Exes and Ho Ho Ho's Read online

  Unfortunately, there’s only one answer.

  “I’ll do it today. But only if Brandon doubles the donation he was going to make,” I throw in for good measure. Mr. Hotshot Lawyer can afford to drop a little extra cash when it’s for the area kids. Besides, he’ll use it for a tax write-off anyway, so no harm, no foul.

  “Done,” he says, sharing a victorious smile behind the snowy white beard. Those hazel eyes are shining brightly with mirth and mischievousness.

  “Well, come on, Noel, let’s get you suited up. I’ve got a back-up outfit that is probably just your size,” Sheila says, leading me down the opposite hallway.

  Ten minutes later, I almost look the part of Mrs. Claus. With the other Mrs. wearing the only gray wig home, I’m stuck with my own hair. I style it back in a loose bun at the nape of my neck, a few of those radical curls already pulling away from the restraint.

  Glancing at the reflection in the mirror, I’m slightly surprised at what I see. The red dress has a fluffy trim around the hem and hits several inches above my knees. If this dress is this short on me (at a whopping five feet, four inches), can you imagine if someone with long legs were to wear it?

  Silver shimmery pantyhose lead down to sparkling red heels that are surprisingly in my size. Who would have thought they’d have a five and a half in red heels in the big bin of women’s shoes. The top of the dress is tasteful with a high neckline and long sleeves. Again, there’s white fluffy trim around the neck and wrists. To finish out my outfit, I add a sprig of holly to my bun, which doesn’t do much for the outfit, but makes me smile nonetheless.

  “Ready?” I hear on the other side of the door.

  “Yes,” I holler, reaching for my sweater and removing the Santa head pin. This is my favorite pin, the one that my grandma gave me a few years ago. I wear it as much as possible from Thanksgiving all the way to Christmas Day. Once it’s fastened securely over my heart, I head out to meet Sheila in the hallway.

  “Sweet baby Jesus in a manger,” I hear behind me as I step into the hallway, startling me. My footing in the uncomfortable and unfamiliar footwear falters, causing me to stumble in the shoes. Strong arms wrap around my waist, keeping me from going down. I don’t have to turn to see who my savior was. I can smell him. He smells exactly as I remember. It’s a clean and musky scent, the same intoxicating cologne he wore back in school, when we spent all of our free time wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Stupid memories.

  “I don’t recall you ever wearing anything this sexy back in school.” The words are seductive, erotic, against my ear, and I hate the way my body automatically responds to them. Apparently, my body hasn’t gotten the memo that we hate him.

  “Yeah, well, I was never into role-playing back then. And too bad you’ve found yourself on the naughty list with no chance of ever redeeming yourself.” There. Take that.

  His chuckle against my ear practically turns my insides to mush. “Oh, Mrs. Claus, you have no idea just how naughty I am.” And dammit, if my body doesn’t sway towards him just a little. Stupid, traitorous body!

  In desperate need of a little space, I pull myself free from his clutches and straighten my dress. Sure, I wish the hem were about four inches longer than it is, but that’s not something I can remedy right now. I’m being blackmailed into playing the part of Mrs. Claus, with the very devil himself. He’s evil, horrible, and clearly using his sexual magnetism to his advantage. It would do me good to remember that.

  “Yes, well, I hope you’ve learned a thing or two over the years. Otherwise, I’d be surprised that you get any dates at all. If I recall correctly, you had plenty of room for improvement.” Sure, it’s an immature dig at his manhood, and no man wants his masculinity challenged.

  Brandon’s face lights up with surprise at first, but transforms into humor just as quickly. His low chuckle sends heat flooding my lady-parts, which is pretty much the exact opposite of what I want to happen.

  He takes a step forward, once again invading my personal space, and whispers, “Oh, kitten, I don’t recall you having many complaints about my manhood. In fact, I distinctly recall, in glorious detail, you begging for my manhood over and over and over again.”

  A fierce blush burns my neck and settles in my cheeks. I should have known that he’d go there. Squaring my shoulders, I turn and face him. “Listen, Brandon, the only reason I’m here right now is because of you, and the only reason I didn’t walk right out that door and tell you to stick mistletoe up your ass is because of those kids in there. So, let’s just get through the next couple of hours without trying to kill each other, or talking about your…” I clear my throat, “manhood, and I think we’ll be just fine, okay? In just a few hours, we won’t ever have to see each other again.”

  Before I can stomp off, victoriously, from my little spiel, Sheila walks over and interrupts. “Wow, you look amazing. The best Mrs. Claus the center has ever had. So good, in fact, that I was hoping you would be interested in volunteering for a few more of these Saturday visits with Santa. I mean, the kids really love it when Santa and Mrs. Claus are together,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile.

  “A few more? Like one?”

  “Ummm, like…all of them.” Before I can object, she continues. “We’ve had a hard time lining up a consistent Mrs. Claus for these weekends, and I thought that, maybe, since you’re helping us out today that you’d be willing to help more?” The hopeful look on her face leaves me firmly between a rock and a hard place. On one side are the kids, which I would love to help. On the other is Brandon. Cocky, arrogant, still as good-looking and as potent as ever, Brandon, who will, undoubtedly, make this month hell.

