The Santa Claus (Men Of The World)

by J. O Mantel

  Yes. No. I don’t know, maybe confused.

  KRIS: About what?

  Us, and what this all means.

  KRIS: I thought we discussed all this. Nothing about this has to be complicated. Although, I would really like to see you again.

  Me too.

  KRIS: Where?

  I don’t know. I’m in my car, so we can go anywhere.

  KRIS: The Rockefeller Christmas Tree?

  Sure, I’d love that.

  KRIS: I can be there in twenty minutes.

  Looking forward to it.

  I drop the phone on the passenger seat next to me and secure my seatbelt before pulling out of the drive.

  The Rockefeller Christmas display. Even after all these years, I never get tired of seeing all the parents line up here with their children every Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to watch the tree light up the streets of New York. As I sit on the park bench waiting for Deacon, I hold back the giddy feeling in my gut, the one that you get whenever you meet someone who you know is the right one. Of course, that sounds completely ridiculous, considering I’ve only known the guy less than a week, and we did … stuff, together. Okay, so it was more than stuff, It was mind-blowing, passionate sex, and it was fucking fantastic, leaving me wanting more of Deacon Brady.

  “Kris?”

  That sound. His voice. It sends electricity down my spine, and relief through my body as I stand up and turn to face him.

  “Hi. How are you?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

  “Good. No, that’s a lie. I’m miserable.”

  “Well, they are two completely different feelings, so should we sit down and talk about each of them?” I offer.

  “I guess we could,” he replies.

  His voice tells me he is as nervous as I am, so I step aside, making room for him to sit down, then I take a seat beside him.

  “How was your Christmas Day?” I ask.

  “Good. Busy. Spent it with my family. Just finished Christmas dinner, actually. What about you?”

  “Um, not a whole lot actually. My parents usually travel this time of year visiting extended family. They’re in Europe at the moment, so I keep myself busy playing Santa Claus for all the young children of New York.”

  “So you spent Christmas alone?”

  I nod.

  “Why … why didn’t you call me?”

  “In all honesty, I didn’t think you’d be interested in seeing me, and I didn’t want to intrude on Christmas Day.”

  “How do you do that? How do you always make me feel at ease when I’m the one freaking out about us and the things we’ve done.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You somehow manage to make me feel so much better. I don’t know how you do it; there’s just something about you,” he says.

  “I have a way with people. It’s in my nature I guess.”

  Silence blankets both of us and then there’s an audible inhale of breath from him.

  “I’m not exactly sure what I want to say to you, I mean, we haven’t known each other very long and I don’t know a whole lot about you, other than you dress up as Santa. I don’t even know your real name.”

  “We’ve been over this. My real name is Kris Kringle.”

  He raises his eyebrows and lets out a sigh of disbelief.

  “What? It’s true. My parents named me Kris Kringle because I was born on Christmas Day.”

  “You’re alone for your birthday and Christmas?” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Well that sucks. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a smile.

  My breath catches when I feel his hand touch mine, and I put my other hand on my stomach where the butterflies take flight, and I have that feeling I get whenever I fall for a guy, which of course is stupid considering I’ve only just met him.

  But why do I feel such a strong connection between us?

  I look into his beautiful eyes and drink in the sight of him, just as a winter chill brushes over me. I adjust the collar on the parka I’m wearing and blow a breath into my palms, rubbing my hands together to get them warm.

  “Why are we sitting out here freezing our butts off? Let’s go inside somewhere,” he suggests.

  “Everything’s closed, and I’m fine,” I assure him, pulling my gloves out of my pocket and sliding my hands into them.

  As he sits beside me, it’s taking everything I have not to lean forward and press a kiss to those mouthwatering lips of his, or peel him out of his clothes and make passionate love right here on this park bench.

  “Kris, the reason I came to see you is … well, to let you know that—”

  My mouth is on his in a deep kiss before he finishes his sentence, and I feel his body jolt against me, but I keep my lips locked with his, enjoying how they feel molded to mine. I can’t have a care in the world about what he was going to say, because all that matters at the moment is what’s happening right now.

  Pulling away from my lips, Deacon says, “That’s not fair.”

  “What is?” I ask.

  “Please, let me just say what I want, otherwise I’ll lose my nerve.”

  “If you’re going to tell me that what happened between us meant absolutely nothing and it was just something casual, then please try and convince yourself before you even attempt to convince me.”

  “I’ve just come out of a relationship with an ex who used me for his own popularity. I found out he was stealing from me in one way or another for years, and now, has forced me to sell the only home I’ve ever owned, leaving me with nothing but feeling insecure about myself and making a commitment to another guy.” Deacon takes a deep inhale after rushing the words out on a single breath.

  “Well, he’s an asshole. A dirty rotten piece of shit.”

