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SANTA’S FAVORITE ELF
IVY
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said as I tugged at the flimsy material attempting to cover my ass. “This thing is way too short. I can’t wear this.”
I looked at my best friend, Cori, whose expression was torn between comical and concerned as her violet-colored bob swished around with her movements. “You look hot.”
She was the only person I knew who could not only pull off that haircut, but also any color she decided to change it to. Cori was as experimental with her hair as I was safe. No one touched these golden locks, except me.
Narrowing my eyes, I glanced down at my exposed thighs once more. “I’m not supposed to look hot. I’m one of Santa’s elves!”
“Yeah, the hot one,” she mumbled under her breath, and I almost lunged for her, but I knew it would rip the so-called skirt in half. Or at least bust the zipper. “Ivy, it’s fine,” she said, trying to placate me.
“It’s not fine.” I pulled at the material, trying in vain to make it rest on my hips instead of my waist so I could get a little more length out of it. “This event is for kids, not their dads.”
“Who do you think brings them here?” she asked, and I realized that she’d planned for this. All of this.
“Cori, I’m not going out there in this. I can’t even bend over. I’m sure elves have to bend at some point.”
“Put some Spanx on underneath then. That way, when you move around, you won’t be showing your goodies to all the horny dads out there.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Where is he?” She was talking to herself as she looked around the otherwise empty room.
“Who’s playing Santa this year anyway?” I asked right as Saint freaking LaCroix walked through the dressing room doors, carrying a pair of black boots, his blue eyes sparkling, even in the fluorescent lighting.
“Ho ho ho! I am.” His voice sent chills down my spine and made my thighs quiver. He sucked all the air out of the room the minute he waltzed into it.
Trying to pull it together, I shot Cori a murderous glare that let her know she could have at least warned me. But then that wouldn’t have been any fun…for her. Instead, I spun around and practically hopped into Saint’s arms as he wrapped himself around me, making my skirt go all the way up. I felt the cool breeze of air on my exposed ass cheeks as I breathed in his scent.
I had no idea what he wore that made him smell so good, but it always caused a visceral reaction in me. It was like it’d imprinted on me at some point, become a part of my DNA or some kind of sensory memory. One time, when I had been walking through the mall, the same smell drifted past me, and I almost fell to my knees in response. Whipping my head around, I’d searched for Saint, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Santa would never get any work done if you were at the North Pole,” he whispered into my ear, and I smacked his shoulder as I hopped down and adjusted my clothes.
I’d been pathetically in love with Saint since I had come out of the womb. At least that was how it always felt because I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t have it bad for him. He’d always been sweet about it, subtly flirting back with me and making me feel special instead of embarrassed, but I knew he was just being kind. Saint never looked at me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister. Even when I’d started to grow boobs, his eyes had stayed firmly rooted to my own.
It was annoying.
Every other guy stared at my chest instead of my eyeballs, but not Saint. Even when I’d tried to torture him in high school by wearing cleavage-baring crop tops and tank tops so tight that you couldn’t help but notice what was hiding behind the fabric, he never even glanced down. There were times I wanted to shove my boobs in his face, but my brother, Davey, would have killed me on the spot. Davey had made it abundantly clear that I was to stay away from his friend. Not that I listened.
The worst part was that Saint knew I was obsessed with him. I’d never been any good at hiding it. And if I’d thought that my feelings could be filed away as some sort of silly schoolgirl crush when I got older, I was sorely mistaken. Saint was still the object of all of my fantasies, even now that we were grown adults. Everything I always liked about him had grown tenfold as he aged.
Why couldn’t I just get over him already?
“How did Cori rope you into this one?” I asked, trying to play it cool but I was dying inside.
I’d be spending all day by his side. Five hours of one-on-one time with the only guy I’d ever wanted to kiss, but never had. There was one time when I’d thought it might happen when we were in high school, but he’d ducked away at the last second, and I was too mortified to ever try again.
Now that we were older and had full-time jobs, we didn’t see each other as much as we used to when we were kids, but we still kept in touch on social media almost daily, sending each other private messages and silly pictures. Although Saint never looked silly. He always looked downright edible with his messy, dark hair and deep blue eyes.
He and Davey had started a locals-only dating app for thesuccessful individual. That was how they marketed it. You had to make a certain income amount to even be accepted onto the site. And each user had to be referred by someone who was already on it.
The whole technical side of things was convoluted and confusing, but I understood at least that much about how it worked. Davey and his fiancée, Samantha, had met on the site, but as far as I knew, Saint wasn’t on it. It was a point of contention between him and my brother. Davey was always trying to get Saint to sign up, but Saint refused, saying they already had one owner who was a success story and one was all they needed.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
That man needed to never sign up for any dating site. Ever. And if I found out that he did, I would be signing up the next day.
Saint flashed me his trademark smile, the one that made his dimples appear, and I berated myself for all the dirty things I imagined doing to that perfect, chiseled face.
“She asked,” was all he said in response to my question. The one I’d completely forgotten asking.
