Rebel without a Claus: A M/M Love at first sight romance

by Denise Wells

  Rebel without a Claus

  A Love Story

  Denise Wells

  For Timothy and Ethan –

  a beautiful, true life, love at first sight story.

  We accept the love we think we deserve.

  Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

  Contents

  1. Kris

  2. Nick

  3. Kris

  4. Nick

  5. Kris

  6. Nick

  7. Kris

  8. Nick

  9. Kris

  10. Nick

  11. Kris

  12. Nick

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Denise:

  Rebel Without a Claus

  Originally Published in the Stocking Stuffers Anthology

  Copyright © 2019 by Denise Wells

  www.DeniseWells.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places, or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations, is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Kris

  “Kriisss.” Jeanette draws my name out, like she always does, in the exact way I’ve told her I hate. “Is that mistletoe you’re standing under?” Her voice is sing-songy, which is understandable when talking to a puppy or an infant, but not a twenty-seven-year-old man.

  “Jeanette, hey.” I step to the side. Just in case I was under mistletoe, I won’t be any longer. I can only hope I’ve moved far enough.

  Don’t look up. If the mistletoe is there, she’ll know that you know.

  Of course, the minute I tell myself not to look up, that’s exactly what I want to do. Even though I know the consequences if I do. Because with Jeanette, if I look up and the mistletoe is there, her rationale for trying to kiss me will be reinforced. And if there’s anything that she doesn’t need further reason for, it’s trying to kiss me. I should have brought a date with me. That would have forced her to stay away.

  Instead, I’m forced to try and avoid the mistletoe that seems to be hanging from the ceiling at five-foot intervals. This is a fucking (family owned) company holiday party for god’s sake, we don’t kiss each other. I’ll have to talk to my sister—she plans all our events—and make sure it doesn’t happen again.

  Jeanette sidles up next to me, rubbing her breasts against me as she grabs my biceps with both hands. It’s all I can do not to shudder with distaste. Because, one, even if I were straight, Jeanette would not be my type, she’s far too forward. And, two, I’m not straight. She knows this, she just chooses to ignore it. Especially when we aren’t at work, where she’s one of two assistants to my father.

  Which is why we are both at the annual Coleman Department Stores’ corporate holiday party. Me as the newly anointed general manager—a position I’ve been groomed for since childhood following in my father’s footsteps, his fathers before him, and so on.

  “You look positively edible,” she effuses. I try to pull my arm away to no avail, so I head toward the bar, dragging her right along with me. Because if I must spend the evening with Jeanette glued to my side, I’m going to have a drink while I do it.

  “Bourbon, neat.” The bartender’s head is down as I say it, so it’s not until I hear him repeat my order that I pay him any attention.

  “One bourbon, neat,” a deep, gravelly voice says. I turn to look as he places my glass on a red cocktail napkin and slides it toward me. Then take a minute to drink him in, dark blond hair cut shorter in the back with the longer front portions gelled back and out of his face. A hint of five-o’clock shadow decorates his jawline, and a tight white shirt stretches across his impressive chest.

  My fingers graze his as I take it, and I’m shocked by the jolt of energy that buzzes through me. My eyes shoot up to his; he looks as surprised as I am. This wasn’t any old jolt; I’m electrified. He raises a brow in interest, blue eyes twinkling with awareness in the lowered light of the party.

  It makes me wish I could see behind the bar and below his waist. The catering staff is all wearing white shirts, black ties, and black slacks. If his slacks fit anything like his shirt, I’ll know in a matter of seconds whether he’s someone I want to get to know better.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, my fingers still touching the tips of his on the glass.

  “My pleasure,” he responds. I hold his gaze a moment longer before turning away to let him help the party guests behind me. My pulse races and I feel out of breath; signs of lust, absolutely. But there was something in his eyes that made me want to get to know him as well. I just didn’t have the time to name what it was I saw to make me think that.

  I drag Jeanette to the other side of the room without offering to get her a drink. It’s rude, sure, but at some point, she needs to take a hint. Leaning back against the far wall, I take up residence where I have a straight shot view of the bar and the blond. I try again to tug my arm away from Jeanette’s grasp; she holds on tighter and leans in to nuzzle my neck.

  “You smell so good, Kriisss, what cologne is that?”

  “Probably something we sell at the store,” I say, referring to the flagship store here in downtown. The top floor is devoted to the executive offices which is also where we happen to be hosting the party.

  “Jeanette, you know that I’m gay, right?” I lean in to whisper in her ear.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s just a phase, we can take care of that for you.”

  I scoff. “How exactly would that work?”

  “Once you’re with a real woman, such as myself, you won’t feel the need to experiment any longer.”