  I reach for his hand and what I thought would happen, happens. I’m immediately drawn to him, more than I have been, and when our eyes connect, I see them glistening. It makes me realize how hard this is for him to admit. There are so many things I want to say to this man sitting beside me who is strikingly handsome, genuine, caring, and vibrant. I’m wishing I’d met him before his prick of an ex did so I could have prevented all this from happening. I know there’s so much more about him to be explored, and I don’t want him to walk out of my life, ever.

  So why does it feel like we’re saying goodbye?

  “That may be so, but, Kris, after everything he put me through, all the hurt and betrayal, I don’t know if I can trust anyone else.”

  The guy is so goddamn nice, and I just want to kiss him again and take him back to my place.

  “You can’t let what one asshole did to you stop you from opening your heart to someone else.”

  “Opening my heart? We had sex, in a laundry no less, then we got each other off via a video call—”

  “Which was quite the show, by the way,” I cut in.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I can’t see this … whatever this is between us, working.”

  “Why are you doing that?” I ask.

  “Doing what?”

  “Putting a label on something. Insinuating that we’re a thing. Deacon, I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to screw you over after I’ve screwed you, and I know you may find that difficult to believe right now, but I’m not asking for a relationship.”

  “Then what are you asking for?” he says.

  “Honestly? Just a good time. No strings attached. Call it casual fucking, friends with benefits, I don’t care. But the last thing I want is to lose you.”

  Okay, so maybe I sound like a desperate, pathetic, lost puppy, trying to convince myself that I’m not falling for this guy. But every time I see him, my stomach does somersaults, and I feel like my whole world is perfect whenever he’s with me.

  “But what exactly does casual mean for us? Can we date? See other people? Do you see how complicated this is?”

  I smile, an
d all I want to do is reach out, touch him, and tell him to stop analyzing this and overcomplicating it when it doesn’t need to be.

  “It means whatever the fuck we want, doesn’t it? Deacon, relationships are complicated, but what we have, what we want, doesn’t have to be.”

  Before he has the opportunity to say anything, my lips are on his, and I don’t care that we’re in the middle of Rockefeller Center where people are probably staring at us right now. No, all I care about is him, us, this moment, and the hope that’s surging through my body. I end the kiss, and he pulls away. When I look into his eyes, I see them glisten, then he cups my face with his hands and I nuzzle my head into his palm. We sit for several moments, just staring at one another like teenagers in love for the first time, drinking in the moment.

  He smiles and then says, “Well, if we’re going to be honest with each other, there’s something I think you should know.”

  “Oh?” I ask, curiously.

  “Yeah. You see, a few days ago, I met this guy. This rather attractive, no, scratch that, great looking guy, and he was dressed in a big red Santa suit.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say he walked away empty handed.”

  “And what makes you say that?” I enquire, leaning in closer.

  “Well, for starters, he’s persistent,” he says.

  “Always a bonus,” I intervene.

  “Determined.”

  “Goes for what he wants,” I continue.

  “Picked me up when I was down and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Stubborn and charming,” I add.

  “But most of all, he’s so incredibly beautiful, thoughtful, and considerate, and I’m glad I found him when I did.”

  “Ditto,” I whisper, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to mine.

  He ends our kiss with a brush of his lips and pulls back ever so slightly, takes my hand in his, then lets his eyes connect with mine once more. I lose myself in them, just as I have every single time. My breath catches and my body is flooded with adrenaline as we turn to admire the Christmas tree display. Although there are a lot of people gathering, talking, and singing Christmas carols, there’s a silence in my head. The peace of knowing that Deacon and I are exactly where we want to be. A blissful place with no commitment, no labels, no heartache, and no cheating ex-boyfriends to ruin this moment. It’s just the two of us.

  We continue to stare at the Christmas tree, not saying a word. When I feel his hand brush up the inside of my thigh, taking residence just below my groin, I don’t react. Instead, I continue to look at the tree, and when I feel him rest his head on my shoulder, I angle mine, so that it rests just on top of his.

  “Deacon?” I whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “All I want for Christmas … is you.”

  The severe aftermath of the crash of Wall Street significantly impacted the sale of my condo. With the renovations not complete and creditors still chasing the money I got from the sale, it was barely enough to pay anything. I’ve decided that the best thing to do is give Mom and Dad the majority of what’s left over. I have enough to keep my feet on the ground for now, but I know it’s not going to last long, and sooner or later I’m going to have to get a job. But as I walk the cold and busy streets of New York City, passersby look up at me and say nothing. Some ignore me, others will give the occasional raised eyebrow, some give me a warm smile, but no one stops to ask Deacon Brady for an autograph anymore. Nope, I’m just a regular citizen of New York now.

  It’s a brand-new year, a time for new resolutions, new hopes and dreams, and for me to forget about the shitty year I’ve had, and most of all, forget about Brodie. With the settlement of my condo being completed today, I’m back in L.A. briefly to courier what’s left of all my stuff over to Mom and Dad’s. Thanks to Taylor’s hard work, she’s managed to secure a deal with the creditors for me to keep my car, so I take the one and a half day journey to New York City where I’ll start my brand new life.

