Bad Boys Under the Mistletoe: A Begging for Bad Boys Collection

by Anthology

  “It’s fine. I’ve got it all ready to go. Even a half dozen new pairs of red tights.” Pint-sized children inevitably grabbed my legs or whatever other part of me they could reach. That was why I had several backup costumes. “I’m going to make dinner. Why don’t you take a nap until then?”

  “Actually, I’d rather read the paper. Did you get it and the mail?”

  “Yep,” I said, handing her the Clarkston Chronicle. I left the mail where it was since it consisted of mostly bills. A sense of relief passed through me when she took the paper without asking about the mail again. “Dinner will be ready in twenty.”

  Mom felt strong enough to eat nearly a full portion of the stew I’d had warming in the crockpot all day, which pleased me. But after dinner, she brought up a subject that killed that good feeling pretty quickly. “Did you see that article about your friend in the newspaper?”

  Hastily, I pushed back from the table and began taking plates to the sink. “None of my friend were in the paper today, Mom.”

  “Your friend from high school. That boy who became the photographer. He’s quite famous now. That one picture he took of those poor Afghan children won so many awards. Do you want to read the article?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You should. There’s a picture, too. He turned into a really handsome man. Broad shoulders and muscular, not wiry like he was in high school.”

  “Just leave the newspaper on the table and I’ll look at it later,” I said, though I had no intention of doing that.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t keep up with him after high school. You were so close.”

  “He went overseas right after graduation.”

  “Yeah, but nowadays, with Facebook and everything, it’s so easy to keep in touch.” She lifted her salad bowl, and I quickly took it out of her trembling hand. “You know, I still don’t understand why you skipped graduation.”

  Oh great. The one topic I liked even less than talking about Jackson Young. “What was the point? To wait in the hot sun while the superintendent mispronounced everyone’s name, one by one?” And while Jackson took pictures for the school newspaper. Pictures of the crowd, the graduates. And of her. Beatrice Wright. No way I could face them after what happen after the prom.

  To my relief, mom changed the subject. “When you start on Sunday, can you return a book to Daniel Reynolds? I borrowed it from him after church last month.”

  “Sure,” I said. “He’s not going to be Santa this year, but I’m sure I’ll see him.”

  “He’s not? But he does that every year.”

  “Says he’s getting too old for it. The bigger kids hurt his knees when they sit on his lap.”

  “Then who’s going to be Santa?”

  “I don’t know. They said they found someone new.”

  Chapter 3

  Jackson

  Sunday morning. 10:00. Usually, I was still asleep at this time of the day. Or more likely passed out. Or hung over. Or sometimes all three. Instead, I was in a backroom at Reynolds’ Department store. Putting on a suit.

  Normally, I looked pretty damn good in a suit, but not this one. Bright red with white trim was not my style. “But the red matches your bloodshot eyes,” Chris pointed out helpfully. Asshole. Jokes were fine for afternoons. Or evenings. But not for mornings when any decent person was still asleep.

  “Your belly is still too flat,” Chris’s father said. He handed me more foam pieces to line the suit. “I wore this costume last year, and I have a bit more natural padding than you, son. We need to fatten you up.”

  “I think I’ve heard of a nursery rhyme about that. Fattening up the dorky little kids so the witch could eat them. It had a gruesome ending.”

  “And here you were afraid you wouldn’t have anything to talk to the kids about,” Chris said, helping me on with my jacket. “But stories about cannibalism are solid gold.”

  “God, morning people are annoying,” I growled. “Do I have to do anything besides sit there and look like I’m a year or two away from fully clogged arteries?”

  “Just listen to them And let them sit on your lap.”

  “Isn’t that a bit creepy in this day and age?”

  “Not for Santa. Remember, this is a pure, wholesome thing. That’s why you’re doing this, right?” When his father wasn’t looking, Chris raised his hand as if taking a swig of liquor. “You’re trying to be a new man.”

