Five weeks until Christmas

For Tom Webster, today was typical for this time of year. In other words, busy. Decades of marketing and commercialization had turned consumers into Shopping Terminators during the holidays, and in retail, “the holiday season” had arrived back in late October.

As The Décor Store’s top sales associate, he scrambled around the floor that Monday before Thanksgiving assisting customers looking for the right knickknack and furniture item that would complete their souls—or at least their living rooms.

“Excuse me, what do you think of this end table?” A woman stopped him as he carried an ottoman up to the register for another customer. She stared at the piece of furniture, searching for meaning as if it were a piece of Impressionist art.

“This line is fantastic quality. I love the cherry color of the wood. What color is your couch?”

“Taupe.”

“Perfect. That contrast will really make it pop. I’ve had this end table for years, and it’s held up.” While that would seem to be an obvious line, it was the truth.

“It would go well, but…” She creased her brow and rubbed her chin. “It seems a little plain, don’t you think?”

“Think of it as a blank slate. If you do something like this…” Tom put down the ottoman. He plucked a table lamp from a nearby display and jogged to the back corner for a red-tinted vase. He organized the lamp and vase on the end table. “This adds more color and dimension. What do you think?”

“I love the combination! I’m moving into a townhouse. He got to keep the house in the divorce.” For some, this might seem like an overshare, but it was normal for Tom. He had found that for the upper-middle-class wives that spent their weekdays shopping in the Oakville Mall, retail employees like him doubled as therapists and life coaches.

“He may have the house, but you have the style,” Tom said.

“You’re right.” She got choked up for a second. “You’re right. I’ll take the whole thing,” she said, gesturing to the table, lamp, and vase.

Tom leaned in. “If you take the floor model as is, I can try and get you fifteen percent off. Usually, we’re only authorized to do ten, but I want you to have a great holiday season in your beautiful new place.”

“Thank you so much!” She almost tried to hug him, but stopped herself.

“My pleasure. I just need to talk to my manager.”

“You mean you’re not the manager? You should be!” she said.

He smiled politely, even if the statement had an unintentional sting.

Tom dropped off the ottoman to the customer waiting by the register and found the store manager in front setting up a new furniture display. He went off a strict layout sent down from corporate.

“Antonio?” Tom’s voice shook in his throat. He braced himself for some Antonio smolder that would go straight to his core...and other appendages.

“How’s my best employee doing?”

Why Antonio was a store manager at a suburban Décor Store and not on a Men’s Health cover was beyond Tom.

“Good. I’m good. Doing good.”

Ever since Antonio transferred to the store a year and a half ago, Tom was smitten, perpetually thunderstruck by his full lips, crisply ironed shirts, and perfectly styled hair.

“I need manager approval,” Tom said. “This woman wants the floor model of the Lorden end table. I was hoping to give her fifteen percent off.”

“Is it really scratched up?”

“No. Maybe a small nick on one of the legs.” Tom wondered what Antonio’s bare legs looked like. Muscular calves with a dusting of hair. The Décor Store had an unfortunate dress code of pants-only, even in the summer. “She’s having a rough time. She just got divorced, right before the holidays. Imagine if you and Milo broke up this time to year.”

Tom imagined it all the time. And then he imagined comforting Antonio in the stock room and on the table in the break room.

“Not like that would ever happen, but come on, Antonio.” Tom gave him his best flirty smile. “It’s the holidays. Have a heart.”

Antonio smiled back, charmed by Tom’s pitch. And maybe more? Tom knew it was pointless to pine for his happily coupled boss, but that smolder…

“Fine,” Antonio said, with fake annoyance.

“I think your heart just grew two sizes.” And Tom’s cock threatened to grow, too.

“Since I have you here, can you work Thanksgiving night?”

Last year, The Décor Store decided to open on Thanksgiving evening rather than wait until Black Friday. Corporate said they wanted to “better accommodate our passionate consumers,” but who was so passionate about home furnishings that they had to shop mere hours after the Thanksgiving meal?