  Billboards, shopping malls, magazines, newsstands, television commercials … everywhere I look, I’m somehow reminded of the life I once had back in Los Angeles. Kris and I still talk, every day, actually, but he’s busy traveling the world as an exotic dancer at bars in cities around the world. From the photos he sends me daily, it looks as though he’s having a great time. We hooked up again after our night in Rockefeller Center, but with him traveling and being away for long periods of time, we both decided that being just friends was more than enough for now, and we’ll see where things lead us when he comes back to New York.

  As I continue walking the streets, I feel my phone buzz from my pocket. I reach for it and look at the name displayed on the screen.

  “Happy New Year, sis.”

  “Happy New Year. How are you?” she asks.

  “I’m doing okay, you know, under the circumstances.”

  “Mom and Dad filled me in on everything. I’m so sorry, Deacon. I wish I could be there for you.”

  “You have your own family to worry about, and I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself,” I assure her.

  “I know, but you are my baby brother, and I care about you.”

  “And I appreciate that, but really, I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?” I hear her ask over the noise of traffic.

  “Just walking home, about to step into Starbucks for a coffee.”

  “Sounds nice. Hey, you never told me what happened between you and Kris.”

  “That’s because there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. After you came home on Christmas night, you had the biggest smile on your face, it may as well have been painted on.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. We had a good night, that’s all there is to it.”

  “Yeah, I bet you did. A good night of getting jiggy with it, no doubt.”

  I roll my eyes and ignore her, knowing that if I start this conversation, it’s going to end in disappointment on her part. Instead, I quickly change the subject as I pull open the door to Starbucks and step inside.

  “How are Thomas and the girls?”

  “They’re great. Thomas went back to work yesterday, and the girls are due back at college in a couple of weeks, so they’re home with me.”

  I join the line, waiting to get my much-needed coffee fix this morning before I head home to Mom and Dad’s to unpack the rest of my belongings.

  “Are you going to see him again?” I hear Kate’s voice come through the phone, forgetting momentarily that she’s still on the line.

  “Huh, who?” I ask.

  “You know who. Kris?”

  “Are we still talking about him?” I ask her.

  “Um, we never finished.”

  “No, you never finished. I was happy to focus on the fact that I have some serious unpacking to do when I get home.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

  “And what question is that?” I say, already knowing the answer.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Seriously, Kate, do you ever quit?” I ask much louder than I intended, as a few sets of eyes turn to glare at me.

  “No.”

  I sigh as I take another step forward in line toward the counter.

  “To be honest, I don’t know if I will see him again. He’s busy traveling the world.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s an exotic dancer, remember? He travels the world and appears in shows. That’s how he makes a living.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot the fact he takes his clothes off and gets paid to do it. Such a hard life and all.”

  “Kate, I have to go, I’m about to order.”

  “Okay, fine. Tell Mom and Dad I said hi.”

  “I will. Give my love to Thomas and the girls.”

  “I will. Oh and, Deacon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you,
little brother.”

  “And I love you too, sis.”

  And with that, I end the call as I approach the counter then give the cashier my order.

  Once outside Starbucks, I begin my journey home, walking past several stores and ducking inside each one, asking the owners for a job, but sadly, each one of them turn me down, claiming major financial hardship. It’s a blow, a major blow, and I’m not used to so much rejection in one day, so I quietly sip at my coffee and continue walking.

  As I pass Mr. Anderson’s newsstand, the headline on one of the magazines catches my attention. I grab it off the rack and read the words What Happened to Deacon Brady? on the cover.

  I’m flicking through the pages of the magazine when a deep baritone calls my name from behind me. I turn around to see a man, wearing a scarf, sunglasses, and beanie, standing there, staring at me.

  “Can I help you?” I ask the man.

  “Deacon Brady?”

  “Who’s asking?” I say.

  “Deacon,” he removes his glasses and takes a step closer toward me, “my name is Dante Blaze, and I have a proposition for you.”

  I don’t have the flexibility to be able to stay at home and write full time. I wish my life could accommodate that, but when I do get the opportunity to put words into a story, I only hope they’re magical. Writing this story came with the help of so many inspirational and talented people.

  Sam: Thank you for listening to my constant storytelling updates and being the best friend a guy could ask for. Thanks for keeping me fit, healthy and sane throughout my writing.

  My work colleagues: Thank you all for being such a spirited, and fun bunch of people to work with. Thank you for your support, advice, and for allowing me to bounce my ideas off you. Most of all, thank you for wanting to read my stories.

  Bec: Thank you for taking another chance with my work, and our countless banter. Thank you so much for your good eye and your efficient responses and quick turnaround so that I could publish these books on time.

  Lisa: Thank you for all the final eyes you put into this project, and cleaning up my mess. Thank you for your prompt service and as always, wonderful advice with my writing. Thank you for the friendship and endless support.