The

The

The

The

Counterfeit

Counterfeit

Counterfeit

Counterfeit

Claus

Claus

Claus

Claus

A Rescue Twinks Novel

A Rescue Twinks Novel

A Rescue Twinks Novel

A Rescue Twinks Novel

#0.5

#0.5

#0.5

#0.5

Cherie Noel

Cherie Noel

Cherie Noel

Cherie Noel

Dedication

This story is dedicated to N.J. Nielsen, Tracy Tucker Faul,
Val Hughes, Amara Devonte, for each and every little thing
they do… and of course, to the evil urchin who sparked off
the idea for the Rescue Twinks by spilling glitter all over
my house. Thanks, kidlet!

...and as always, every story I will ever write is for my
Balthazar, and the sweet, wild, half-fae wench who led me
to his door. Yes, yes, I do mean you, naughty Countess J.

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE

PURCHASED:

Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you

ONE LEGAL copy for your personal reading on your

personal computer(s) or device(s). You do not have resell

or distribution rights without the prior written permission of

both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book.

This book should not be copied in any format, sold, or

otherwise transferred from your computer to another

through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for

free or for a fee,

or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal

everywhere except the land of UtaDamDenial. It is also a

blatantly meanie-butt maneuver.

It takes the author’s hard earned ducats (that’s greenbacks

to you) right out of their pockets.

Just don’t do it.

Cover Artist: A.J. Corza

Editor: Val Hughes

The Counterfeit Claus © 2012 Cherie Noel

ISBN # CN001

Attention Readers: This book uses Ameriglish. English

speakers from other countries should consider themselves

warned… there will be donuts rather than doughnuts.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole

or in part, without express written permission of the

publisher. All characters and events in this book are

fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead

is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being

used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in

the Licensed Art Material is a model.

PUBLISHER: Rocking Rooster Publications

~~yes, yes… we’re a wee little house, but we’ve got the rockin’

cock-a-doodle-doo~~

TRADEMARKS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and

trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned

in this work of fiction:

Jeep:

© 2012 Chrysler Group LLC

Starbucks: © 2012 Starbucks Corporation

Dunkin’Donuts:

© 2011. DD IP Holder LLC.

YouTube: © YouTube LLC.

Danger Mouse: © Nickelodeon, originated by Cosgrove-

Hall

***

Additional Acknowledgements:

Names

Justin Bieber

Michael Clarke Duncan

Ft. Leonard Wood

St.Nick

8

Chapter One

The sound of Justin Bieber’s twinkish tenor

crooning his latest hit carved a jagged little hole into the

velvety silence cocooning Devon. He groaned, flailing one

long arm towards the pesky little voice. What the hell was

Justin Bieber doing in his bedroom anyway? A high note

reverberated in his ears, exhorting him to just open his eyes

and—Devon snagged his cell phone, flipping it open.

“Sot—” The thick southern twang combined with

the use of his last name—or at least a portion of it—told

Devon who his caller was before his sluggish brain caught

up to the irony of a Bieber song announcing anything to do

with “the one and only Michael Rose, badass

extraordinaire.”.

“Rose, you are so fucking dead.” Devon’s voice

crawled up out of his chest like a snarling, slavering beast.

“You know I worked the show up on campus last night

before my regular job. Christ man, I musta told you five

hundred times how geeked I was to finally get a gig with

campus security, even if—”

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9

“Sargent So—” The silence after Rose’s bitten off

utterance had Devon rubbing at his eyes and trying to

figure out why in the hell Rose would be calling him at the

ungodly hour of ten-thirty am.

Well, it was ungodly for someone who’d been at

work until well after seven in the morning. Devon lost a

good fifteen seconds musing about how he should have

gone straight to bed when he got home. He rubbed a hand

across his stubble covered jaw. Instead he spent time he

could have used to sleep obsessing over the hottest guy

he’d ever seen. Devon spotted Hottie McHotpants walking

across campus two days ago with Roses’ younger brother,

Sam. The guy with Sam was a pocket sized piece of

perfection with the most delicious ass and—

A hideous retching sound spilling from the tiny

speaker at the top of his phone snapped his attention back

to the present. Devon sat up in bed, clapping a hand over

his mouth as his own stomach clenched and roiled in sync

with the vile squelching sounds coming from the other end

of the phone.

“Jesus Christ, Kid. What the hell is wrong with

you?”

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Rose grunted. There was an ominous splashing

noise accompanied by a low, piteous sounding moan. A

couple of gnarly, lung-and-stomach-clearing hacks later,

his normally honey drenched voice rasped over the line.

“Sergeant Soto. Sarge. I need a real favor. I’m due at work

in like, an hour. Already talked to my boss, and he said as

long as I have a replacement he won’t write me up as a late

call-off. Please, Dev. You know the gig—the Santa thing,

just like we did during the last deployment, but usually

with less camouflage and swearing.”