Tom mulled the offer. “I’m working every day Thanksgiving weekend, though.”

“Charlie asked to switch with somebody. His family decided to go to Michigan for Thanksgiving, and since you stay local, I figured you’d be around. You love working holidays and getting that sweet, sweet time and a half.”

Tom didn’t love working holidays. But ever since he pulled through in an emergency Memorial Day when three employees “called in sick,” he’d been known as the holiday guy. Tom never traveled for the holidays. His parents split when he was five, and even though his dad lived with his new family in Omaha, Tom only saw him when he came up to the Chicagoland area for work. Tom had tried spending Thanksgiving down there when he was eight, but he felt as out of place as a foreign exchange student who didn’t speak the language. He spent all his holidays with his mom who also lived in Oakville.

“Please, Tom? It would really help me out if you picked up Charlie’s shift.”

He couldn’t say no to that those lips, eyes, and hair.

“Sure.”

“You’re the best.” Antonio slapped Tom’s shoulder, and perhaps it was Tom’s lustful imagination, but he thought Antonio’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary.

Tom returned to his customer and delivered the good news.

“Actually, you know what, I don’t think I’m going to take it,” she said. “It’s not speaking to me like I thought it did. But thank you for your help.” She gingerly left the store, not realizing or caring that she gave him retail blue balls.

“Great,” Tom said to himself.

The woman was almost plowed over as she walked out by Kirsten, Tom’s best friend and fellow sales associate. Kirsten ran inside, catching her breath, as if she’d just escaped a robot uprising. Her desperate eyes found Tom.

“Hey,” he said to her.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Antonio said, but Kirsten held up her hand to silence him. She could do that without it coming off as obnoxious. It was a true testament to her personality.

“Tom,” she said, still getting her heart rate under control. “You will never…”

“What? What is it?”

“Hot…Mall…Santa.”

* * *

Kirsten pulled Tom to the throw pillow wall in the back corner of the store. She leaned against it, pretending it was a couch, since employees couldn’t lounge on actual furniture during store hours. Tom fluffed out the throw pillows and tidied up the wall in case any customers came by.

“What is a Hot Mall Santa?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory. Tom, I’ve never seen anything like him.” Kirsten went on to tell him about her sighting of the Hot Mall Santa. She parked her car, and as she walked into the mall, she saw this guy in a Santa Suit swagger through the front doors. He wore Aviator shades, and his Santa jacket was half-unbuttoned, revealing a sleeveless white undershirt. She demonstrated his pimp stroll. Even through the suit, Kirsten could tell he had an amazing body.

“He was like the living embodiment of sex. His beard was pulled down, and he had these amazing cheeks and jaw. It’s like whatever the cheek and jaw equivalent is to an ass you can bounce a quarter off of.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“He had a six pack.”

Tom motioned for her to keep her voice down. He would tell her they were at work, but that made no difference to Kirsten.

“His pants hung low on his hips. His dick is probably so huge it’s pushing them down.”

“Kirsten!”

“What? Just stating the facts.”

“What happened to the regular mall Santa? The guy who was actually round and jolly?”

“I think he retired. And why have a regular Santa when you can have a hot Santa?”

An old lady wandered into their section. Tom felt his whole face turn red.

“I’m sorry about her. Can I help you find something?” he asked the old lady.

“I saw him, too,” she said. “He is quite the stud.”

“I told you,” Kirsten said.

“His ass looks great in those red pants.”

Tom would never look at old ladies the same way again. Kirsten gave the woman a hi-five.

“Whose ass ever looks good in Santa pants? I can’t wait to sit on his lap,” Kirsten said.

“I think you’re too old for that,” Tom said.

“Me, too!” the old lady said. The women hi-fived again in a ya-ya sisterhood of horniness.

Antonio found them. Kirsten let out a busted sigh.

