Alex sucked air. The sights, sounds, and scents of Christmas smothered him. He’d grown up in a wealthy household where holidays meant international travel. He’d never done small town, never sat on Santa’s lap. The experience cramped his style.
“A Chippendale Santa,” he heard one woman at the front of the line say.
“He’s so hot he could melt the North Pole,” her friend agreed.
Alex felt hot, all right. Not sexy hot, but sweaty armpit-and-groin hot. The Santa suit now stuck to his body in places he’d rather have a loose fit. He discreetly tried to pry the plush fabric off his abs and thighs as he took a seat on the padded chair. He was certain to have a wedgie when it came time to leave.
A female elf materialized at his side, short, plump, and dressed in a green jumper and red tights with black patent-leather mary janes. “I’ll call each child forward, and you can ask what he wants for Christmas.” She squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “Maybe you could smile a little.”
Smiling proved difficult. Each time he moved his lips, he got a mouth full of mustache.
The first boy to step forward came with a list a mile long. Alex heard a moan rise from those in line. Impatience could turn a crowd ugly. He’d have to hustle the kid along.
“I’m Tommy, and I’m four,” the boy in the denim jacket and jeans told Santa as he climbed onto Alex’s lap. He held up his list, written in crayon. “Bring me these, please.”
Alex scanned the list, which consisted of a jumble of letters. The kid favored the color red and the letter B.
Alex patted the boy’s shoulder, punted. “Books…do you like books?” He damn sure hoped so.
Tommy scrunched his nose. “No books on my list.”
Crap. Alex went with, “A bicycle?”
The boy shook his head. “I already have one.”
“Baseball.” The nutcracker soldier jabbed Alex from behind, again with the bayonet. “Bat, ball, bases. Tommy’s printing is perfectly clear.”
Clear his ass. “You have a favorite team?”
Tommy puffed up proud. “Tampa Bay Rays.”
Alex snorted. “They weren’t even in contention this year.”
“Win or lose, Tommy’s still a fan.” Again from the nutcracker.
So be it. “I’ll see what I can do,” Alex said, then handed the kid a candy cane.
Tommy ran back to his mother, and the nutcracker returned to handing out small bags of whole walnuts to those in line. Holly proved a personable nutcracker. She worked the lever on her jaw, spoke to every single person.
The moose danced toward Holly, gave her a quick ballroom spin. The people applauded. The moose next produced a sprig of mistletoe, which he held over Holly’s head. The animal dropped a light kiss on the nutcracker’s wooden cheek. The crowd ooed and awed.
Alex wondered if moose man and cracks nuts were a couple. The thought irritated him. They were flirting and having fun, and he was stuck coddling a drooling baby.
Definitely not fair.
Two hours passed, and Alex needed to stretch. He had butt prints on the red velvet pants from all those who had sat on his lap. His left thigh had gone numb. He’d yet to be peed on, which he considered a blessing. He did, however, doubt he’d recover from the blinding camera flashes. All he now saw were spots.
“Break time,” he said to the elf who controlled the steady stream of children. “I’m taking ten.”
The elf looked shocked, as if Alex had declared there’d be no Christmas this year.
“There are no breaks,” the elf hurriedly informed him. “We work six-hour shifts.”
“Not this Santa,” Alex said as he pushed to his feet. The costume was tight and had cut off all circulation to his groin. He limped his way to the side door.
“Problem?” The nutcracker blocked his escape, bayonet drawn.
Holly had lowered the lever on her wooden mouth, and Alex could see her entire face. Her blond hair plastered her skull and sweat sheened her forehead. The collar on her gray T-shirt showed a wet ring.
She was as hot in her costume as he was in his.
He felt a flash of sympathy—but only a flash. “I’m tired of sitting,” he told her.
“Sitting is part of your job,” she hissed. “Santa doesn’t stand or walk around, he sits. The chair is well padded.”
He leaned toward her, his beard brushing her wooden nose. “I need to adjust my junk.” His tone was confidential.
She stepped back so fast, she bumped into the fake fireplace. The red plastic flames licked her ass. “Fine, fix it.”
“Fix them, sweetheart. It’s the full package.”
Holly McIntyre couldn’t breathe. She’d seen the bulge in his boxer briefs and knew any awkward shift would make him uncomfortable. He’d had kids wiggling on his lap for two hours. No doubt parts of him did need rearranging.
That he would discuss it with her made her cheeks heat. She closed the jaw on her nutcracker head, motioned him to take care of business.
He took thirty minutes to make his adjustments. Holly timed him. No man needed a full half hour to “fix his junk.” When he came back through the door, he had pizza on his breath.
“You ate lunch,” she accused.
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “Got to keep up my strength.”
She followed Alex back to the Santa chair. He was all slowness and swagger. Once he was seated, she unwrapped a candy cane and jabbed it in his mouth. “Fresh breath.”
He gagged. “I hate peppermint.”
“Then don’t throw yourself a pizza party when the line’s a mile long.”
Damn, the line to see Santa had doubled while he’d bolted three slices of pepperoni with the mall custodian. The man had been on his lunch break and welcomed Alex to join him.
It didn’t help to have a full stomach when the kids now bounced on his lap. The really young ones jerked around like Mexican jumping beans. The bigger kids seemed to weigh twice as much as they had earlier that morning. He needed an Alka-Seltzer.
“Hey, dude, can I have your autograph?” the question came from a long-haired teenage boy, wearing a Rogues baseball jersey.
Alex took the offered pen signed Santa Claus, North Pole on the paper. “How’s that?” he asked, handing it back.
“Get real, man.” The boy flipped the paper, slipped it back to Alex. “Rumor has it you’re Alex Boxer.”