Page 10 of Holiday Flame

There’s only one thing I can do. I have to think pure, clean thoughts. I have to do the job I was brought in to do without giving myself—or my lust—away.

Grabbing the red velvet hat with white trim, I shove it on my head and head back out into the fray. I drew the short straw and have to play Santa this year. So that’s what I’m going to fucking do.

An hour—and dozens of children with varying levels of enthusiasm for Santa—later, I’m not sure how much longer I can last.

I used to think I’m a decent person. Not a saint, or anything. But I treat the women I casually date well. I brake for squirrels. I’m a God-damned firefighter, for fuck’s sake.

But somewhere along the way, I must have done something shitty.

That can be the only reason why I’m being tortured like this.

As if on cue, Jade bends over to speak to one of the last children standing in line. She angles her body to show off her ass and legs. An ass and legs that are all too tempting.

“Fucking hell,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that, Santa?”

Blinking, I glance back down at the child currently seated on my lap. I turn my attention back to him and gently pull his hand away from my beard.

“Sorry, son,” I say in a deep voice. “Santa was a little distracted.”

“By your elf?”

My eyebrow shoots up. Fuck. If a six-year-old noticed the way I’ve been ogling Jade, there’s no way other people—namely her brother—haven’t caught on too.

I could lie. But I don’t think Santa is supposed to lie to kids. Instead, I nod. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. She’s really pretty.” He clears his throat. “Look, Santa, I have a question.”

“I’ll give you an answer if I can. But first, tell me your name.”

“I’m Tucker.”

“Hello, Tucker. I’m R—Santa.”

“Duh.” He rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows who you are.”

“Well, sure.” I chuckle. “Go ahead and ask your question.”

“Here it is.” He takes a deep breath. “I do all my work at school. I don’t push my little brother. I hold his hand when we cross the street.”

“It sounds like you’re being a very good boy.”

“Then, why don’t you bring me as many things as the boys at school get?” His question knocks the air out of my lungs. It hits a little too close to home for me.

Before I can recover, he keeps going.

“The other boys get video games and drones. And I mostly get things like books and crayons. Not that I don’t like those,” he rushes. “I just… I wonder why our gifts are so different.”

Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I see his mom standing to the side. She’s holding another little boy’s hand and is taking photos of us with her phone. She’s smiling, but it’s the look in her eyes that tells me the story.

She’s tired. She’s sad. She’s doing the best that she can, but it isn’t always enough.

Clearing my throat, I lean my head closer to him. “Believe me, I know you’re a good boy. I know you’re helping your mom.”

“I am.”

“Good.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Now, there’s something you should know. Video games and drones might be fun at first. But they don’t last forever. And there’s still an even greater gift.”