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I jump up and grab the phone from Mac.
“You can’t talk to elves like that,” I scold.
His lips twitch. “You wanted me to kick his ass two minutes ago.” Oh yeah. He’s right.
Mac takes the phone back from my hand.
“Are you two done? The workshop is already getting behind. I’ve got my hands full with managing in Santa’s absence. This is—”
“Lil bit and I are far from done.”
I melt into Mac’s chest. He wraps an arm around me. “We’re working on it. If you don’t stop calling my girl every five minutes, I’ll fly up to the North Pole and break all of your fingers. You won’t be calling anyone then.” Mac ends the call on that note before tossing the phone onto the bed.
“That was hot,” I breathe out.
There might be something wrong with me. Whenever he talks about ending people for me or hurting them because they’re bothering me, I get turned on. I lick my bottom lip. His gaze, growing heated, follows the movement.
I want to continue what we started, but the Jingle Phone is sparkling and blinking on the bed. It can’t be ignored.
“We need to find a Santa.” The faster we do that, the faster we can be back in bed together. I wonder if Mac and I will spend Christmas together. Crap. I’ll need to get a gift for him. I should make us a couples Christmas ornament. I wonder if he plans on staying the night at my place on Christmas Eve, or will I stay here?
“Focus, lil bit.” He gives my butt a small smack to bring me back to the now.
“Right! We need to find a Santa.” I start wracking my mind on how to find a new one. I’m about to give up when the best idea hits me.
“I got it!” I hop up from the sofa and make a dash for my bag. I pull out my phone that only got a small crack in the corner when I threw it out the window earlier. It doesn't go unnoticed by me that I have 20 missed calls from Cinnamon Stick from earlier. So it’s working. I was sure it was going to be ruined, but thankfully it landed on a patch of snow-covered grass. I quickly start searching the internet.
“I could sign up for a dating app! It’s perfect. I can put all the attributes that I’m looking for, and then once it matches me to some guys, I’ll have them come over. Then I can screen them. Taking the time constraints into consideration, I could pick the one that has the best qualifications.” If all else fails, I could randomly shove the hat on someone.
“No.” Mac only says the one word before he folds his massive arms over his chest.
“Aren’t there sites just for older men? Sugar daddy something?” I snap my fingers. This is brilliant. Mac snatches my phone out of my hand.
“You’re not going on a dating app,” he grumbles. The grumpy look on his face has me pulling him down for a kiss. I’m glad I’m not the only one around here getting jealous.
“Are you jealous of the idea of me on a dating app?”
“Yes.” His answer is instant. “You’re mine, and I don’t share.”
A thrill runs down my spine at his possessive words. He leans down and grabs the Santa hat off the couch. I watch as he puts it on. We both stand there and wait for something to happen. Some sort of wild magical explosions or bursts of Christmas energy. Nope. Nothing.
“I don’t think you’re old enough? Or gray enough,” I point out. He looks too sexy to be Santa. “Maybe I could try it on Carl when he brings the mail tomorrow?Ifhe brings it.” I glance out at the falling snow. “Or we could, I don’t know, go to the diner and try it on every old guy who walks through the door. Or maybe we—” The doorbell rings, making me let out a small scream of surprise.
“It’s only the door, lil bit.” He chuckles and drops a kiss on top of my head before he walks over to the door and looks out the peephole. “No one’s there.” He flips the lock and pulls it open. A bunch of white boxes sit on my porch. First the sacks of letters and now this. I’m going to run out of room in my house at this rate.
“They’re addressed to Santa, but there isn't a physical address on them.” I look up and down the street to see who dropped them off, but there’s no one in sight. Mac pulls the lid off one of the boxes. I reach in and grab the paper on top that saysThe Listin big bold letters. It’s then I see all of the names in neat lines underneath.
“That little prick Johnny Greenwood isn't getting anything.”
I turn my head to look up at Mac who’s reading the names on the list over my shoulder. “Tomas is good to go this year. Think he learned his lesson from last year.”
“You know them?” I ask. Mac opens his mouth and then closes it. I put my hand over my mouth. “Santa?”
15
SANTA
“That was just a lucky guess.”
