Dear Santa, I Can Explain!

by Kayt Miller

  I look down at myself. My boobs are so squished inside they’re practically bursting out of the V-neck. “Jeez, it’s like a sausage casing,” I moan. This is going to be far and beyond the most humiliating night of my professional life.

  I roll my eyes. “Well, one of them,” I say to myself. There’ve been too many to count––hell, several of those humiliating days have happened right here at Parker and Associates. For example, there was that time Mr. Parker caught me demonstrating my Twerking skills to a break-room full of colleagues. When I saw him standing in the doorway, I stopped mid-Twerk, my ass pointing right at him. He didn’t look angry, just confused and, I think, a little embarrassed––for me––as he muttered, “Please get back to work, Ms. Cartwright.”

  Then, there was that day Katya had me making copies. I’d only been here for a week or so and had no idea how to run the damn machine. When Mr. Parker walked into the copy room, he looked stunned at first, but that quickly turned into anger.

  He bent over to pick up one of the two hundred and fifty copies I’d made of my cleavage, cursing under his breath. Okay, so let me explain. The page I was supposed to copy fell behind the copy machine. I could see the edge of it, so I reached and reached trying to grab it with my hand. I must have bumped the ‘copy’ button at some point because the machine went crazy spewing out copy after copy of my chest that was squished up against the glass. Now, if my ponytail hadn’t gotten caught on the hinge thingy on the lid, I’d have been able to move up and off of the machine and hit ‘stop’. But, I couldn’t.

  Mr. Parker growled at me and helped me extricate myself from the clutches of the evil machine. He barely spoke to me except to say, “This,” holding up a picture of my smushed boobs, “Is going into your file. Have someone teach you how to the use the damn equipment. Today!” he shouted. He added, “And clean this mess up!” as he walked out of the room.

  The third time wasn’t quite so bad. Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? It was worse than the other two combined. I was having a candy-eating contest with one of the apprentice architects in the Pit. The Pit is where all of those apprentices work, and it’s usually filled with row after row of drafting tables except tonight it’s filled with stupid holiday cheer.

  Anyway, I had just refilled my bowl of candy when one of the new guys walked by snatching a handful of jellybeans. (It was jellybean day.) Anyway, he put a huge handful into his mouth. Giggling, I asked him how many he could fit into his mouth. “I don’t know. How many can you?”

  With the gauntlet thrown, I accepted the challenge. We took the bowl and went to the Pit. He went first getting a whopping fifty-seven jellybeans into his pie-hole. By the time it was my turn, we’d attracted quite an audience. When I started, the guys counted for me: one, two, three, and so on. By the time I had fifty candies in my mouth, they were clapping in a rhythmic beat chanting my name, “Lexie. Lexie. Lexie.”

  Inspired by their encouragement, I shoved seven more beans into my mouth. Just as I was about to win, the crowd grew silent. Wow! Were they in awe? Nope. Not so much. I slowly turned around in time to see Mr. Parker step up behind me. The guys all scattered leaving me standing in front of my boss; my mouth was so full of beans I couldn’t open any further. I couldn’t swallow them either. My breathing got a little labored, my face grew hot, and I started to choke.

  Raising my hands to my throat in the universal choking gesture, I felt light-headed and scared. Without a word, Mr. Parker reached out placing one hand gently on the back of my neck. Whispering in my ear, he said, “Shh, calm down. I’ve got you.” At that point, he took a finger and swept it into my mouth essentially loosening up the glob of jellybeans. After that, one jellybean after another fell from my mouth at a rapid pace onto the brand new carpeting.

  When I could control my tongue and mouth, I spit out the remaining beans into the garbage can next to me. Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth, I look up blinking back tears, “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

  “Ms. Cartwright?”

  “Yes?”

  “Clean this mess up and get back to work.” That’s all he said. ‘Get back to work.’ So embarrassing.

