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“No, not interrupting. I was getting the deets from Derek for Secret Santa.” I want to put the awkward closeness of the hallway and sweaty, ab-licious Derek to the dark depths of my mind where they’ll be dredged up sometime in my spiciest sugar plum and hard manmeat dreams.
Her grin is wide and mischievous on the screen as she says, “That’s why I’m calling.”
CHAPTER4
Derek
There’s always been something about Christmas music that gets me into a better mood. I could hear an errant jingle bell rock in the middle of summer and start counting the days until December 25th. There’s no question that I sing along with every song as I wait for drinks at the bartop.
The Chartreuse Clover Pub is packed. It’s always like this the few days before Christmas. Only on the day fast approaching are they closed making this place a ghost town. We’re not the only group celebrating, as well as happy couples, and singles looking to be a little less lonely around the holidays.
A bartender dressed as a gothic elf slides me two pints and two shots. I return to our bustling table balancing all of them precariously. Three couples and Sugar barely fit around the three smooshed together bistro tables. I slide in beside Sugar, setting a pint and shot in front of her. We’re all in our most tacky of Christmas sweaters because…why the hell not?
But Sugar makes tacky look good. Hers is green dress, going beyond her soft stomach and stopping just above her knees, paired with sparkle-infused black tights. She’s the sweater version of a Christmas tree, with blinking lights and a crown to work as her tree topper. We arrived separately, and I almost thought she might bail on me, especially after not responding to a text I sent to her earlier. And then she waltzed in, pink cheeked from the cold, and gift in hand.
I can only hope that maybe...there’s a present under that tree for me?
My own tacky sweater is Batman themed. A big bat symbol with a Santa hat, the various festive designs show little Harley Quinns and Jokers dressed as mischievous elves, and the Batmobile hooked to reindeer. It’s my go-to sweater, and proudly, I’ve had it since college.
My coupled college friends have their own themes, one couple have nailed down ugly sweaters with fabric paint, glitter, and googly eyes galore, another couple sport an overtly sexualized Mr. and Mrs. Clause set of sweatshirts, and lastly Desiree and Amy wear matching flamingo beach themed sweaters.
If Sugar and I came together next year, and like reallycametogether, what would our theme be?
I’m in fantasy land while Sugar waits for me to clink glasses. We cheers and shoot back the eggnog inspired shot. To her credit, Sugar flinches only a little at the burn of whiskey. I grin at her and she wrinkles her nose with a small laugh, chasing it back with her beer.
“I like your sweater!” I shout over the rambunctious patrons of the pub. Another round of “Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer” starts from the jukebox, setting off a bunch of singing from various corners.
We both lean in to one another to talk. One of her hands stays on her crown to keep it from falling. She doesn’t need it. Her blonde hair shines enough for a star substitute. But I do like the way it pins her hair back from her face. She’s even traded her glasses for contacts tonight. An upgrade that I’m not going to lie is kind of a downgrade in my book. I like the studious look on her. She’s got naughty librarian down pat.
“Go big or go home, right?” As she responds, her lips brush my ear and my cock jumps.
At that moment someone bumps my back and I press into Sugar, having no choice but to embrace or else fall down and take her with me to the floor. I balance out, hands bracing themselves on her waist, and I pray the elated, big man in my pants isn’t noticeable to her.
“Sorry,” I offer her a lopsided grin and let my fingers linger longer than they should into her pillowy form.
“Are you all right?” she asks me, silver eyes swirling but I can’t read what’s behind them.
I nod and slowly release her to drink deeply from my beer. I notice she practically chugs her whole pint. Her face burns as red as it was when she came in from the cold.
I really don’t mind how busy the pub is, they can bump into me all they like, it’s just another good excuse to be close to this Christmas treat beside me. I silently wish for someone else to do it again.
“Time to exchange!” Desiree announces as this year's designated organizer. Every year we take turns with who arranges the Secret Santa. Ambitious coordinators will even set parameters to spice things up. “But!” she interrupts our shuffling suddenly. “Santas are not secret this year!”
Ah, there’s the twist.
Desiree thinks she’s clever. It turns out everyone is Secret Santa to their partner. Which means Sugar is my Secret Santa.
Before I can fish it out, Sugar is shoving her gift bag into my arms, eyes not meeting mine. I resist the urge to tease her. She’s red enough and she might explode soon. I pluck tissue paper out to reveal an envelope on the bottom of the bag. The envelope has a sketch of a snow globe on the front but inside is a little cop car.
“Cute,” I chuckle, opening the envelope. I pull out a single coupon. “This Coupon is redeemable for—” I stop reading aloud when I see the words, eyes darting between the handmade coupon and Sugar who still won’t look at me.
Thankfully everyone else is too busy gushing over presents. I can faintly hear Amy and Desiree squealing over concert tickets, but all the noise around me fades until all I can hear is my heart rate.
The gift in my pocket feels like it might burn a hole through my jeans.
CHAPTER5
Sugar