  “I’ll triple my donation to the center. If Noel agrees to play my Mrs. through Christmas Eve.”

  Damn him. See, this is exactly why I hate him. And the fact that my heart speeds up at the prospect of spending time with him over the next four weeks, leaves me unsettled even more.

  Stupid heart.

  “Fine. I’ll do it,” I whisper, feeling defeated and played. Turning around, I come face to face with Brandon Frost. “For the kids. I’m only doing this for the kids.”

  The smile he gives me isn’t cocky and it isn’t malicious. It’s happiness and excitement and unarms me in the exact same way it used to when we were together, like he somehow finds joy in the fact that we’re stuck working together for the next several Saturdays.

  “For the kids,” he confirms before extending his white-gloved hand towards me.

  There’s no time for hesitation as I slowly reach forward and take the hand he’s offering me. I try to ignore the lust that races through me as our hands connect. I try to ignore the way my heart palpitates in my chest. I try to ignore the rush of familiarity and pleasure that sweeps through me.

  I ignore it all, the way I’ll ignore him.

  I push it all aside, steel my back, and turn towards the hallway that will lead me to the kids.

  Not today, Satan.

  Chapter Five

  Mrs. Claus is Smokin’ Hot

  Brandon

  I almost swallowed my tongue when she walked out of the room.

  Every fantasy I’ve ever had about Noel came rushing back in bright Technicolor, as I watched her step into the hallway. Those tone legs framed with red heels and a skirt that would be illegal at the North Pole, had me moving towards her before I even registered that my feet were walking. And I’m damn glad I did, because she almost went down in those damn heels.

  Heels that I wouldn’t mind seeing wrapped around my neck later tonight.

  No. No, Brandon, get that shit out of your head right now.

  This is Noel.

  She hates you.

  Or does she?

  I’ve seen the way she reacts, the way her body swayed in my direction, almost involuntarily.

  This is a marathon, not a sprint.

  Slow and steady will win the race.

  “Ready?” I ask, as we
walk hand-in-hand down the hall, and towards the screaming bunch of kids. The afternoon session is sure to be just as busy, if not a bit more rowdy than this morning’s.

  “Yes,” she whispers as we walk together. There’s no missing the slight tremble of her hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, we step into the auditorium and into madness.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” I holler, drawing the attention of every person in the room. There’s a moment of silence as every head in the room turns our way before chaos ensues.

  Volunteers work diligently to get the kids back into an orderly line, as the Mrs. and I make our way up to the front of the room. The beard is itching something fierce, but I ignore the discomfort, and in turn focus on something much more appealing: the gentle sway of her ass.

  Noel stands beside the chair, and there’s no hiding the glimmer of excitement in her eyes as she gazes out at the crowd. How someone can be this enthusiastic to be pawed at and surrounded by kids all day is beside me. But Noel always wanted kids, and that thought makes me pause.

  The smile on her face the day she told me.

  The tears that followed as I shattered her.

  She would be a wonderful mother, this I know, which is why it surprised me that she’s not already married with two point five kids. Why the fuck hasn’t some jackass already claimed her as his own and given her the family she so rightfully deserves?

  Maybe because it was always you who fit into that picture?

  Simmer down, brain.

  Stupid subconscious.

  I take a seat in the big chair and wait for the first child to come forward. It’s a little boy with a wide smile and no front teeth. I can’t help but grin back at him. “Hello,” I say as he climbs up on my lap.

  “Hi.”

  “And what is your name?”

  “Deacon.”

  “Deacon, it’s nice to see you. Have you been a good boy this year?” Instead of giving me the standard ‘yes’ answer, the little boy shakes his head. “You haven’t?” I ask, stunned.

  “No. My mom has been with my sister, Diara, at the hospital. I didn’t clean my room the way I was supposed to,” the small boy says, whispering so only we can hear.

  “You didn’t?” I ask, dumbly, because what the hell else am I supposed to say?

  He shakes his head again, the sadness very evident in his light green eyes. “I was sad.”

  “Why were you sad?” I find myself asking, even though my gut tells me I won’t like what I hear.

  “My sister is sick and I miss her. She can’t come home from the hospital until she gets better.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Deacon,” I say, stumbling around like an idiot. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Panic starts to set in that I’m going to fuck up this child’s life forever, when I feel a presence beside me.

  “Hi, Deacon,” Noel whispers, smiling sweetly as she kneels beside us. “I hear your sister has been sick.” He nods his head, as transfixed on those magnificent blue eyes as I am. “Well, I’m sure that’s very difficult for her, your mom, and you.” Again, he nods his head. “It’s okay to be sad when someone you love is sick. That just means that you care a lot about them and want to see them healthy and well.”

  Noel reaches forward and takes the small boy’s hand. “I’ll tell you what. We’re more than willing to overlook the whole room-cleaning thing if you promise to keep loving and being there for your mom and sister. It’s not easy on anyone, but as long as you have each other, that’s all that matters. Okay?”

