by Skye Warren
I glance up at him during his vulnerable confession and there isn’t an ounce of mistrust between us anymore. It feels like all of the tension has just… disappeared. The anger and resentment and frustration has been replaced by the feelings I’ve always carried for him. The feelings that never went away.
“I never got over you either, Colt,” I tell him.
He kisses me for a long time, right there in the hallway, before he pulls away.
“It’s after midnight,” he says.
“Christmas.” I smile.
“You always said you wanted to spend one with me. So how about we start now? Along with every year for the rest of our lives.”
I try not to get emotional again as I give him a watery smile.
“I think it’s about time.”
Epilogue
Christmas at the Nass house has become a much larger celebration over the years.
With the addition of Kristina’s children, and now my own, there isn’t a spare chair in the place.
It’s cramped and hot and Colt’s Uncle Fred is already drunk off the spiked eggnog, but there isn’t anywhere else that I’d rather be.
We married on our own special Christmas day, two years ago.
I was pregnant with Tripp at the time.
Which has been somewhat of a running joke in the Nass family. That they’ll know when it’s true love if the bride gets knocked up before the wedding.
I wasn’t too sure how they would take the news of Paisley being Colt’s daughter. But in all honesty, their reaction was everything I could have hoped for. They already spent a lot of time with her before anyway, but now Mrs. Nass will come up with any old excuse to spoil her grandbabies.
And Colt will come up with any old excuse to try to keep putting more babies in my belly.
He’s taken to being a father with a natural love and talent that my own father never had. It only makes me admire him all the more to see how much he loves his children.
And true to his word, he’s never left me since that Christmas day that he returned to me. He won’t even leave for a single night because he can’t stand the thought of me not being in bed beside him.
When he drags in the saddest looking Charlie Brown style tree I’ve ever seen, I can’t help but give him a goofy grin. He’s made that a new tradition too. Getting the ugliest tree in the bunch every year for the kids to decorate on Christmas day, in addition to the perfect one Mrs. Nass always has.
It keeps them occupied for a whole hour while the adults talk, so there are definitely no complaints on that front.
“Mrs. Nass,” he calls out to me as he tilts his head to the side, gesturing down the hall. “A word please?”
I follow him down the hall and he pulls me into his childhood bedroom and shuts the door behind us like we’re still teenagers worried about getting caught.
“The kids are busy for the next little while,” he says. “So I was thinking…”
“Yes?” I smile up at him.
“Wanna make out?”
“With Colton Nass?” I say exaggeratedly as I look around his old room with wide eyes.
Then I turn my face back to him and smile.
“Always.”
THE END
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Part XII
Happy Tindermas by BB Hamel
Chapter 1
I Need To Get Off Tinder
“There’s a Santa hat covering his what?”
I laughed and showed her my phone. She took it from my hand, laughing her ass off as I sipped my wine, grinning.
“I’m swiping right,” she said.
“No! Come on, Jess.”
“Sorry, I have to. Look at this guy. He’s clearly the Christmas present you’ve always wanted.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“He’s freaking hot. So his picture and his description are a little goofy.”
“Goofy? His description is just an invitation play some scavenger hunt. There’s not way this is a real guy.
“For charity. The game is for charity.”
“The main prize is his . . . “ I trailed off, not able to say it.
“His cock?” Jess laughed. “I am well aware. I doubt a marketing company would offer that.”
“Don’t swipe,” I demanded. “Maybe he’s real, but I’m not interested. I’m not in the mood for this craziness.”
She grinned, handing me back the phone. “Too late.”
I groaned, looking down at my phone. Sure enough, she swiped right, telling Tinder that this weird guy Trent Klaus was my match.
We were sitting in a crowded bar during happy hour on a boring Thursday night before Christmas. Outside, the snow was slowly falling, thick fluffy ice particles gently gathering on the ground. The Philadelphia streets were mostly empty, which was a surprise, since Philly people didn’t care about driving in the snow. That didn’t matter to me, though, since we were warm inside with big glasses of wine and nothing else to do.
Jess was my best friend from high school. We went to college together at Temple University, lived together all four years, and got an apartment together after graduation. She got a job with a non-profit helping place kids with special tutors while I worked for an advertising agency mostly doing copy editing. It was a boring job but it paid the bills.
I hadn’t been on a date in weeks. We started messing around with Tinder, mostly just for fun, but we never actually met with the guys that we matched up with. Sometimes we chatted with them, and once Jess sent a guy a dirty picture, but mostly it was just for fun.
At least it was fun until tonight. I came across Klaus while scrolling through, killing yet another post-work Thursday night. His profile was really, really strange. It featured an attractive man, mostly naked except for a Santa hat covering his dick. His body was muscular, ripped actually, and his striking green eyes and earnest face were incredibly attractive. Part of me through it was a staged model picture, but Jess pointed out that the lighting was way too crappy to be professional.