  Grabbing my green sweater, I open the door and step out into the bathroom. Two different women are now changing in the bathroom. As soon as they see me their eyes grow three times their normal size. One of them slaps her hand over her mouth. No doubt trying to stop from laughing. I make my way up to the mirror above the sink and stare. Yep. This is, without a doubt, the most humiliating thing to happen to me at Parker and Associates. So far.

  “Uh, Lexie?” asks Kim, the one trying not to laugh.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you mean to tell her that size?” she says pointing at my sweater.

  “You mean you got to tell her the size you wanted?”

  “And the color,” adds, Shelly, the second woman.

  That fricking witch! “I guess I missed the memo.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t a memo, she called us,” says Kim.

  “And emailed us,” adds Shelly.

  “Great.” Just great. I guess the theory that she just forgot to ask me is out.

  Chapter 3

  Lexie

  I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. Shelly and Kim had gone back out long before I was able to gather the courage to face the music. Kim tried to make me feel better by saying, ‘It doesn't look that bad,’ right before she left. Not that bad? Oh, it’s worse than bad. As soon as I pull the door open, I step out running face-first into a tall body. “Whoa, you okay?” asks Archie Bowman, accountant of my dreams.

  Of course, the first person I’d see in this humiliating state of dress is Archie. I’ve had a thing for him ever since he showed me how to use the copy machine that day. He’s really nice and very easy on the eyes. He’s got brown hair and eyes; he’s tall at about six foot. Archie’s not super muscly or anything, but he’s not scrawny either––he’s just right.

  I blink and look up at his face as he pushes thick glasses up is long, strong nose. When my eyes find his, they’re not looking back at me. They’re looking down––down to my sweater. “Wow, Lexie…”

  I look down to see what he’s referring to and all I see are boobs pushing out of my sweater.

  “That’s a great sweater,” he mumbles.

  I want to whine and complain about the cruel joke played by Katya, but he obviously means what he’s saying. His eyes have grown round in surprised.

  “It’s a little tight.” A little tight? That’s an understatement, but I’m not going to do anything to push him away. I’ve been waiting for Archie to notice me for months.

  “No way,” he murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

  “Really?” I ask stepping back so he can see the entire thing. “You don’t think it’s too tight?”

  Archie blinks several times at a rapid pace. His eyes scan from my chest down and then back up to my chest. “No way. That’s a great color too. Pink is nice.”

  Pink is nice? Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe I should try to be a little more confident here. “Wow! Thanks. Well, I need to get back. See ya,” I add patting his chest with my palm.

  As I walk away, he adds, “Let me buy you a drink later.”

  I turn and giggle, “It’s an open bar, silly.” Okay, when did I turn into Marilyn Monroe? Silly?

  Running his fingers through his thinning brown hair, “I know. But, I’m going to do it none-the-less.”

  I gasp a little bit. He sounded so dominant and manly just then, “Okay.” I turn and make my way to the party. “I’ll see you in a little bit, then.”

  When Cammy spots me, she spits out her drink. “Oh, my God!” she says way too loudly.

  “Shh! Shut up, Cam!” I say as I march up to her.

  Laughing, she takes in gulps of air, “No! I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because you look fucking hot. If bitch face was trying to make you look ridiculous, it backfired.”

  “I don’t look hot. I look like I’m stuffed like a turkey.
”

  “A sexy turkey. Damn, you should wear pink more often.”

  Now I’m pink. I know I’m embarrassed, but that’s too much, “Archie liked it.”

  “Oh, I bet he did. Look around.”

  I turn my head and scanned the room. “What am I looking for?”

  “Look at the men.”

  I scan around the room again, and it’s then I notice the men. They’re all looking at me. And they aren’t laughing.

  “They probably think I look terrible.”

  “No way. I think they’ve all got boners.”

  “Ooh, gross. They do not.” But, I scan the room again checking to see if she’s right when my eyes meet up with Mr. Parker’s. He’s not looking at me admiringly. He looks pissed. “Why does Mr. Parker always look like he’s mad at me?”

  Cammy looks to her left in search of Gabriel Parker. “I don’t know. But he’s definitely got that pissed off look, doesn’t he?”