“Tom, I need you up front.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Sorry, Antonio,” Kirsten said with zero sincerity. “Tom, go with Antonio.”

She shot Tom a knowing look, and he signaled to her to knock it off.

* * *

While Tom helped a woman pick out stemware, he pictured what this Hot Mall Santa must look like. He wondered if he was as hot at Kirsten claimed. Her taste in men could be dubious. She still found Johnny Depp attractive, after all.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Kirsten showed up at his side.

The woman viewing stemware cocked an eyebrow at Tom.

“I think I’ll take this set.” She pointed set to a box of blue-stemmed glasses.

“Great choice! They can ring you up at the register.”

“Thanks for shopping at The Décor Store! You have a Décor day!” Kirsten waved at the woman as she walked away. Then back to Tom. “He is seriously so fucking hot.”

“You’ve made your point.” Tom checked to make sure Antonio wasn’t around.

“Don’t worry. Your one true love is on break.”

Tom shushed her.

“Don’t shush me!”

He tidied up the placemats so their edges were all aligned. It was small details like that that Tom believed helped sales.

“Tom, you need to make like Elsa and let it go.”

“There’s nothing to let go. I don’t care about Antonio.”

“Bullshit. Ever since he transferred to our store, you have been hopelessly crushing on him. And I do mean hopeless, because he has a boyfriend.”

“I know that.” Although there were moments when Tom thought that maybe just maybe things weren’t so great with Milo, those moments when Antonio was a bit friendlier than usual, like the extra second his hand stayed on his shoulder today.

“I don’t think you do. Tom, there are plenty of available men out there. Why do you always fixate on the ones you can’t have?”

“The thrill of the chase.”

“There’s no chase, though.” She flipped through stacks of placemats like they were a deck of cards. “And to be QH.” That stood for quite honest. “He’s a d-bag.”

“No, he’s not! He’s smart, caring, and kind!” Tom instantly hung his head. So maybe he did have a crush.

“Yeah, kind of a d-bag. Why hasn’t he made you assistant manager yet? You’re ridiculously overqualified.”

“Maybe I’m not. I’m still learning.”

“You’ve been here for three years. You know merchandise SKUs like they’re your social security number. You actually care about these abominations of humanity we call customers. Hell, you should be running this store.”

“I spoke to him about it. He said he’s going to put my name in for the next assistant manager position that comes up in the region.”

“He said that six months ago. He’s stringing you along. I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to make you his ass man.”

“What?”

“Assistant Manager.” Kirsten chuckled. “I just thought of that.”

“Clever,” Tom deadpanned.

“But seriously…what gives?”

Frankly, Tom didn’t know. He knew he had the right stuff to be management. Regional directors and most corporate leadership started as sales associates. The Décor Store prided itself on promoting from within, which is one reason why he applied to work there. But whenever he tried to talk about it with Antonio, he was blinded by those chestnut eyes. A part of Tom thought that Antonio was afraid to let him go. Assistant managers were assigned to stores that needed them. Maybe he couldn’t bear the thought of Tom leaving his store and them not working together. It was a selfish reason, but one that would be motivated by romantic feelings for Tom, which Tom couldn’t fault him on.

“Forget about Antonio. Maybe you can have some fun with Hot Mall Santa.”

“Hot Mall Santa is probably straight, statistically speaking.”

“Excellent.” Kirsten rubbed her hands together. “You have to check him out when you go on your lunch break.”

“I will.” Tom finished fixing up the placemats, despite Kirsten’s destructiveness.

“Oh, I see one for me!” Kirsten and Tom made a pact that whenever a straight male customer came into the store, he would be hers. It happened so infrequently. These men were like deer in the headlights at a store like this, and Kirsten loved to be their guide. “And he’s a cute one!” She pulled her top down so her cleavage was on full display.

“Go get ‘em.”

“Let me know if Hot Mall Santa jingles your bells.”