The weirdest part was his description. Usually people put some kind of biographical information in there, or at least something funny and eye-catching. Instead, this guy had some bizarre invitation to play a game.
Swipe right if you want to go on a charity treasure hunt throughout the city. This is a one-night only, magical event. The winner gets what’s under the hat. ;)
It was so, so corny that it almost had to be true. I was pretty curious about what could happen, but I wasn’t really feeling adventurous.
That didn’t matter, though, because two minutes after Jess swiped right for me, the app let me know that Klaus and I were a match.
“Oh crap,” I groaned.
“Yes!” Jess cheered. She was an attractive blonde who loved adventure, running long distances, and complaining about work. Meanwhile, I was a pretty normal and average looking brunette with thick dark glasses and a love of baggy sweaters.
“I’m not doing this,” I said firmly.
“Message him,” she said. “Do it now. Do it! Do it!”
“No way,” I said, laughing, but my phone suddenly buzzed. I nearly threw it away when I saw who the message was from.
“Give me that,” Jess said, snatching it from my hand again. She opened the message and typed back.
“Stop,” I said. “Seriously, Jess. I’m not in the mood for this.”
“Not in the mood? What else is there to do?” She giggled.
“What’s he saying?”
“He thinks you’re the perfect person to play his game.”
“Jesus. We’re going to get murdered.”
“Oh, come on. He sent me a link to a charity. It looks pretty legit.”
“How are we playing a treasure hunt for charity?”
“Hold on, let me read you the rules.”
“There are rules now?”
“Of course, all games have rules.”
�
�Jess. This is insane.”
“Just listen.” She cleared her throat, grinning, and started to read. “’First rule. You can’t tell anyone that you’re playing.’”
“Because when he murders us, he doesn’t want to get caught.”
“Stop,” she said, laughing. “’Second rule. You must complete each step before I will release the funds.’”
“Funds?”
“Hold on. ‘Rule three. Have fun!’” She cracked up at that and even I couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay, so what’s this about funds?” I asked her finally.
“Apparently, for every treasure piece we find, he’ll release five thousand dollars to this charity for underprivileged kids.”
“Five . . . five thousand?!” I said, eyes wide.
“He’s rich, apparently.”
“Did you Google him?”
“I did,” she confirmed. “Turns out, Trent Klaus is his real name, and he’s a real guy.” She handed me the phone and I started to scroll through his Wikipedia page, mouth agape.
“Holy crap,” I said finally. “He’s one of the richest men in the world. And he’s under forty.”
“Under thirty-five,” Jess said, grinning.
“He’s gorgeous. Smart. Successful. What the hell is he doing on Tinder?”
“Trying to find people crazy enough to play his game.”
“Shit,” I said. “Maybe he really is a serial killer. You know, rich guy kills for fun.” I handed her back the phone. “Look at that picture.”
Jess whistled. “Hot damn. I think I’d let him murder me for a little taste of that.”
I laughed. “Hand it over. We’re not playing this.”
“Actually,” she said. “We are.” She showed me the phone. “We just got the first clue.”
I looked at my phone and then back at Jess, ready to protest, to talk about how insane all of this was, but I could see that look in her eyes. It was the same look she had when we built a treehouse when we were kids, when she skipped school, when she convinced me to go on a road trip with her. I knew there was no arguing.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “What’s it say?”
Chapter 2
There Are Too Many Freaking Statues In Philadelphia
“I swear to Santa they all look alike. And I’m freezing my tits off.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Cut it out,” I said. “It’s around here somewhere.”
The first clue was pretty straightforward. It was a picture of the base of a statue with a man’s name and some other biographical information. All we had to do was Google the name plus statue plus Philadelphia, and we quickly found out that he was right outside of the Art Museum, not too far from where we were drinking.
Unfortunately, there were a bunch of statues around there, and the snow was picking up. We had to brush off each base, one after the other, looking for him.
“I did not prepare for this,” Jess said. “I need boots. I need hot chocolate.”
“I need whisky,” I grumbled. “And for you to stop complaining.”
“But I’m freezing my—“
“I get it, your tits are frozen and falling off.”
She laughed and brushed the snow off the base of a statue before recoiling. “Got him!” she practically screamed.
I nearly jumped out of my jacket. “Calm down, will you?”
“Look! It’s him!”
I compared the base with the picture and nodded. “It’s him, all right.” The man was a Revolutionary War hero, some naval guy with an impressive hat and a pissed-off scowl.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated. I opened up the Tinder app and found a message from Klaus.
“Congrats,” he said. “You made it.”
“Uhhhhhhhhhh, Jess?” I handed her the phone.
“Jesus shit! Is he watching us?”
We both looked around, thoroughly freaked out before my phone buzzed again with another message from him.
“Relax. There’s a camera right under his sword. Look.”
