The Santa Rules

Chapter 1

BELLA

“Jesus, Mom, your tits are out!” Isaac screams in disgust.

I look down, and sure as fuck, he’s right. My right breast has made its escape out of the side of my tank top, while Lefty has jumped ship out of the top.

“It’s not like these babies didn’t provide you nourishment for the first two years of your life,” I grumble. Why I feel the need to fight with my thirteen-year-old at this early hour is beyond me. Groaning, I sit up in bed and pull my tank top up to cover the girls.

“Please don’t refer to your tits as babies,” he whines.

I should have more fucks to give, but parenting a thirteen-year-old boy alone has left me fresh out of fucks. And snacks. And hot water. And lotion. And my sanity.

I’m probably going to scar him for life between the tit flashing and the inappropriate jabs I level at him. But I’m doing the best I can. The lemonade may not be as sweet as I’d like, but dammit, I’ve squeezed the hell out of the lemons life’s thrown at me.

“It’s too fucking early in the morning for you to be coming at me like you have a full set of pubes.”

He leaves the room in a huff, and I fall back on the bed, hoping to get a few more winks in before we need to leave for school. But a few minutes later, he throws open my door, startling me as he marches back in, looks me square in the eyes, and says, “Twelve.”

I blink at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

This kid crosses his arms over his chest in defiance and glances down at his crotch.

“Oh my God, you didn’t,” I squeak out between fits of laughter.

“I have twelve hairs down there.”

“Did you actually count?”

He levels a glare at me, trying to be menacing, but it’s impossible. There’s no way to look tough when you just counted your pubic hairs in an attempt to win an argument with your mom. I collapse into a fit of laughter.

“Whatever. I’m going to go make some breakfast.”

“Let me know if you need a scrunchie to hold all that hair! Don’t want to get any in your Frosted Flakes!” I call after him.

“Shut up!”

“I love you too!”

Once Isaac is ready, we head out the door and walk over to Chestnut Mountain K-12 School. Isaac heads to his homeroom, and I stop by the office to check my mailbox and then make my way to my kindergarten classroom.

I shut the door behind me and inhale a deep breath as I try to prepare for what is sure to be an exhausting day.

It’s Friday, there’s a full moon, and it’s one of the few days of the year when the kids are allowed to dress up and eat candy.

There’s not a teacher I know that likes Halloween.

Sure, they may like it at home, but not in their classroom.

Kids are hopped up on sugar, no one can sit still, and forget about teaching anything because no one can focus with all the Spider-Men, Stormtroopers, princesses, witches, and other various ghouls and goblins running around. Me included.

It does make me miss the days when Isaac liked dressing up. He’s too cool for that now, but he is good with kids, and my students love when he comes to visit. I shouldn’t have teased him this morning—I may need his help wrangling this chaos later.

There’s so much I enjoy about teaching, but lately it’s been hard to keep up, and I feel like I’m failing at everything.

With only one of me, I’m stretched thin—between all the paperwork at school, all the paperwork my kid brings home, and all the paperwork my mailman keeps bringing me, it’s too much to keep up with. And that’s just the paper.

After way too many sugar crashes, one very sticky Batman, and a farting incident that derailed story time for thirty minutes, I’m exhausted when I walk in my house later that night, and I need something to help me relax.

“I’m gonna play with my friends then head to bed,” Isaac says as he climbs the stairs to his gaming cave, otherwise known as his bedroom.

I’m probably a shit mom for letting him have a computer in his room, but he’s a good kid and I trust him.

Plus, his dad bought it for him, and I didn’t really have much say in that matter.

While I wait for him to crash, I grab the empty candy bowl off the porch and scroll through a hookup app on my phone. Okay, now I’m definitely a shit mom, but it’s been six months since I’ve had a good manhandling, and I need it after today.

An hour later, Brandon shows up and I sneak him into my room, locking the door behind us as we furiously paw at each other. He’s a little too timid with his tongue for my liking.

“We have to be quiet. My kid is down the hall,” I whisper while removing Brian’s belt. Or was it Brad? Who the fuck cares?

“Shit, you have a kid?” He pauses after removing my bra from under my shirt.

“Don’t worry, he’s not yours.”