  “I’m not experimenting. And I’m definitely not attracted to you.”

  “You will be.”

  “I won’t be. I like men. I like to fuck men. Vaginas repulse me.”

  She laughs at that.

  Laughs. As though I’ve made a joke. This is what I’m up against with her. She’s batshit crazy, I swear.

  My sister, Kelly, approaches and leans against the wall on my other side opposite from Jeanette. Her long dark hair pulled up in a sleek chignon and long body encased in a sparkling dress. She’s wearing a lot more makeup tonight than she usually does, highlighting her naturally beautiful girl-next-door looks and the overall effect is glamorous.

  “How’s it going?” Kelly asks with a smirk.

  “Really?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “I got you.” Kelly sighs then pushes herself from the wall and leans over me to get Jeanette’s attention. “Jeanette, I need to visit the restroom. Join me?”

  “I’ll be right back Kriisss.” Jeanette pats my forearm as she disengages.

  Kelly’s one of my best friends, if not my best. We are close in age at eleven months apart, and even though she’s older, we look like we could be twins. We share the same dark hair and dark eyes as our father, and we are both tall and thin like our mother.

  Kelly has a great head for business and has the choice to one day head the entire administrative division of the Coleman Companies. But she hasn’t decided if that’s what she wants to do. So, until then, she works part-time and focuses more on her family. Taking on small projects for the company here and there.

/>   I finish my bourbon and head for the bar for a refill. Only to be stopped by my father and two other gentlemen from the board of directors.

  “Kris, join us, won’t you?” My father lays a hand on my shoulder, the gesture is soft, but the meaning behind it is not. Because when my father makes a ‘suggestion,’ it’s really an order.

  I step into the small circle of men, all of whom are my bosses in a way, my father as CEO and the other gentlemen as board members. My grandfather still holds his seat as chair of the board, a position that will be mine one day. After it’s my father’s, of course.

  I answer all their questions about holiday sales performance across the board, the annual holiday parade hosted by our flagship store each year, as well as a few others that could have wait until another time. But I am nothing if not an obedient son and deserving GM.

  The sounds of jingling bells gets everyone’s attention. My grandfather is standing in the center of the room holding an array of colored envelopes containing holiday bonus checks, probably the main reason most of our employees are here tonight.

  “If I could have everyone’s attention. Keith, Kris, join me,” he commands, as my father and I are both required at his side as he distributes the checks to each employee. All two hundred and twenty-five of them. From upper management down to the cleaning staff.

  I help with the distribution of envelopes, smiling and shaking hands or hugging the employees who come to collect. Most attempting to be discreet at their hasty exit after receiving their bonus. It’s almost comical how fast the room empties, despite the still open bar.

  While I appreciate the benevolence of our company, and love rewarding employees, I’m disappointed I’ve not been able to return to the guy at the bar. By the time we wrap up the bonuses and I get back to that side of the room, the blond is gone, and a woman is there in his place.

  I try to play it cool as I ask about him. “There was a guy working here earlier. He knew how I liked my drinks. Is he around?”

  “I don’t think so. Our manager sent a bunch of people home after the cleanup.”

  “Okay, I’ll just have a bourbon, neat.”

  “No offense, sir, but if he had you convinced there was a trick to pouring bourbon and getting it right, I think he had you snowed. Pun intended.” She winks as she tells me this. I can’t help but laugh. She slides the glass across the bar to me.

  “It was a little more than that but thank you for the tip.” I raise my glass to her and turn to leave.

  “Excuse me?” she says.

  I stop and look back toward the bar.

  “The guy that was here,” she lowers her voice as she continues, “his name is Nick. I think tonight was his first night with the catering company, because I haven’t seen him around much before now.”

  My smile overtakes my face before I have a chance to stop it. “Appreciate it, thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  I rejoin the dwindling party and take a sip from my glass, pausing halfway across the room as I think over the blond’s name.

  Nick.

  Maybe its short for Nicholas?

  It fits him. I think back to the surge of energy when our fingers touched and how unusual that is. At least for me. It’s one thing to feel attracted to someone, feel an instant lust. But it’s a whole other thing to be shook down to your soul.

  I wonder if it would be weird for me to contact the catering company and ask for information on him. Probably. I could arrange to hire them again and request him specifically.

  I continue to guess ways to track him down, paying little attention to my surroundings, when my lips are engulfed in wet, slippery, moving flaps of skin.

  Jeanette.

  Kissing me.

  With a lot of tongue and saliva.

  Bile rises in my throat. It would serve her right if I threw up in her mouth. I put my hand on the center of her chest and push. Hard.

