GENRE: Gay Spicy Romance
LENGTH: 40,501 words
RATING:

If there’s one thing cynical Max loves unabashedly, it’s Christmas: the decorations, the cookie swaps, the cozy glowing houses. But what he looks forward to most is playing Santa for the kids at the Christmas in the Country nights his dead-end supermarket job hosts every year.

Everything changes when newcomer Chris is given the role of Santa this year, demoting Max to an elf and leaving him anything but jolly. Even though he vows he hates his older, straight coworker who stole his role right from under his nose, Max can’t deny Chris is good-looking, frustratingly funny, and infinitely patient with Max’s sarcastic barbs.

As December passes by and Santa and his elf get to know each other better, Max can’t help wondering if the cynical wall he’s built up between him and the rest of the world is strong enough to resist Chris and the magic of Christmas spirit.

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

With a deep breath and one more withering glare at myself in the mirror, I exit the safe haven of the bathroom and join Chris and our coworker Marcus near the lockers. Marcus takes one look at me and bursts into laughter. It’s the really obnoxious, exaggerated kind of laughter where he’s slapping his thigh and stomping his feet on the floor a little.

“Laugh it up,” I snap. “When you’re getting yelled at by octogenarians because you can’t accept a coupon for Walmart, remember this moment and think of me chilling out doing nothing but chauffeuring kids onto this guy’s lap all night.” I gesture to Chris with my thumb and pretend I said nothing about doing anything to his lap all night. It doesn’t work. I feel like I’m being steamed inside my cheap costume and I just put it on.

Marcus rolls his eyes at me. “At least I’m not wearing tights.”

“They’re stockings, asshole!” I yell at his back as he scoots out of the break room, leaving Chris and me alone. I give Chris some side eye and cross my arms over my chest. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. “How are you tonight?”

“Absolutely peachy,” I grumble. I notice his wig is a little lopsided again and can’t help huffing out an annoyed breath to see it. Sure, I was hogging the bathroom and the mirror, but still. It’s not that hard to put on a damn wig.

Wordlessly, I reach up and adjust it like I did last night. The hat is now sitting weird so I take it off and shake it out and plop it back on Chris’s head. When I’m satisfied, I take a step back to review my work, an insult withering inside me as I look at Chris’s face.

He’s leaning toward me a little bit and his eyes are closed. He has long, straight eyelashes, way longer than they have any right to be, and they flutter slightly. As I’m watching, his tongue escapes his mouth and pokes at a stray mustache hair.

“You ...” I start. I have to stop and clear my throat. “You should let me do something with your eyebrows.”

His eyes open and I shuffle back a step in a cacophony of bells, realizing how close we’re still standing.

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” They dip toward each other as he asks that. Nothing’s wrong with them. In fact, they’re nice as far as eyebrows go, thick but tidy like he grooms them. I picture him leaning toward the mirror post shower, tweezers in his hand and tongue between his teeth in concentration, a towel tied low and loose around his waist.

“Nothing,” I say but it sounds more like a breath. I clear my throat again. “Nothing. They just don’t match your hair or your beard. I could put some white makeup on them. If you wanted.”

“Oh.” Ugh, the apples of his cheeks are so rosy, the perfect Santa. “Makeup?”

“Yeah. Makeup.” I narrow my eyes at him. If I’m working with a homophobic Santa, I’m going to Rhonda and I am fully losing my shit. “Is the idea of a man wearing makeup a problem with you? If it is, I have some shocking news for you about every single man you’ve ever seen in a TV show or movie.”

“No! No, of course not. I guess I wasn’t sure if ... No, yeah. It’s not a problem at all. That would be really nice of you, actually.”

Sweat prickles beneath the collar of my costume. “I’m not being nice,” I choke out. “I just think you don’t have enough experience with this and need my help. But we don’t have time to do it now, so it’ll have to wait until our break.”

“Okay.” His voice is suddenly very soft.