Jake

God, I’ve missed this woman.

Of course I’ve known I miss her—she’s in my life every single fucking day, even though I’m sure she doesn’t know it—but watching her flop onto her belly like a beached Christmas whale and reach up to take a swipe a the jingle bell hanging in an oversized nostril takes me back to college.

To that mid-winter day, following the sweet scents of gingerbread, peppermint, and hot cocoa through my dorm to investigate the cheerful, unrestrained laughter coming from the room at the end of the hall, to discover a woman who wouldn’t have been remarkable at all—dark brown eyes, light brown hair, button nose, gray sweatpants and a Christmas sweater in February—had it not been for the utter glee in her laugh.

You got the heart on Cupid’s ass! she’d been shrieking.

She and three other women were tossing sticky, stretchy hearts at a Cupid on the wall. Christmas lights were still strung about the room, a small tree was loaded down with ornaments, tinsel, and popcorn strings. Felt elf antlers on a headband hung off one of the twin beds.

And there was Kaitlyn.

Laughing the most beautiful, lively, joyful laughter I’d ever heard.

I’d known in that moment I’d marry her one day.

Life didn’t exactly pan out, but like I said, a part of her is still with me every day.

I lean over and offer a hand. “C’mon, Santa. I’ll call us a Lyft.”

She grunts and attacks her boots. “Forget it. I’m changing.” She lifts her leg, then drops it back to the ground. “Fucking boots.”

Zoe’s pre-kindergarten teacher stumbles past us, swaying into her companion. “Santa said fuck,” she giggles.

“Didn’t even have any eggnog to do the vodka right,” Kaitlyn mutters.

I squat beside her and tug on the boot. Don’t let the white fur on top fool you—these fuckers are military grade and they each weigh more than Zoe. She must have legs of steel to have been tromping around in these all night, and yep—there goes my dick, asking if we can inspect those legs more closely.

“Santa store his entire load of coal in these things?” I ask.

“It’s all the crushed dreams of children who quit believing,” she replies.

Her eyes are distant, avoiding mine while I finish tugging her boots off. “Help you out of that belly?” I ask with a nod at her thigh.

“I’m sure your wife would love that.”

I hold up my left hand and wiggle my bare fingers. Getting married had been both the smartest and stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Smart, because if I hadn’t married Octavia when she told me she was pregnant, I wouldn’t have gotten Zoe in the divorce.

Stupid, because I’d known I shouldn’t have been fooling around with Octavia in the first place. She’d been just like me—career-driven, desperate, and drowning her sorrows over the one who got away with the wrong person.

“I’m sure your mother is proud,” Kaitlyn amends with a nod to my hand.

“Life happens. All for the best.” I help her to her feet. She leaves the boots on the ground and trudges toward the bathrooms down a short hallway from the nose.

I have a half-second of terror that there’s a window she’s going to escape out of, and that I’ll have to track her down through Holly Santa Bookings—which will most likely mean going through her brothers—but I have this feeling she’s not going to leave her boots behind.

Not if half the Santas in the city are down.

Sure enough, two minutes later, Kaitlyn peeks out the door. Her brows are normal again, but she’s still in the red suit, and her lips are pinched so tight they could probably crack a chestnut. She glances around as if she’s looking for someone, and that someone is definitely not me.

“Plug the toilet?” I ask. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. We all do it.”

“I can’t get my belly off,” she grits out.

That shouldn’t be erotic, but once more, blood channels straight to my balls. I glance around the museum entryway too.

Definite lull in the party guests leaving.

Which means I’m up.

I’ll have to thank my mother tomorrow for insisting on Zoe going to this pretentious preschool, and for insisting we come tonight, and for being too busy to get her Christmas decorations up before now.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” I stroll confidently into the women’s room as if the subtle scent of candy canes and hot chocolate wafting out of her hair isn’t an aphrodisiac, and as if I’m not getting harder by the moment at the idea of touching her.

She lifts the back of her Santa suit and makes eye contact with me in the large mirror over the twin bathroom sinks. “I think the hook’s caught.

That Rudolph tattoo just above her left butt cheek makes my fingers itch to touch. It’s been eight years, but I can still vividly remember tracing it with my tongue, still hear her gasps and moans and pleas for more, yes, there.

“Yep, it’s twisted.” There’s a hitch in my voice. I make quick work of unhinging the clasp—similar to a bra strap—and tell myself her shiver at the touch of my knuckle against her back is an instinctive reaction to any human touch.

Not to mine specifically.

Because it’s obvious she’s just humoring me, and I can be just a friend.

Even though she’ll never fit that label in my head.

Still, when I get the hook undone, I can’t help lightly tracing the red marks where the belly straps were cutting into her skin. “That hurt?”

She shivers again, but she doesn’t pull away. “It’s fine. Hazard of the job.”

“Play Santa often?”

“No. Long story.”

I should leave the bathroom. I’ve gotten her belly undone. But her pupils are going dark, her breathing is shallow, and she’s leaning closer and closer to me. “You should get back to your daughter,” she whispers.

“My mother has her tonight.”

Her gaze connects with mine, and now I know she’s feeling it too.

“Listen, Kaitlyn, I need to tell you—”

The door swings open, and in walks one of Zoe’s friend’s moms. I jump back. Kaitlyn jerks, too, but unfortunately for her, her belly’s still hanging in her Santa pants.

And she’s apparently not wearing a belt.

Because suddenly her pants are down around her ankles. The sight of those long, lean legs sends my bells a’jingling and makes the tree in my pants stand proud.

“Mommy, why is that man in here?” a little voice asks.

Kaitlyn squats and grabs her pants. I duck my head and step around the ladies, because I really shouldn’t be in here.

“He was helping me look for a button,” I hear Kaitlyn saying.

And then the door’s shut, and my mother’s staring at me.

Because now she decides to bring Zoe down.

“I don’t want to know,” Mom says on a sigh.

I’m not sure I do either.

But I’m sticking around until Kaitlyn gets out.

Because I still haven’t told her what I need to tell her.