Brian chuckles. “Clearly.” He glances around the room, almost as if he expects my kid to pop out and scare him. “Look…”

I push him back on the bed before he can shut this down. “No, you look. I need this. I need to feel the weight of a man on my body while he plows me from behind because that’s not something I can easily recreate with my vibrator. Okay, Brady?”

“It’s Brandon.”

“I don’t care.” I work at the buttons on his jeans, pulling them open. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but we both know what this is. One night. I’m not asking you to be a stepdad. I just want to fuck, and I don’t want my kid to know you’re here.”

A dull pain throbs in my core, but I ignore it, grabbing his erection through his boxers. “Fuck,” he groans, his head dropping back on the bed. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Is he for real? “We met on DTF, Bradley—”

“Brandon.”

“Whatever. The app is called Down to Fuck. How did you not come prepared?”

“Uhhh…I’m clean?” He offers the last part like it’s a question he hopes I have the answer to instead of a statement that inspires confidence.

“Cool. Need help putting this on, Brayden?” I retort, tossing a condom at him that I found in my nightstand.

“Brandon!” he says, as I reach for the waistband of his jeans. That dull throb in my core builds into something more as he continues. “You’re really hot, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m going to take a raincheck.” He hops up off the bed and refastens his pants.

“I think that’s—AHHHHH,” I groan as a sudden sharp, stabbing pain hits my abdomen and I double over.

“Uhhh, are you okay?”

“No” is all I manage to squeak out as I clutch at my side.

Spots dot my vision as I collapse on the floor. I can hear Benton talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. It sounds like he’s in a tin can really far away. Holy shit, am I dying?

“Uhhh, she’s like in her thirties, I think?” I hear him walk out of the room. “Let me look. I don’t remember the address.”

The next thing I know, I’m on my back with a bright light shining in my eyes.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?”

My eyes blink rapidly at a man I don’t know in my room. “Yeah,” I croak out, clutching at my side. The pain is overwhelming. Is it my appendix? A kidney stone? Fate stepping in to save me from a bad lay?

“My name is Hardy. Your husband called 911. We’re here to help.”

“Not her husband. I’m going to take off. Looks like you guys have this covered,” the coward calls as I hear him descend the stairs.

“Assho—” I start before another wave of stabbing pain sears my abdomen. “Fuck.”

“Ma’am, can you tell us what’s going on?”

“Stabbing pains. Down here.” I gesture to the area above my pubic bone.

“Does it hurt anywhere else? Any other symptoms?”

“Oh God, I’m gonna throw up,” I wail as I curl onto my side, a wave of sweat beading down my face.

A blue vomit bag is placed close to my mouth as a hand soothes circles on my back.

Please don’t let me vomit in front of a stranger.

Is this food poisoning? I wrack my brain trying to think of everything I ate today. It was mostly candy. Did I finally find the piece of candy our parents warned us about? The one laced with drugs that we were always told to check for? Is this how I’m going to die? Taken out by poisoned candy?

There’s no way to look graceful while writhing on the floor dry heaving into a bag. As quickly as it hits, the nausea subsides, and I try to sit up. “Thanks, I think it passed.” I hold out the vomit bag, unable to look at the man helping me.

“Can you verify your name and date of birth?”

“Bella, with two Ls, last name Carlisle,” I divulge before reciting my birthdate, even though I’m less than thrilled about sharing it. A lady never tells. And based on this evening’s activities, I am clearly a lady. Cue eye roll.

“Are you able to walk to the ambulance, or do we need to wheel you out?” another EMT I didn’t even realize was here asks as the first one helps me sit up. Does he have an accent or did I hit my head?

“I can walk, but I might need some help.” I refuse to make eye contact with either of them as humiliation burns my cheeks.

“I got you.” An arm snakes around my waist and hoists me up as I groan out in pain. “That okay?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It hurts.” I want to die of mortification. No one ever sees me this vulnerable.

“No need to apologize. That’s what we’re here for.”

I groan as we slowly descend the stairs. “Shit. Isaac.”

“Do you need me to call someone?” asks the paramedic who’s holding me up.

“It’s my kid. He’s in his room. Gaming.” I’m not surprised that he hasn’t emerged since he usually wears noise-cancelling headphones while he plays. Mother of the year here.

“Do you have anyone that can watch him? A neighbor, maybe?”

“His dad?” I suggest, but I already know that won’t happen. When it’s not his weekend, Jake is practically unreachable.

“Let me get you loaded up, then we can get him sorted.”