  “A man whose belly shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly,” I said ruefully, looking into the mirror. Mr. Reynolds came at me with white fluff in his hand, and I backed away.

  “Hold still, son. Gotta put the beard and the eyebrows on you.”

  “What’s that white gunk?” Whatever it was, I was damn sure I didn’t want it on my face.

  “It’s the glue. It’ll wear off by the end of the day.”

  End of the day? “How long do I have to do this?”

  “We close at six.”

  “For eight hours?” Eight hours among snot-nose little kids? Eight hours of smiling and faking holiday cheer? Eight hours without a drink? “I’ll never make it.”

  “Sure you will, son. You just have to sit there. You’ll have an assistant who’ll do all the work. She’ll keep the kids calm and in line, and then she’ll bring them up to you. She’ll tell you their names, too.”

  “An assistant? Santa has a secretary?”

  “Santa has an elf, son. You really should read “The Night Before Christmas” or something. But she’s been doing this for three years. She’ll keep things running smoothly.”

  “Almost done,” Chris said, and I looked in the mirror again. Huge belly. Bright red fake velvet suit. A big beard and bushy eyebrows.

  “Could this be anymore humiliating?” I grumbled.

  Chris fitted a wig of shoulder-length white hair onto my head and then plopped a Santa hat on top.

  “I guess that answers that question,” I said with one last glare in the mirror.

  Ten minutes later, I was sitting on a throne-like chair on a little stage in front of a two-story Christmas tree. A line of two dozen kids and their purchase-laden parents snaked its way to the toward the door. Where the hell was the goddamn elf?

  “Can we come up now?” said the father in the front, holding onto the hands of two little grubby kids. He was impatient. He looked like an accountant or lawyer or some other fucked up, anal type.

  “I’ll let you know when you can come up,” I growled, but at least I hadn’t used any four letter words. But I would if the elf didn’t get here.

  And then there was a flash of green and red and suddenly she was there. “I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry. My mom is sick, and she needed—” she paused, out of breath. She must have run here from the parking lot. At least she was already in her costume, and it was a hell of a lot cooler than mine. Green felt formed pointed elf shoes that fit over the top of regular shoes. Then red tights over an extremely shapely pair of legs. Then a green tunic with a zigzag hemline that ended mid-thigh. Then a white button-down blouse underneath it. Then fiery red hair tucked behind prosthetic pointed ears. All topped with a pointed green cap with a bell.

  I was so busy looking at how well her curves looked under that costume that it was a while before I bothered to look at her face. But when I did, I almost fell off my throne. Olivia Compton. Holy Shit.

  “Have a Merry Christmas,” I said as little blond kid clambered off my lap, narrowly avoiding kneeing me in the balls. He was only the tenth child so far today, but already I felt grimy. I’d never known how sticky little kids were. Did their parents roll them in taffy or something? Did it make them easier to keep track of if they stuck to things?

  Olivia was squatting down, talking to the next child in line. So far, that was the best part, watching her with the kids. Well, watching her move around in that outfit, I meant. The way she bent down to talk to them often gave me a brief glimpse at her luscious cleavage. Or if she was facing away from me, her little gre
en tunic would ride up in the back, and I’d see more of her cute thighs. It was enough to make Santa want to loosen his trousers.

  But Mr. Reynolds had been right, she was good at what she did. Though Chris could have fucking warned me who it was. She clearly had no clue who I was, which was good. The last thing these kids needed was to see Santa stabbed through the heart by an elf wielding a candy cane.

  I’d seen in the mirror that I looked nothing like myself, so I probably didn’t need to worry. Plus, we’d been so rushed that we’d only spoken when she brought each new child up to see me.

  Toward eleven, though, there was a slight lull in the crowd, and Liv collapsed on a little green stool a few feet away from me, her legs pressed tightly together. Not that I was looking.

  “Wow, that was quite a rush for your first day. How are you holding up?”

  “Not bad,” I said, which was a fair assessment. The mass of crying, whiny kids had been a lot to take in, but I’d been in war zones. I’d seen worse.

