by Eli Easton
“Candy?” Josh asked. He was still standing on the little lip at the windows, watching us. He looked at me hopefully, but, alas, I hadn’t thought to bring candy. Clearly, I was no Santa Claus.
“Do you know who Santa is? I mean, his real name?” I asked, which earned me a lot of blank stares. I was playing with fire here, but surely the older kids knew Santa was a man in a red suit.
“He’s just a cool dude,” the eight-year-old boy said with a shrug.
“He’s a big daddy with a white beard,” put in the six-year-old girl, also shrugging, aping the boy.
“Our Santa is Santa Claus,” said Sasha with a scolding glower. “The real one.”
“Okay!” I said brightly. “Well, um, thanks, guys. I’ve got lots of good stuff for the paper.”
I couldn’t tell if Sasha had said that for the sake of the little ones, like Josh, or if she honestly meant it.
Hell, maybe she did.
I’d just finished interviewing the kids when I heard a commotion behind me. I turned to see Mack getting attacked by a half-dozen small bodies. He swung a boy up into his arm and patted various heads. The kids hung like limpets from his huge thighs.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
He looked like he was forcing a smile for them. His brow was furrowed, and his face was paler than usual. Then he glanced over at me and he looked away again, his expression closed off and… angry? My stomach fell.
Oh. Mierda. He didn’t like that I was there. Did he think I was stalking him?
Shit. Maybe I was. First, he’d gotten blindsided by a blind date with me, thanks to Jordan. Then I’d shown up at the Educational Sciences building. And then I’d gotten myself invited to that dinner with his dad. Now this.
What if Mack didn’t like me at all? What if he was just being polite and I kept getting all up in his private space?
Dios, they should make a Lifetime movie about me. The Stalky McStalker Reporter From Hell. Ugh.
I turned away from the windows with a lurch and went over to the craft table. I sat down at the far end, which was as close to hiding in the corner as I could get. I dragged a piece of white construction paper over and started to draw a snowflake. I could leave, but since I’d gotten my interviews with the kids, I felt obligated to do something to help decorate. Sharon would have my balls if I didn’t. Maybe if I stayed out of Mack’s way and let him do his thing, it wouldn’t be so bad.
I cut out snowflakes and more snowflakes. I was a self-induced blizzard. There were some stencils lying around, which helped, because the artist in me had been permanently held back in the second grade. The few times I dared glance up, Walter was helping Mack put up lights, holding the string while Mack stood on a short stepstool and tacked them along the ceiling.
Mack didn’t look my way.
“Oh, that’s… nice,” Sharon hedged, leaning over my shoulder. “Would you mind helping Maria and Angel?”
“Um—”
Sharon sat a little dark-haired girl and boy down on either side of me. They looked like they might be twins, both with big brown eyes and pointy elfin chins. They were maybe around five.
“Maria y Angel, esto es Gabriel,” Sharon said.
“Qué onda, chicos. Quieres hacer copos de nieve?” I waved a snowflake at them.
The boy reached for the kiddy scissors with a smile and a nod.
I wasn’t the world’s greatest Spanish speaker. My dad got pissed off if my mom spoke it too much with us kids, because he felt left out, so I didn’t grow up in a bilingual household. But mi mama was very colorful, and I’d picked up many of her spontaneous outbursts. Most of what I knew, though, came from our vacations to Mexico City. Every year, my mom took us three kids there for two to three weeks where I’d hang out with my older, cooler cousins. It’s amazing how much you pick up when you want to impress other kids. I learned the basics required to make my needs known, and treasured each and every filthy swear word they taught me. Those trips had ended when I was twelve and my folks divorced. But they’d had a big impact on me.
Still, I spoke well enough to communicate with Maria and Angel. They were pretty cute. By the time they got bored and wandered away, which took around ten minutes max, my hurt over Mack had released its grip on me a little.
And, fuck it, I was working on a story about the Elks dinner for the newspaper. And I had been invited by Sharon. I was doing my job. I had every right to be there.
