ran her fingertips over the gilded parts of the chair. From a distance, it appeared the shiny gold parts were painted wood, but they were actually brass.
"Oh, Auntie—my aunt—said Vanessa had told her she needed help with the Christmas Fair. Vanessa and Auntie are good friends, I guess. Auntie suggested I check to see what Vanessa needed help with, and, well, here I am."
Tu turned around to talk to Mitch and came face-to-face with his solid chest. Large hands shot out to steady her, and her heart went pitter-patter. Quickly, she disengaged herself and realized there was nowhere to go but crashing into the chair. She sat down on her butt, hard, and bounced on the chair's springs, before rolling to one side.
He righted her again with a surprisingly gentle touch. With a scowl, she pushed his hands away, ignoring the hurt expression on his brooding face. She huffed and straightened her tunic, which had scooted up her thighs in all the bouncing and sliding. The person who had used the costume before must have been very tall.
"Did you do any research?" she asked him when she had composed herself. She stepped down from the throne, ignoring Mitch's offer of a hand off the footstool. Part of her was afraid to know how Mitch had prepared for the role of Santa.
His thick eyebrows furrowed. "Research? For what?"
Tu wiped a hand down the side of her face.
"Research for how to play Santa," she said, mouth open in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how to be Santa?"
He blinked at her, still frowning. He rubbed his bearded chin. Then he sat down on the throne, legs posed in a typical man spread.
"Oh, my God, you haven't thought about what you're going to do?" she asked, incredulous and also worried about what Mitch might consider appropriate Santa behavior.
"No... should I have?" His lips formed a pensive "O" as he pondered her question.
Oh, good gravy...
"When was the last time you asked Santa for what you wanted for Christmas?"
Again, the pensive look. "I've never asked Santa for anything for Christmas."
"You never went to the mall and sat on Santa's lap?" she asked.
"Children sit on Santa's lap?" Mitch looked flabbergasted.
"You never visited a mall Santa..." Her mind tried to comprehend this. "You never saw any Santa references in popular culture?"
"Like what popular culture?" he asked.
"Entertainments? Old films or immersive games?" She blinked and made a head motion that indicated incomprehension. "Books?"
He frowned and shook his head. "Not really. I know of the concept, but not any of the details."
They were running out of time. Children would soon arrive, expecting Santa's listening ear. She could not take the time to explain the expectation that would arrive with the children and their parents, and settled on the elevator pitch version of what he needed to do.
"When the kids start to get here, they will sit on your lap, then tell you what they want for Christmas," she explained. "Just let them do it, okay? Tell them if they are a good boy or girl, Santa will bring them presents."
He nodded with a grave expression. "I guess this is why my parents didn't do Santa," he said. "I mean, what kid would believe that?"
Most children under the age of eight...
She thought this, but didn't say it. Instead, she said, "If they do, you should just play along, okay? Lots of children are all in on Santa, so don't burst their bubbles."
The first few kids who presented themselves for face time with Santa were confronted with a reserved, cautious Mitch. He eyed the first couple of kids with a dubious glare that she managed to beat out of him after taking him aside to tell him to stop frightening the children, and lighten up, okay?
When the kids had the nerve to demand lap time, they did it in a respectful way that would not compromise their places on the "nice" list. When they'd sat on his lap, Mitch had given her a look that said, "I thought you were kidding about that sitting on the lap thing," but gamely carried on with the Santa ruse. He even managed to smile a little for the parent's imaging devices.
Through it all, Tu managed traffic flow, handed out candy canes to the children, and discreetly prompted Mitch to conjure the correct responses to the children's entreaties for Santa's largess.
Tu put a sign on the door at four, telling, everyone to return after Santa and his elf took a thirty-minute break.
Mitch stood from the throne to stretch, rolling his shoulders and neck and extending his limbs with surprisingly cat-like grace. Tu's breath caught at the image of the man she had a massive soft spot for, regardless of his confusing signals, stretching so sensually. Even in Santa drag, the man sent out some mysterious vibes that made her want to jump him.