  “I’m Olivia,” she said, and she reached over, holding out her hand.

  Fuck. I should have thought ahead about this. My mind spun but came up blank. “I’m… Tog.” It was the nickname the guys in the unit I’d shadowed had given me. Short for photographer.

  “Todd?” she said, tilting her head to the side.

  Yeah, that was better. “That’s right.”

  “Nice to meet you, Todd.” She smiled at me, but I was pretty fucking sure she wouldn’t be smiling if she knew who was under the hair, the suit, and the padding.

  Chapter 4

  Olivia

  I’d forgotten how tiring this could be. Sure, I worked with kids every single day, but that was in a classroom where they knew they had to behave. Here in the department store, they were excited, anxious, scared, jacked up on sugar, or all of the above. It was my job to help keep them in an orderly line, to talk to them, to engage them. Most of their parents couldn't be bothered to stop swiping at their phones.

  “Do you know much about elves?” I asked a cheerful little boy who’d said his name was Jamal.

  “No,” he said, his wide eyes showing that he’d like to.

  I sat down on the edge of of the stage so I could hear him better. My back was to Todd, but I could feel his eyes on me somehow. Or maybe that was wishful thinking? He seemed like a nice enough guy though he was rather clueless about being Santa. It had been a shock to see a pair of sharp, green eyes peering out at me from behind the white beard and eyebrows. He was obviously a lot younger than Mr. Reynolds. But other than his eyes, I couldn’t see much about him. But those vivid green eyes seemed to follow me a lot.

  “Elves are like ordinary people. We sleep. We watch TV. And we eat—but not the same things that you do. Guess what we eat?”

  “What?” he said, fascinated.

  “Only foods that are red and green.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep! Can you think of a food that's red?”

  “Strawberries?”

  “Yes! I love strawberries. Now how about something that’s green?”

  This one took him a little longer. “Lettuce?”

  “Good!”

  “And an apple,” he said as I took his hand. It was his turn.

  “That’s right. Apples can be both red and green, so they're my favorite food.” I led him over to Todd. “Santa, this is Jamal. He’s been a really good boy this year.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jamal. Come on up here.” Todd reached over and picked the boy up as if he weighed no more than a gallon of milk. Whoever he was, he was strong.

  I stepped back to the edge of the stage and took some pictures with the digital camera as Jamal’s mother wrote her e-mail address down on a clipboard. The best pictures would be emailed to her this evening. A minute or two later, Jamal skipped off the stage to his mother. “Mama, I talked to him. He was so nice!” Score one for the rookie Santa, I thought with a smile.

  A few hours later, he was starting to flag. It was hard working with kids all day if you weren’t used to it. I told him to take a break while I entertained the half dozen kids in line. Over the years I’d done this, I’d invented quite a few stories about the daily lives of Santa’s elves. After Todd disappeared, I regaled the kids with what kind of car elves drove (minivans), where they slept (in elf-size Christmas stockings they slept in like a sleeping bag) and so on.

  I was just about to tell the waiting kids about what kind of stores elves shopped in when I saw Jamal and his mother approaching. Jamal walked right to the front of the line and proudly handed me a bag. “What’s this?”

  His mom smiled at me, half embarrassed and half proud. “He said you told him that elves only eat red and green food, so he insisted that we go to every place in the food court until we found something you could eat.”

  He’d done that for me? What a sweet little guy. Of course, who knows what he’d found. Opening the bag, I lifted out a white styrofoam container. “It’s tomato soup,” Jamal said, beaming at me. Setting it aside, I found a wad of napkins. Pulling them out, I felt something inside and unwrapped them to find a long pickle slice.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, hugging the little boy. “You don’t know how hard it is for elves to find something to eat in a place like this.”

  Jamal hugged me back, the huge smile on his face showing that he was pleased with himself. “We got something for Santa, too.”