I glanced at Jess then turned on the flashlight on my phone. Sure enough, there was a tiny little electronic camera wedged in underneath his sword.
“Please leave it,” he messaged me. “But congrats. That’s five thousand to kids that need Christmas presents.”
“Why are you doing this?” I typed to him.
“I’m generous.”
“I mean, the game.”
“Oh, the game? I guess I’m generous and bored.”
“Seems pretty elaborate and crazy.”
“Are you dropping out already, Laney?”
I glanced at Jess. She was busy marveling at the camera’s tiny size and complaining about her cold feet to read my messages.
“Not yet,” I said. “But this is weird as hell.”
“You’re right, it really is weird. But there are only three more puzzles. At the end, you’ll get your true prize.”
“I’m not sure I want that.”
“Trust me. You want it.”
I bit my lip, waiting for a second. I glanced at his profile picture again and sighed. “Okay, what next?” I messaged him.
“Good girl. Here’s your next clue.”
A minute later, he sends me a picture. It was one of those charity Santas, the kind that stand outside with buckets asking for donations.
“What do I do with that?” I asked him.
“Find that Santa. He’ll tell you where to go from there.”
I sighed, shaking my head. “Any other clues?”
“Good luck. I rooting for you.”
I looked up and saw Jess had already started wandering off toward the road, so I quickly caught up with her. Once on the relatively snow-free sidewalk, I showed her my conversation with Trent, which only made her groan.
“More wandering around?” she asked.
“Are you kidding me? You wanted to do this!”
“I thought it would be more, you know, indoors.”
“Well, it’s not. You convinced me to do this, so you’re helping.”
“Fine. Shit. Okay.” She sighed. “I know where that guy is.”
Chapter 3
I’m Pretty Sure You Shouldn’t Be This Drunk
It was a long walk from the Art Museum out to Old City, so we hopped in an Uber. The guy drove us about three quarters of the way there, but the snow was picking up and he didn’t want to go further. He dropped us off and didn’t charge us, but that still meant more walking through the snow.
“This sucks,” Jess said.
“The Uber was a good idea.”
“Not good enough. We’re still cold.”
“Not my fault it’s snowing. How’d you know where this guy was, anyway?”
“I walk by him on my way to work every day,” she said.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“I recognize the store behind him. It’s a weave shop. Plus, that guy always smells like vodka, even at like eight in the morning.”
“Alcoholic Santa?”
“Charitable alcoholic Santa,” she pointed out.
“Okay, fine. Think he’ll be outside in this?”
“Trent seems to think so. And Trent is always right.”
I sighed, shaking my head. We trudged along through the snow, our feet thoroughly wet and cold at this point, but I’d come too far to back down. Jess was getting tired and pouty, which meant that we were going to have to make a booze pit stop soon to re-up the buzz we had going from the first bar, but in the meantime we had to keep moving.
I really was worried that the Santa wouldn’t be out. The snow was getting heavier and the temperature was dropping, which meant the snow was starting to stick and the melted bits from earlier were starting to freeze. That meant some treacherous walking was ahead of us.
But we soldiered on, down past the wide city block that house the Liberty Bell and a couple blocks further south until we heard the sound of a bell, distant but clear.
“That’s him,” she said. “Holy
crap. It’s really him.”
“No way.”
“Look!”
Up ahead, I could just make out a lone figure standing on the sidewalk. He was ringing a bell and wearing a bright red Santa suit with a thick bushy fake beard.
And as we got closer, it became completely apparently that he was blacked out drunk.
“Ladies!” he hollered. “Got some cash for me?”
I made a face. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” I said softly to Jess.
“Come on. Trent sent us here. We have to do this.”
“Okay. Fine. You ask him though.”
“Hell no. You get the prize at the end, you get to do the talking.”
I grumbled, but didn’t argue. Alcoholic Santa was staring at us, ringing his bell, a big jolly smile on his face. He looked like he was in his forties, round in the middle like Santas should have been, but his beard was clearly fake. His Santa suit was red, but a bit dirty, like he’d been outside for a few days in it.
“Excuse me, sir?” I asked. “Uh, Trent sent us.”
Alcoholic Santa stared. “Who?” he asked finally.
“Trent. Klaus. Trent Klaus.” I could practically smell the vodka from ten feet away.
“Oh!” he said. “Klaus. Sure. I know him,” the man slurred. “You playing his little game, huh?”
“We are,” I said. “He said you’d tell us what to do next.”
“Sure, I’ll do it. I’ll tell you.”
We both stood there, staring at each other. “Well?” I asked finally.
“Oh, shit. I forgot to say. You gotta give me some money.”
“Oh, fuck that,” Jess groaned.
“No way. We’re playing the game.”
“It’s for charity,” he said, rattling his jar.
“Which charity?” I asked him. “Your vodka fund?”
He laughed wildly. “I can see why he likes you.”
“What?” I asked, but he was already walking away.