I looked around and saw Mack putting up the kids’ fireplace mural. I stood up and marched over to him. One corner of the paper was drooping, so I pressed it back on the wall. He frowned at me but taped it into place.
“Look,” I said in a low voice. “I came here today to get some interviews with the kids for my article. I’m sorry if I’m in your way. I was about to leave anyway.”
“You’re not in my way,” Mack said stiffly.
The humiliation inside me blossomed, hot, all over again. His cold attitude spoke way louder than his words. “Great. Fine. See you.”
I turned to go, but Mack grabbed the crook of my arm. I stood there breathing hard, not looking at him.
“Help me finish putting this up,” he said gruffly.
“Fine,” I gritted out through clenched teeth.
I helped him, holding up the paper and smoothing out the wrinkles. The fake fireplace was decent—way better than I could have drawn—and it went up on a blank wall at the end of the room. I wondered if that would be the backdrop for Santa.
“I read your article this morning,” Mack said flatly, his gaze focused on the wall.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Okay. Sharon liked it.”
Mack grunted. “It’s not bad.”
“Gee thanks. I don’t deserve such gushing praise.”
He looked at me, and his eyes were angry. “I thought you said you weren’t going to ‘out’ Santa? It sure sounds like you’re planning on it. You said there’d be a part two where you’re gonna be at the dinner. Said you’d try to interview him. Now you’re here. Why are you spending so much time on this? No one ever cared about this Christmas dinner before.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, confused. This was why he was pissed at me? Why? Why the fuck did he care so much about the Elks’ Santa? I originally thought he was being protective of St. Mark’s. But I’d been perfectly nice about St. Mark’s in the article.
“Well, maybe people should care. It’s my first assignment for the paper,” I said tightly. “I’m trying to do a good job, that’s it. And Sharon asked me to help out here today, so I’m helping. Why are you here?”
His face reddened, and he picked up a hammer from the floor, fiddled with it. “No big reason. I like to help when I have the time. When I was at St. Mark’s, it mattered that people actually wanted to spend time with you. Take you fishing and shit. Just… be around.” He glowered at me, as if he expected mockery.
My insides were a stew of emotions. It pissed me off that he was so defensive, that he just assumed I would do something cruel with the article, that he basically insulted me as a journalist. Yet the fact that he cared about St. Mark’s and volunteered his time made it hard to be pissed at him. Then there was Randall and his expectations for the article. He did want me to ‘out’ Santa. I could hardly deny that. So Mack had, maybe, a sliver of a point.
It was fucked up. But I was trying to do the right thing.
“Can you maybe cut me some slack? Give me the benefit of the doubt? I told you, I’m not out to hurt anyone. I like St. Mark’s. I’m attempting to do a good thing here.”
He sighed, a grimace of resignation on his lips. “Okay.” He made it sound like the biggest concession since Versailles.
“Okay?” I pressed, raising one eyebrow.
“Yeah. Okay,” he repeated, with more conviction. He poked me lightly in the stomach with the hammer. “Just know that if you hurt anyone with that article, I will make you pay for it.”
I thought he was teasing. Mostly. I folded my arms over my chest. “And how
would you do that, big guy?”
He tossed down the hammer, and before I could even blink, he picked me up, his big hands cupping my hips. I gave off a little yelp and clutched his shoulders.
“I’d pick you up like this,” he said. “Only naked. All except for your boots, which I’d lace together real tight.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be thrilled or terrified. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And then I’d turn you upside down like this—” The world spun, and I was suddenly staring at the floor from a foot away. I shrieked. “—and then I’d hang you from a lamppost outside the student union just before dawn. In the cold. Upside down. Wearing nothing but your boots.”
“Me! Me! Do me!” yelled a dozen kids, hoping up and down around us like Mexican jumping beans.
I was lowered to the floor and left there to catch my breath while Mack hung kids upside down and growled. They screamed in mock fear and begged for more as soon as he set them down.