  Deacon’s bright green eyes shine with excitement and unshed tears. Hell, even my own throat tightens and tears burn the backs of my eyes. He nods enthusiastically, which earns another heart-stopping smile from Noel.

  “Here,” she says, handing me a wrapped gift from the bag beside me.

  Clearing my throat, I take the present and hand it to Deacon. “Mrs. Claus is right. Be sure you give your mom extra hugs, and do what you can to help her out. As long as you try, that’s all we ask.”

  “Thank you, Santa. I promise I’ll try,” he says moments before throwing both arms around my neck and squeezing. I’m stunned, but find myself wrapping my arms around the boy and returning the gesture.

  When he jumps down and returns to the older woman who brought him, a huge boulder seems to lift from my chest. There’s no time to collect my thoughts because the next kid in line is grinning from ear to ear, anxiously waiting his turn. Before he makes his way to my lap, I turn quickly to Noel.

  “Thank you.” She doesn’t answer, the smile on her face doesn’t falter, but I see the gentle rise of her eyebrow. “For helping with the kid. I didn’t know what to say, but you did.” She opens her mouth to reply, but my attention is quickly drawn away when I feel the tug of my red velvet pants.

  The next hour continues the same: child sits on my lap, asks for something completely outrageous, Noel hands me a present, and we send them on their way with a little extra holiday cheer. Most of the kids are energetic and grateful, while a few are forlorn and standoffish. Those are the ones that Noel has to help me with. I freeze in horror faster than my secretary the time I gave her a fruitcake.

  When the clock strikes two, Sheila corrals the kids over towards a big, carpeted area in front of a cushy chair. Noel heads to the front and takes her place in the chair. I’m transfixed at how at ease she appears surrounded by dozens of kids, and frankly, how beautiful she looks. She smiles effortlessly and often while she opens the book, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and starts to read.

  Every eye in the place is riveted on her glowing face, taking in the excitement of the moment, the passion in her words. Including me. I’m transfixed, my heart pounds in my chest like a snare drum. I haven’t felt this…alive since the last time she was in my arms. Christmas Eve. Five years ago.

  Sheila and another woman start to pass cookies and small cartons of milk to each child. Before I even realize I’m moving, my legs carry me towards them. With my arms loaded with white milk, I walk silently through the room and dispense the snack. When a couple of young children ask for help in opening their drinks, I fumble with the little cardboard, but eventually get them open without ripping them to shreds.

  Then, I stand in back and watch.

  Watch the way her lips move.

  Watch the way the kids react to her words.

  Watch the way she engages them with eyes that twinkle like Christmas lights.

  And there’s no way I could look away.

  I should leave. I should head into the small office where my clothes remain, and get the hell out of this place. My shift is almost done, and I’m not necessarily needed for story time with Mrs. Claus.

  But here I am, standing at the back of the room and watching her.

  Falling under her spell once again.

  I swore I’d never let another woman close, and I guess, you could say I’ve succeeded. For five years, I’ve kept them at a safe distance, while keeping my heart one hundred percent intact.

  But this isn’t another woman. This is the woman. The only woman.

  And I have no idea what to do next.

  So I stand and watch, and wait.

  For what? I’m not sure.

  And that’s the scariest part of all. Not the kids, though they scare the ever-loving bejesus out of me. No, it’s the fact that I should walk away, but can’t seem to make my legs work.

  So I continue to stare.

  And for the first time since I walked out of her door, I feel something warm blossom in my chest. It feels a hell of a lot like hope. Instead of turning and walking away, I reach out and grab that hope and hold on tight.

  Because it’s always been her.

  Chapter Six

  The Answer Is No

  Noel

  I felt his eyes on me the entire time.

  It was unnerving while I read to the children, but I think I hid it well. At least, I hope I did.

  Now, I�
��m taking my sweet time dressing back in to my clothes, carefully hanging the Mrs. Claus outfit back on the hanger. For next Saturday. If I know Brandon as well as I think I do, he dressed unnaturally swiftly and was out the door, probably running towards his car, before I even had my door shut. Yet, I still find myself taking a little extra time redressing, just to ensure he’s long gone before I head out for the day.

  Unfortunately, that plan didn’t work.

  When I step into the hallway, Brandon’s there, leaning casually against the wall. His well-worn jeans hang low on his hips in that annoyingly delicious way that I used to crave. A snug polo shirt molds beautifully to his toned arms and his large feet are stuffed into a pair of brown leather shoes. He looks completely edible, which ruffles my garland in annoyance.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to mask the irritation.

  “Waiting on you.”

  “Why?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture.

  He shrugs his shoulders casually, which just annoys me that much more. “You did great out there,” he says, taking a step away from the wall and slowly walking towards me.

  “Thanks.” I should probably return the compliment, but I don’t like him, remember? Brandon smiles a knowing grin at me, and it makes my heart beat just a little bit faster. It also makes me forget that I don’t like him.

  “Need a ride?” he offers, his scent wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It’s cozy and familiar and makes me want to snuggle in all nice and tight.

  Shaking my head, I latch onto that lingering loathing I feel for this man and give him my answer. “No. I have a car.”