Chapter 22
Mrs. Claus on stilts
NICK
It felt like dunking my body into a cold plunge.
Naked.
Stark fucking naked.
Shriveled up dick, frozen ass cheeks, and all.
Joining Candy on a walk to Fifth Avenue was a self-inflicted punishment. At the time, I hadn’t acknowledged it that way, but now it was the only way I could see it.
Was I a masochist? I had never considered myself one before. Apparently, I had been wrong, though, because I didn’t want to be on a walk with Candy. Not like this, at least.
She was silent. I was silent. My mind was still buzzing, thinking about that damn kiss.
“Ho-ho-ho!” A man’s booming voice filled my ears right before—
“Watch where you’re walking,” I practically shouted, raising my voice at the moron who bumped into me from behind. If he wasn’t on his way to an eye exam, he should have been canceling his plans for the day and trekking his ass there.
Candy stopped in her tracks as well, and I turned around to get a good look at the jackass who had no regard for personal space.
“Sorry, man,” he responded, and my eyes trailed all the way up, up, up.
Beyond the stilts that seemed to go on forever and the Santa suit and the long white beard.
Finally, I landed on his face, his beady eyes covered by wired glasses.
Fake, most likely. “I was practicing my ho.” That explained absolutely nothing, just as the costume didn’t.
It wasn’t Halloween, and we weren’t even—
Candy’s hand came down on my shoulder, and she cleared her throat delicately. “We understand,” she told the man before whispering to me. “It must be the annual Santa convention today.”
“Sure is,” the man exclaimed like he was about to meet his idol or something. Candy and her crap whispering skills.
I felt bad for anyone who gave two shits about this day enough to sound like it was the greatest one on the planet.
As far as I was concerned, this convention had turned into nothing more than a pain in my rear end over the years.
That was why I’d made a point to forget about the day completely, but remember the date only for the sheer fact to avoid exiting the penthouse.
Mostly out of fear I might bump into or have to communicate with the drunken idiots that participated.
Listen, in theory, it sounded like a great way for people to gather and give to a good cause while also letting loose and kicking back.
That was in theory, though. In all actuality, it was a bar hop that landed a lot of people drunk off their asses, screaming profanities at strangers, pissing in empty cups, and getting handsy. Way too fucking handsy.
Needless to say, I hated this day. Couldn’t wait until it was over, and now, more than before, I was regretful I’d chosen to leave the house for a walk. Then again, I supposed it was a good thing I’d decided to join Candy. It wasn’t safe for her to be out here all alone with drunk strangers.
“Bro!” some man yelled, running up to us like there was a fire up his ass. He was wearing a onesie, and what the hell was he doing dressed like a gingerbread cookie? It ruined the cookie for me completely. What self-respecting man wore a onesie and ran in it to boot?
I leaned over and tried to cover Candy’s eyes, but she only tsk tsked and swatted my hand away.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” she said, shocking me to my very core and causing my blood pressure to spike.
I didn’t want her subjected to another man’s dick on full display, only the thinnest fabric covering him, as he ran toward his bro.
“My girlfriend’s on her way. I told her I’d get the wristbands for both of us,” he said, ignoring us. But not for long…unfortunately. “Hey, are you two joining in on the ho ho times?” the gingerbread man asked, his eyes shooting to me first, then Candy.
I didn’t know what ho ho times were and was positive I didn’t want to know. Although, if he meant having anything to do with this dress-up-like-Santa-or-some-other-ungodly-thing day, then I couldn’t think of anything worse. I pulled on the back of my neck. “No.”
Candy hooked her arm with mine, staying close to my side. Good thinking. “We’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”
The Santa stilt man let out a hearty laugh.
A little too jolly, if you asked me, but fine, to each their own.
He held his stomach full of cotton and promptly pulled something out of his pocket.
“That’s why I come prepared. For people like you,” he replied, pointing at me before practically tossing a long, white beard my way.
Yeah, I wouldn’t be taking that.
The gingerbread man caught it midair before taking it upon himself and snapping the beard on me, the shit digging into my skull. “There you go, my man.” I wasn’t his man. “Sorry we don’t have anything for you, pretty lady.”