I breathed steadily, stared at the ceiling, and tried to still my pounding heart and smother my stupid grin.
Goddamn it, Mack. How could he make me so pissed off and so fucking ecstatic within the same five minutes?
More importantly, I had to get that man alone. And soon. Maybe if something actually happened between us, I’d be less confused. Less confused would be good.
We worked for another hour before a few of the kids started to get whiny. Sharon announced they were done and had to get home for dinner. She and the other girl who worked at St. Mark’s got the kids into their coats and out the door in record time.
That woman deserved sainthood. I swear to God.
Mack and I were left alone in the room with Walter, who quickly excused himself.
I looked at Mack. Mack looked at me.
“You need a ride?” he asked, all casual.
“Um… I don’t suppose I can leave my car here and pretend I do?” I batted my eyes.
Mack smirked. “You could, but I wouldn’t leave my car here overnight.”
“No. Probably not a great idea.”
He looked down at me and swallowed. “My dad’s working tonight. Wanna come over?”
“Yes,” I breathed. God, even my breathing sounded horny. I told myself to play it cool and cleared my throat. “Um… I could pick up something to eat on the way over.”
“Nah, I got stuff at home to make.”
I was broke, so I didn’t argue. “Okay.”
Mack gave me his address. I typed it into my phone. He lived on the north side of Madison. I buzzed with anticipation the entire way there.
Mack lived in a house with his father. And I was going there. Dios.
The drama queen in my head was running around screaming as I drove over there. It felt like a big deal that Mack had invited me to his place. Even Jordan hadn’t known where Mack lived, only that it was off campus. And Owen was probably as good a friend to Mack as anyone at UW. So I felt honored that he’d invited me over and also nervous as hell.
The address turned out to be a very small, ranch-style house in a run-down area near the airport. There was a Hyundai in the driveway. Mack’s car? How did he even fit into that thing? There was so much I didn’t know about the guy.
My mind flashed to scenes from the wrestling matches: Mack, in his red singlet, flexing his biceps and playing up to the crowd who chanted in unison “Mountain! Mountain!” That was a fascinating, drool-worthy guy, but that wasn’t the guy who made my insides feel like a live wire had been jabbed into them. That wasn’t the guy who engaged my heart. I wanted to know the Mack who sat at a Perkin’s table with his ex-con father and a frail old man and clearly looked out for both of them. I wanted to know the Mack who strung up lights and hung paper fireplaces for a children’s home, who turned kids upside down to make them laugh. I wanted to know the Mack who planned to spend his life building dams to save people.
Would that Mack let me in?
I parked on the street and went up to the door. I knocked, my insides a flutter of anticipation.
Mack opened the door. He’d changed into a pair of black sweatpants, a black T-shirt, and white cotton socks. They were definitely lazy-night-at-home clothes, not fuck-me-now clothes. Still, they were soft and inviting and made me want to lounge around with him, or preferably on top, using him as a sofa.
“Hey, Gabe. Come on in.” He stepped back from the door.
I went inside. The place looked like a rental—plain white walls, heavy old drapes along the front window, a nondescript carpet, and no art. But there were family photos on one wall, and the extra-large sofa in tan velour looked clean and new. The rest of the furniture appeared to be secondhand or Ikea. The house was no frills, which wasn’t surprising given that two men lived there, but it was clean. It smelled good too. I sniffed.
“You did not have time to make chili,” I commented with surprise.
Mack scratched his chin in a bashful way. “We had a batch in the freezer. I put some cornbread in the oven too. Just a box mix. I’m not great in the kitchen.”
“That’s okay. You have other talents,” I said, getting my flirt on.
“Hmmm.” Mack glanced at the floor. “Want me to hang up your coat?”
Oh right. I was standing inside in full winter gear. I unzipped my black parka. Mack took it from me and put it on a hanger in a small closet by the front door. He was very careful with it. At times, I felt like he took exaggerated care with his movements because he was so big. Either that or I made him feel self-conscious.