  Yes, he certainly does. What did I do this time?

  Chapter 4

  Lexie

  True to his word, Archie bought me a drink. So did Scott, Malcolm, Seth, Jack, and Ron. By the time I finished up Ron’s drink, I was pretty tipsy. Not enough that I was going to make a fool of myself. I know better than that. Just as Jalen Adams was about to approach me, Archie steps in his path. “So, Lex. You having fun?”

  “Yeah. Are you?” I say gazing up at his face.

  “I am. But, I could think of s-something that would be more fun.”

  Okay, he’s drunk. I can hear it in his voice as he slurred the word ‘something’ just now. “Oh, yeah. What could be more fun than this?” I say gesturing to the raucous crowd. It’s that point in the night when everyone’s inhibitions are lowered enough to dance on their desks. There are also a few people on the edge of the room who have apparently crossed over into the hook-up zone.

  “I know something way more fun,” Archie says whisper-yelling into my year.

  “Like what?”

  “Meet me in the supply closet in ten minutes. I’ll show you.”

  “The supply closet?” I squeak.

  Whispering in a husky voice, Archie adds, “Ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.” It’s happening! Finally! Archie and I are going to make out in the closet. He’ll fall madly in love with me because I’m a pretty good kisser, then he’ll propose, and we’ll get married. Bam, just like that. I smile from ear to ear as I make my way back to Cammy.

  Before I can find my friend, I hear, “Well, well, well. Aren’t you the popular one tonight?” snarls Katya.

  “Thanks to you,” I say sweetly.

  “Well, Mr. Parker isn’t happy. He wants to talk to you later.”

  “What? Why?”

  She shrugs and walks away. Deciding to ignore her and the impending doom-filled conversation with my boss, I race to the ladies room. I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous, I have to pee. Washing my hands, I stare into the mirror. I pat a little cool water over my heated cheeks, fix my high ponytail, so it’s not askew, run my hands down my pink sweater and nod, “This is it. You can do it, Lexie.”

  Marching out of the bathroom, I take the back way to the storage closet. “Wait!” I stop in my tracks. Which storage closet? There are several. Recalling where we were standing when he proposed our little rendezvous, I decide he had to have meant the storage closet just around the corner from the conference room. It’s a good choice because it’s more secluded as it’s located down a short hall away from the crowd.

  Sneaking in and out of cubicles, I tiptoe down the hallway. When I reach the closet, I turn to face away from the door. Looking nonchalant, I reach behind me and turn the knob. Pulling it open, I enter the room ass first shutting it as soon as I’m through the entrance. Damn, it’s pitch black. I take one more step back and bump into something. Or I should say, someone. I turn quickly. “Oh, good. You’re here,” I whisper.

  “Uh…”

  “Shh, don’t talk.” Without waiting for another second, I slide my hands up his chest noticing how soft the sweater is. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” My hands move up behind his neck into his hair. It’s thicker than I thought it’d be. Pulling him down to me, I step up on my tiptoes and breath in. Wow, he smells amazing––sort of musky and expensive. I let my lips touch his. They’re soft and full. I move my mouth back and forth over his then use my tongue to lick his bottom lip. When he moans, I know I’ve done the right thing. Told you I was a good kisser.

  I feel one of his arms slide around me pulling me toward him as the other makes their way up my back and into my hair. I feel a slight tug on my ponytail, and I moan. He’s pulling my head back using my hair, and I’ve never been more turned on. Archie is a little dominant. Sexy.

  Deepening the kiss, Archie swipes his tongue into my mouth. I meet him halfway with mine, and it’s his turn to moan again. His hardness is pressed up against my middle. It seems big, but I can’t be sure, and I’m not ready to go there yet. The hand on my back moves down to my ass and then he squeezes my bottom as he pulls me even closer to him has me light-headed and a little wild. Maybe I do want more.

  The hand wrapped around my ponytail stays constant as his other one starts to roam up until his fingers slide beneath the edge of my sweater. When his palm moves over my skin to my front, I shiver, arching my back as an encouragement for him to move onward and upward.