  “That’s so sweet of you, but he’s not here right now.” But Jamal’s mother nodded at something behind me, and I turned. Todd was sitting at his chair, leaning on an armrest, his long legs spread wide. He was looking at me intensely in a way that made me wonder how long he’d been watching.

  Jamal took him a large, cellophane-wrapped chocolate cookie. We both thanked him again as he and his mom left, and before I went to get the next child, Todd winked at me. “I get a chocolate chip cookie, and you get tomato soup and a pickle. Seems like elves always get the short end of the stick. Got any stories about that?”

  I laughed and brought the next child up to him. The next time there was a lull, he unwrapped his cookie and brought it to his mouth, placing a hand on his beard. But when he saw me looking, he stopped. Maybe he didn’t want to get crumbs in his beard? Or maybe he didn’t want to take off his beard in public? There weren’t any kids here right now, but who knew when there might be again.

  Todd made it through that first day, and somewhat to my surprise, was back again on Monday evening for our 6:00 to 8:30 shift. Truthfully, he didn’t seem to be much of a kid person, but he was always polite to them. And he was never late. By Wednesday, he was starting to open up a little with them too, really listening to what they were saying instead of just asking standard, one-size fits all questions.

  And even when he had a child—or two—on his lap, he still watched me. It wasn’t an uncomfortable experience, it was just an unusual one. I worked at an elementary school, so my world consisted mostly of children and my fellow teachers, all of whom were female except one. I wasn’t used to being around a man who showed a clear interest in me. Not that he ever did anything more than look.

  On Wednesday night after our shift was done, I actually asked him if he wanted to go to a coffee shop and get something to drink, and he’d turned me down. Which was no problem, but still—I was kind of hoping to get to know him better. And okay, I can admit that I was really dying to know what he looked like without all the white hair and the padded suit. But he was always dressed as Santa when I arrived, and after our shift, he went to an employee area in the back of the store while I went home. Not that it mattered what he looked like, but still, I was curious. All I could see was his eyes, and their amazing shade of green was intriguing in its own right.

  By Thursday, we were working really well together. We had our routine down. Perhaps I was a little too relaxed because something happened that I wasn’t prepared for. I was telling two darling little girls about elves’ favorite game, a version of hide and seek that also invol
ved an elf’s magical ability to turn into a statue, when I realized that it was time to snap a picture of the brother and sister on Todd’s lap. I did so hastily and then led the little girls up to him. One was a little shy, so I held her hand while her sister sat on Todd’s lap.

  “And what do you want, Tracy?”

  “A skateboard,” she said clearly. Her shyer sister had only mumbled something.

  “A skateboard? Don’t you mean roller skates?”

  “Girls can ride skateboards, too, Santa,” I interjected. “No Y Chromosome necessary.”

  “What’s a why-cromaphone?” Tracy asked, and Todd grinned. At least I think it was a grin. It was a little hard to tell with that big bushy white beard.

  “I apologize, Tracy. I’ll be sure to get you a skateboard.”

  I frowned at him. He wasn’t supposed to promise specific things. “We’ll have to see about that, Santa. Don’t you remember the Chief Elf telling you about the wheel-maker strike?”

  “Oh yeah. I think I remember something about that on my Facebook feed,” he said, and now it was my turn to smile. That was pretty funny.

  We finished up with the twin girls, and I turned to find that the next parent had already walked onto the stage with two kids in tow. I frowned. They were supposed to wait for me to get them.

  The woman wore a business suit and high heels. She was probably one of those I’m-important-so-don’t-make-me-wait types. Indeed, she was looking at her watch right now. And then she looked up.

  “Olivia!” she cried, and I gaped at her in shock. I’d known she’d gotten married and had kids, but I hadn’t thought I’d see her here. I definitely hadn’t wanted to see her here. “How are you?” she said as if we were long lost friends. And I supposed that technically we were long lost friends. Very lost—with good reason. We’d been in many of the same classes at school, but we hadn’t been all that close. Still, we were civil, at least until the night of the prom. After that, I’d never wanted to see or speak to her again. Or him.