“Stetson,” I correct myself quickly. “You’re seriously telling me that there’s really such thing as Santa Claus and that you’re… him?”
He takes his time before answering.
“In theory, yes.”
“In theory?”
“When I turn sixty-five, I’ll take over the role,” he explains like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or unless something happens to my father and he’s unable to fulfill the duties as outlined in the family clause.”
“So for all intents and purposes—” I begin slowly.
“I’m Santa Claus.” He finishes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Oh dear.
This is it. Staring me right in the face like a giant red flag—but dressed in a red bow like jolly old St. Nick. An extremely hot St. Nick. Sexy as hell St. Nick. And that’s just it—in no world would any man, woman or child believe Stetson was or could be Santa Claus. Like he couldn’t even be him for Halloween. If he dressed up like him, you’d think he was about to strip forMagic Mike. If he told me he was, Thor, this I’d believe without a doubt. Okay, I wouldn’t believe it at all, but I’d understand it because look at him.
Thor. In the flesh.
This superhero I can get into and just cosplay the hell out of it, but is Santa a superhero? Is the big bellied, jolly, gift giving and lover of all things sugary and decadent?—
Wait a minute!
He did eat an unholy amount of candy and sweets yesterday. There wasthat… you’re reaching, Charlie. You’re reaching. While my mind races in all sorts of crazy directions Stetson has the audacity to smile at me.
Like a normal smile.
Nothing crazy about it at all. Nothing off… It’s sexy.
I sigh.
One resounding truth pops in my head and vibrates around my brain like a psychedelic Rudolph the red nose reindeer trip—I’m going to sleep with him despite the fact he believes he’s Santa Claus. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve slept with more delusional. Hell, my ex thought he was Jacob Elordi… he really did. Maybe Jacob Elordi inFrankenstein, sure if he was comparing himself to the monster, then one thousand percent, he’s Jacob Elordi. So there.
Santa is a walk in the fucking park!
At least Stetson believes he’s a nice old man who gives kids gifts for Christmas. He’s a giver! Not a taker of faces!
This level of delusion is much more palatable.
“You really don’t believe me,” he states the obvious.
I wonder what gave it away?
I’m guessing the disbelief written on my face.
Ba da bing!
I try to laugh and brush it off. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, per say…”
“Then what is it, Char Char?”
I gasp.
“What did you call me?”
“Char Char.” His voice sounds different now, more serious.