“So your dad’s working tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah. You wanna beer?”
“Sure.” Anything to help me relax.
Why was I so anxious? I’d just seen Mack at the Elks Lodge. But this time, he’d invited me. Deliberately. To his house. It felt like a turning point. And we were alone. Anything was possible.
God, I wanted this to be what it appeared to be and not to be just a casual bro thing.
“Come on into the kitchen,” he said, leading the way.
He took a beer bottle out of the fridge, and I saw his hand shake a wee bit as he popped a top with a bottle opener. “He works nights doing security for a hospital.”
Who? Oh right. Mack’s dad. “Yeah? That’s good.”
“It is. It’s a good job for him. It’s tough finding employment when you’ve got a record.”
“I can imagine.”
“And it means I have the place to myself most nights.”
Was Mack trying to justify living at home? I hurried to reassure him. “I think it’s great that you live with your dad. You can share expenses and watch out for each other. If my mom lived close to Madison, I’d probably do that. But she’s in Indianapolis.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
I nodded. “After my parents divorced, my mom kept her job there and my dad moved to Texas and got remarried. So I split my time between the two. But mostly, yeah, Indianapolis. It’s not bad. I liked my schools and the downtown area is pretty hip.”
“I’d like to go sometime.” Mack seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands—not having pockets in the sweats—so he turned to the stove and picked up a big spoon. He moved it in a hypnotic circle in the pot.
“How long have you been living with your dad?” I asked.
“Since he got out. It was the summer before my senior year of high school.” Mack glanced at me and gave me a tight-lipped smile.
I found it hard to imagine the effort it must have taken for Mack’s father, getting out of prison, to start over with a teenage son. And it must have taken a boatload of sheer will on Mack’s part to stay on track, finish his senior year, get into the UW Madison—not an easy college to get into—and earn a wrestling scholarship, despite all the upheaval with his home life. I knew from my own experience how family drama could derail you. I barely remembered the eighth grade.
“I admire your loyalty.” I grimaced at myself. That wasn’t the right word. Way to go writer-type-person. “I mean…
I can see the way you look after your dad.”
Mack gave me an almost smile. “Yeah, right. He’d probably punch you if he heard you say that. Drink your beer, Gabe.”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned and took a drink.
He stirred the chili in a huge pot, round and round. Seriously, the pot was almost bigger than the stove. It reminded me of Mack. He was outsized in this little house too, larger than life, like so much—so much man, so much determination, so many walls. He seemed unreachable. But he wasn’t. I was sure he wasn’t.
God, I wanted to break this tension between us. It was so… awkward and weird and addictive too, the anticipation. Every inch of me was so aware of every inch of him. And I was pretty sure that he liked me liked me. I thought so? But it was driving me fucking batshit not knowing for sure.
I spent way too much of my time thinking about him. This crush was getting out of hand, eating away at my brain. If I was wasting my time, I needed to know, go cold turkey. I decided, fuck it, I had to do something to push this thing forward or I’d go nuts.
A tall countertop ran beside the stove. I put my beer down, turned my back to the counter, and leveraged myself up there. I sat facing Mack, now nearly at eye level.
He looked at me and put down the spoon. “Comfy?”
I smirked. “I need some height to get closer to you.”
Mack stared at me for a long moment. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Is that something you want? To get closer to me?” His voice was rough and gravelly.
Oh hell yes. I nodded slowly. “For example, right at this very moment, you could be a lot closer.”
He couldn’t, in fact, be much closer unless we were making out. Which was the point. I reached out and snagged a bit of his T-shirt and tugged very lightly, so he could ignore it if he wanted. But he came, stepping between my spreading knees.
“Like this?” he asked. His hands went to either side of me on the tile. Oh yes, this counter had been a brilliant idea. His mouth, that normally out-of-reach Shangri-La, was only inches from mine. His brown eyes were warm and they made my insides heat up and dissolve, like butter in a hot pan.