  “Kriisss, relax. It’s me, Jeanette. You were under the mistletoe, silly.”

  I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand.

  She doesn’t get it. I’m tired of being polite.

  “Jeanette,” I say, my voice raised higher than considered polite. “I am not attracted to you. I don’t want to kiss you. I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to sleep with you. Not now, not ever. Got me?”

  She looks at me, her face filled with shock. Which actually shocks me since this is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. It’s not even the second. I think we’ve been over this three or four times now. But for some reason she thinks she can kiss the gay away.

  Her chin quivers. For just a moment I hope that I do make her cry, because that means she’ll finally have gotten it, and we can stop this foolish charade that happens every time she comes around.

  But then it stops. A steely resolve fills her eyes. “I’m a patient woman, Kriisss Coleman. I’ll wait. You’ll come around. We’re meant to be together. I just know it.”

  I look around for help. Either some sort of inspiration that will help me get through to her or another person that can explain it better than me. I come up empty.

  This is ridiculous. I’m the general manager of a Fortune 500 company at the early age of twenty-seven which is almost unheard of. I’m single and in my prime. I should have the world at my feet. Instead, I’m standing alone in the middle of a party, wondering where the bartender went. And how to get rid of my father’s crazy assistant, who has delusions of grandeur about our relationship.

  How is this my life?

  2

  Nick

  “What are you doing home so early?” my roommate, Sarah, asks as I come through the front door.

  “They cut people as the party was slowing down.” I sigh as I flop down on the couch next to her. “I didn’t even get cashed out on the tips. This catering company is such bullshit.”

  She points the remote at the TV and pauses the movie she was watching. “So, don’t work for them again.”

  Like it’s that simple.

  “Because jobs grown on trees?” I look at her, disbelief on my face.

  “I’m sure there are other catering companies who need holiday help.”

  “And what about after that?”

  “Oh, that reminds me, your agent called the house line while you were out. There’s an elf gig they need you for tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t she just call my cell?”

  Sarah shrugs in response. “Maybe she didn’t want to talk to you.”

  “We must be the only people in the world who still have an answering machine and a landline.”

  “I like having a landline. It makes me feel grounded. And the answering machine is so I can screen my calls.”

  “That’s what caller ID is for.”

  “No, caller ID tells you who is calling. My answering machine also tells me why.”

  “Two words: voicemail.”

  “That’s one word.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You discount it, but my answering machine made it possible for your agent to reach you.”

  “I had my cell; she could’ve reached me that way.”

  “But she didn’t. I saved the message for you.”

  I get up and head over to the answering machine, unbuttoning my shirt as I go, then push the button to hear the message. I was hoping Sarah was wrong about it being an elf gig, but she wasn’t. Starting tomorrow, I’m playing the part of Santa’s Little Helper for pictures with Santa at one of the Coleman’s Department Stores.

  If you had told me when I left Ohio—to move to New York to become an actor—that my most promising gig in months was going to be as an elf, I would have laughed at you. But sure enough, that’s the case. For some reason tall, handsome, well-built blond guys are a dime a dozen in the Big Apple. So, when I go up for a part, there are two hundred other guys who look just like me going up for it too.

  I unbutton my slacks and return to the living room.

  “Why are you gay again?”
Sarah asks eyeballing my chest.

  “Because the idea of putting my lips on a vagina makes me gag.”

  “That’s funny,” Sarah says. “Since a big cock in your mouth also makes you gag. Ba dum bum.” She air-drums as she says the last part.

  I roll my eyes at her.

  “Other than getting cut early and not getting your tips, how did it go?”

  I ponder whether to tell her about the bourbon guy or not. Nothing happened, just a crazy buzz through my body when we made eye contact. I’m sure he’s straight since I saw him with a woman hanging all over him. It’s just usually I’m right on when it comes to recognizing whether a man is gay or interested. And before I saw him with the woman, I would’ve sworn he was interested.

  Not that I’m looking for a relationship. I’m not. But it would be nice to have a meal occasionally with someone I can talk to then fuck their brains out. It’s not often I get that thrill when I see someone, so I want to take advantage of it when I do.

  “I met a guy,” I blurt.

  Sarah looks at me, brows raised, and angles her body toward me to give her full attention. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

  “I served him a bourbon, neat. And when we made eye contact, I felt that buzz, you know? And he stroked my finger a little bit when he took the glass from me.”

  “Sounds promising. What’s his name?”

  “I didn’t get his name.”

  “Does he work for the company you were serving?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  “Well, how are you going to see him again?”

  I shrug. “Fate?”

  “Lame. No. You need to call your boss at the catering company tomorrow and find out who he is.”