  The tips of his fingers skim over my nipples, I pull back and gasp. When they pinch my hard tip, I squeak, “Oh, God. That feels so good.” I’m talking like a cave woman, but that’s how I feel. I knew Archie would be sexy. Cammy thought I was ridiculous thinking Archie had game. But, I was right.

  At the sound of voices outside the door, I quickly pull away, panting from his touches. I can’t get caught in the storage room at the holiday office party. That’s such a cliché. Clearing my throat, attempting to gather my wits about me, I say, “This was fun. We should do it again soon.” I straighten my sweater and reach for the door. “I’ll go first. Wait a minute, then come out.”

  I open the door about an inch and peek out. When I see the hallway empty, I open the door just enough for me to slip out; then I pull it closed behind me. Taking a breath, I stand up straight, push my shoulders back and walk confidently down the short hallway back into the party. Best. Night. Ever.

  Chapter 5

  Lexie

  I wake up in pain. Not the kind of pain you get from working out for the first time in a year. No, this is the ‘I got hit by a car’ kind of pain that you can only achieve by drinking too much at an office Christmas party. “Kill me now,” I groan.

  “Not before you kill me,” moans someone nearby.

  “Cammy?”

  “Shh, your voice hurts me,” Cammy whispers in a husky morning voice.

  “Am I at your place or are you at mine?” I blink down at the leather sofa directly beneath my face. Hers. I can’t afford fancy leather furniture. Hell, I can barely afford thrift store furniture.

  “It was closer.”

  “How’d we get home?”

  “Not sure. I remember a black car.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to remember the night. I turn my face a little to the left and see a spot of bubblegum pink on the floor. “Oh, God. That sweater,” I moan loudly.

  “That sweater needs to be placed into the Hall-of-Fame section of your closet.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, if you wear that sweater, you will get laid. Remember that.”

  “I didn’t get laid.” Did I?

  “No, but you had several offers.” Cammy sits up fast––too fast, apparently. She has to swallow back her gag reflex by using breathing exercises. “I remember now. Mr. Parker gave us a ride home.”

  “No!” I say shocked. “Why?” I hope it’s not because he was mad at me. I vaguely remember Katya telling me he wanted to talk to me. Did I speak to him? If so, what did he say to me?

  “That I can’t say. Maybe
I’ll be able to remember later but not yet.” Cammy lays her head back onto her sofa gently. “Need sleep.”

  “Speaking of need. I need to get home to feed everyone.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve got a house full of kids.”

  “I do.”

  “Pets. You have pets. They aren’t people.”

  “They are to me,” I say pulling myself up into a sitting position. “Did I bring my green sweater home?”

  “No idea.”

  I stand up looking for my things. I find my coat, purse, and shoes near the door but no green sweater. Great. I lumber back over to the pink blob and pull it over my head. It hurts to slide it down my body. When it’s on, Cammy snickers. “What?”

  “Look in the mirror.”

  I walk over to her entry table with the mirror above it and screech, “What the hell?” There are large blue handprints right over my breasts like someone dipped their hands in blue ink and grabbed my girls. “Who did this?” I say pointing to my sweater.

  “Uh, I vaguely remember you dancing with someone from the Pit. You were grinding your ass into him. He must have grabbed your boobs.”

  “What? Why are the handprints blue?”

  “Your punch was blue to match your theme, remember? Hell, all the drinks were blue. Maybe it was from that.”

  “Ugh, do you remember when this happened? Was it late enough that no one saw me like this?”

  I watch as Cammy runs her hands over her face. “I think we went home right after. Mr. Parker said it was time to call it a night.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m glad he shut it down.” Who knows what I would have done? Or whom I would have done. I shiver thinking about it. I’m not that kind of girl. I’m a good girl––most of the time, anyway.

  Gingerly, I slide on my winter coat as I bend to grab my sparkly heels. “Boots would be good today,” I say nodding toward her window. “It snowed last night.”