He caught her staring at him, and she looked away quickly, fiddling with the hem of her tunic.
"You were better at that than I thought you'd be," she told him, sparing him a fleeting glance before looking away again.
"I didn't mind," he said. He flopped on the throne in man spread fashion and loosened the collar of his Santa jacket. A few of the crisp chest hairs she’d had on her mind earlier appeared at his neckline. Was he not wearing an undershirt? Did that mean he also wasn't wearing underwear?
She blinked, snapped out of her reverie, and focused on what he was saying. "You didn't mind...what?" she wanted to know.
"The kids," he said. His pale green gaze roved over her face. "I didn't mind the children at all. I'm still not getting the sitting on the lap business, but..."
She laughed. His face held a rare, non-grumpy expression, his eyes lit with uncharacteristic humor.
"Admit it," she said, moving closer to him. "You are a closet Christmas freak."
He gave her a wry smile, and butterflies danced in her belly. She stood just in front of the step stool now, wanting so much to smile with him, but wanting more to protect her heart. As much as she wanted to pretend he didn't affect her, that staying away from him was an easy, straightforward thing, something kept bringing them together. But they lived in a small town and running into each other was inevitable.
She stepped closer to him. Shifters run hot, body-heat wise, and she could feel the welcoming warmth of his body. Her eyes were wide, his were sultry, and she found herself leaning into his heat. She couldn't read his expression, and she pouted.
Suddenly, he yanked her to him, grabbing her wrist and lifting her effortlessly.
"Hey!" she protested, giggling, despite herself. They weren't supposed to be groping each other, but she couldn’t help her response. He plopped her on his lap, one hand supporting her back, the other curled around her striped thigh. She felt his hot breath on her face.
"We don't do this anymore, remember?" She felt breathless, hot, instantly horny. He squeezed her thigh, and she tensed, sexual need blasting through her body.
"Do what?" he teased. "I'm practicing my lap sitting skills. You should help me. I like these tights, by the way."
His face close to hers, she could see the traces of wax he'd used to make his beard white. His face came closer. Closer. A kiss seemed inevitable...
"Does Christmas make you sad?" she asked, halting his progress to her lips. His heavy brows furrowed, and his face contorted fleetingly with pain. He drew back and lowered her to the floor.
&
nbsp; "Is it because of your mother?" she pressed on.
She saw sadness in his eyes. They had not talked about his mother during the magical, sex-drenched days they'd spent together. But she had nothing to lose, and she wanted to know. He remained silent.
"I mean, obviously your mother loved Christmas, and I think you did, too, when you were a little boy."
He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was husky.
"I still don't like Christmas, and I object to lying to children about Santa, but at least the children seemed to enjoy themselves."
His response skipped over the meat of her question. On her feet again, Tu crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
"When is the break over?" he asked.
Evidently, they were done with this conversation.
She sighed, turning away from him. "I don't know. Ten or fifteen minutes."
The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. They finished for the day around dinner time.
"Oh, and I'm going to ask Vanessa whether I can find someone else to help out," Tu told Mitch at the end of their shift. "This elf is going on strike."
Mitch gave her a contemplative look. "Okay," he said. Tu couldn't tell whether Mitch cared or not.
"See you around, Mitch," she called over her shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Don We Now our Ugly Sweaters
"How are things with Tu?" Alan Blue asked.
Mitch steered his truck up the farm-to-market road that led to Jasmine and AJ’s house ...and Tu's cottage. He and Blue were holding their weekly check-in via smartphone, its tinny speaker turned up as far as it would go to drown out the road noise. Today, he drove his Suburban, rather than the wrecker, and he was unaccustomed to driving so close to the ground.
Her Mistletoe Minotaur: A BWWM Paranormal Holiday Romance (A Very Alpha Christmas Book 1) Page 15