Santa Came Twice This Year
Want to suck on Santa's North Pole?
"Jace, baby. Are you going to be okay alone?" my mom asked over the phone, her voice soft but hesitant.
"Yes, I’ll be fine. I have a ton of studying to do. It’ll keep me busy," I said, trying to sound convincing.
She had no idea I’d planned a surprise trip home from college. I hadn’t been home in over two years. Our relationship had been strained since my dad died. She had moved on so quickly—too quickly.
After a string of flings, she’d finally settled on Rick, a saggy-haired guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a 70s dirty magazine. I’d never met him in person; I'd only seen photos.
He had that permanent smirk and aviator sunglasses look, the kind of guy who probably called everyone ‘buddy.’ But she seemed happy with him, and I’d spent too long holding onto resentment.
That’s why I was here, trudging through a half-empty mall with a backpack slung over my shoulder. It felt surreal being this close to home again after so much time.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack as I weaved through the thinning holiday crowd in the mall. I stopped for some last-minute gifts. Exhaustion tugged at my shoulders, but the scent of fresh cinnamon rolls and pine needles made everything feel softer and warmer.
Halfway to the exit, I spotted the Santa setup near the food court. The line was gone, the lights dimmed, and Santa sat slouched in the oversized velvet chair, legs splayed before him. His suit looked well-worn, the white fur cuffs a little stained, and his fake beard was pushed down to reveal a sharp jawline dusted with scruff.
I slowed, my gaze lingering on the way the red fabric stretched across broad shoulders and a wide chest. Santa—whoever he was—lifted his head and met my gaze with piercing dark eyes. He smirked, tilting his head slightly as if sizing me up. I dropped my backpack to my front to conceal my excitement.
"Yo! Mall's closing, kid," he said, his voice rough, edged with something dark. "But I might have time for one more wish."
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, revealing my boner, and stepped closer. "Do I look like a kid to you?"
His grin widened, teeth flashing under the weak glow of holiday lights. "No. No, you don't."
He paused briefly, then patted his thigh with one gloved hand. "Come on then. Tell Santa what you want."
I hesitated for only a moment before dropping my bag and stepping between those wide-spread legs. I straddled his lap, the velvet cool against my jeans, and felt a firm hand settle on my hip.
"You're not on the nice list, are you?" he rasped, his breath warm and laced with whiskey and mint.
My lips parted slightly as I leaned in, my face inches from his. "What if I like being naughty?"
His gloved hand tightened on my hip, his other hand trailing up my thigh, pressing firmly as he leaned closer, our noses almost brushing.
"Lucky for you," he whispered, "naughty boys are my favorite."
The sharp crackle of the mall speakers announcing final closing barely registered as he stood. He easily lifted me off his lap and guided me toward the employee door behind the display.
The stockroom was cold and dim, boxes stacked high, faint holiday music trickling in from somewhere distant. He shut the door behind us with a solid click, then turned, the low light casting shadows across his face.
I backed up against a stack of boxes, my breath hitching as he stalked forward, pulling off his gloves one finger at a time.
"So," he said, voice softer now. "You gonna tell Santa your wish? Or should I...figure it out myself?" His hands crept up my thighs.