Candy cleared her throat. “That’s quite all right. I think my husband looks festive enough for the both of us.” Her words were silencing a laugh. Did she find this…funny?
Who knew she had started to possess such a sick sense of humor? Surely not me. I supposed it added up, though. First Swinging Santas and now this…
My jaw hardened, and I pulled at the beard. “Didn’t you say you two needed to get in line for wristbands or something?” Wristbands, like this was an amusement park. I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.
Gingerbread shrugged, and Santa laughed. Was that all he knew how to do? “You’re right, that we do. Maybe I’ll find Mrs. Claus on stilts in line, waiting for me.”
I would say that seemed highly unlikely, but I wasn’t ruling it out completely.
“You’ll never know until you go there and find out, and we wouldn’t want to hold you up.
” I moved to rid myself of the scratchy beard that was making me want to pound my fist into a wall.
“Here. You should probably take this with you.”
“No,” Santa responded, that boom back in his voice. “It’s yours now. He who wears the beard shall keep the beard.”
If I had taken a shot every time one of them said something that made no sense out of context, considering it barely made sense in context, I would have been drunk. And I was by no means a lightweight. Candy, yes. Me, no. “Fine,” I agreed, hoping it put an immediate end to this exchange.
Gingerbread put two thumbs up. “Good on you.” Then he saluted me. “We’ll just be on our way. Maybe the lady can get some garb, and we’ll see you in a bar later.”
Pigs would fly first. I nodded curtly and turned on my heel, watching as they walked away, far away, from us. If there was anything I needed, it was distance between us and them.
“Come on,” I coaxed Candy, placing a hand on the small of her back. I gritted my teeth. “We should probably table the Fifth Avenue thing. It’ll be here tomorrow or another day.” Any other day that wasn’t the day of a Santa convention.
She quirked a brow, and it looked like she had no idea how to reply. Then she waved a hand between us and stepped away from my touch, picking up the pace. “That’s unnecessary. You forget that I lived in the city before I met you.” She pulled her white scarf tighter around her neck.
Ignoring my quickening pulse, I casually put my hands in my pockets, unsure what else to do with them. I sure as shit couldn’t do what I actually wanted to do. “Are you trying to tell me you partook in these…festivities?” That seemed like the nicest way to put it.
Her brows furrowed. “What? No, of course not. But I didn’t just hole up in my apartment either, you know?”
I offered her a devilish smirk. “I can’t say that I do.”
She looked away, staring into the windows of the department stores we started passing.
I never took Candy for the window-shopping type, especially when I’d seen our bank statements, but I’d also never seen us separating.
“At least your mother is in Jersey, visiting friends,” she noted, obviously trying to make small talk and change the subject.
Not that I had an interest in discussing my mother.
“Otherwise, she would have a few things to say when she got back home.”
“You’re not wrong. She wouldn’t care for adults dressing up like Santa or Christmas characters.” She wasn’t a grinch, she just wasn’t exactly not either.
Candy’s face lit up, putting the oversized tree in Town Square to shame.
Her eyes held a pair of black heels with excessive straps and some sort of pearl design hanging off the back.
I’d seen her shoe closet, so I was well aware she didn’t need another pair, but I found myself wanting to encourage her to go inside and buy them.
Not that she needed encouraging either. Candy had a mind of her own and tended to do as she pleased most times.
But I also knew that she probably didn’t want to take me shopping with her, understanding I wasn’t the most enthusiastic shopper. Unlike her.
What she would have failed to account for, though, was that she came first. Always.
My chest tightened, and it felt like someone was twisting my heart.
“Why don’t we go inside?” I asked, causing her to jump slightly at the sound of my voice.
Apparently, she was deep in thought and didn’t think I’d noticed the way she looked at those shoes.
But I did. I noticed everything about her.
Especially the way her eyes glittered when she found an item she wanted to add to her personal collection.
“We don’t have to do that,” she responded stiffly.
I groaned. “Candy cane.”
“Well, all right, if you mean it.” No, I said it for no reason. “While we’re inside, we should look into new bedding. I was researching Egyptian cotton sheets, and supposedly, they’re all the rage right now.”