Devon reached over to turn on the faux oil lamp he

used as a bedside light. His mother was always foisting off

kitschy stuff on him. He would never in a million years

admit to anyone how much he actually liked the weird

things him mom gifted him with. A small smile graced his

generous lips. His madre was a hot mess, but he loved her

beyond all reason and respected her right down to the soles

of her feet. One of the things she’d drummed into him long

before the Drill Sergeants at Fort Leonard Wood got their

hands on him was that he was never to let down a friend in

need. Scrubbing a hand along his jaw, Devon resigned

himself to a grueling twenty-four hours before he could

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11

sleep again. “Rose, are you trying to say you want me to fill

in at your job at the mall?”

A weak chuckle greeted his statement. “Yeah, could

you? You’re the only one I know who’s worked there

before, and fits my suit—I’d hate to screw Andy over after

he bent over backwards to fit my work shifts around my

classes.”

Devon groaned. “Andy’s okay with me filling in for

you?”

The relief in Rose’s tone was palpable. “Yeah, in

fact he suggested I ask you.”

Swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his

favorite jeans off the floor, Devon grunted. “Huh. I just bet

he did.”

A pained sigh sounded over the phone. “Dev, I’m

sorry I—”

Yanking the faded denim over his lean hips, Devon

sighed. He picked up his tee shirt from the day before,

sniffed it, and shuddered. Nope, the shirt was so far beyond

wearable it should come with a bio-hazard warning. He

turned, walking toward the dark wood dresser against the

far wall. “Not your fault man. We just didn’t fit. Not

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12

Andy’s fault. I was the one too uncomfortable to work

there again this year. Me. Just—drop it, okay?”

After a beat of silence Rose’s voice came back.

“Okay. I meant it when I promised to not try to set you up

with anymore of my old high school buddies. Is that

alright?”

Devon snorted. Sometimes the kid was so damned

dramatic. Really, how many of his school pals could

possibly be gay? Recalling what Rose had told him about

the group he hung out with in high school, Devon corrected

his thought on the matter. Rose had been friends with a

disproportionately high number of gay and bi kids in

school. Devon took another step forward and then yelped as

his bare toes connected with the one of his five pound

weights. Mierda, he’d forgotten about leaving those out

yesterday. Rose’s voice came with less Deep South honey

and more combat medic concern this time. “Dev, what

happened?”

Rustling cloth on the opposite end of the connection

had Devon barking at Rose as though he were still the

man’s squad leader. “Lay your ass back down, Rose. I

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13

stubbed my toe. Christ, Kid, one day you’ll be the death of

me, but—”

Rose grunted, and a muffled thud told Devon the

younger man had just obeyed him. “Hell, Sarge, I know

how that ends. Today ain’t the day, right?”

Devon paused long enough to pull a plain black tee-

shirt out of the middle drawer and slip it over his head.

Spying the bottle of his favorite cologne, Drakkar Noir,

sitting dead center on the top of the dresser, Devon sprayed

a shot on as he checked himself out in the mirror. Same

brown hair, same brown eyes as always. Same faintly olive

skin two shades lighter than that of all his cousins, because

his madre had gotten pregnant by what she called a

beautiful Englishman. Seeing as how it happened during

her senior class trip, Devon had to agree with his Abuelo

when he called the man an unscrupulous cabron.

Devon eyed himself drolly. If his madre, Rosario

Soto, had picked a nice Puerto Rican man like the rest of

his aunts, then the dark circles under his eyes might not be

so damn apparent. He snorted. The sleep deprived smudges

were familiar from both his military stint and more recently

from working two jobs and going to school full time. They

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14

were not his best look. He sprayed on another spritz of

Drakkar to compensate for his haggard appearance,

answering Rose as he did so. The kid had always been his

favorite soldier, even though squad leaders weren’t

supposed to have favorites.

Devon’s exasperated smile shaped the sound of his

voice. “That’s right, kid. You still use the same locker

combo?”

Rose coughed, one of those polite little coughs

people gave when they were embarrassed as shit and didn’t

know what to say. “Ah… yeah.”

Devon rolled his eyes.

Rose grunted. “Stop rolling your eyes, Dev. I only

keep the stupid suit there. I hate learning new combos and

passwords and shit.”

Devon sighed. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his

keys into his pocket and sat back on the edge of the bed to

pull his socks on. “Not addressing that right now. You

better believe we’re gonna deal with your lack of security

as soon as you feel better.”

Rose full out whined. “Aw, Sarge, come on. That’s

not fair.”

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15

Devon shrugged regardless of the fact that Rose

couldn’t see him. Snagging the edges of the duvet cover,

blanket and top sheet all at once he flipped them all up over

his queen sized bed. He shifted the phone back to his

shoulder to free both hands. Devon straightened and

smoothed the covers. “Life’s not fucking fair, Rose. I’ve

been telling you for three years now that you need to get

serious about protecting your identity. If it takes me kicking

your ass at the gym to get my point across, then so be it.”

The petulance in Rose’s voice could be spread with

a trowel. “Dev, you’re being a dick.”

Damn, the guy only got whiny like this when he

was really sick. “Rose, is someone there with you?”

No answer came for a moment. Devon opened his

mouth to ask the question again when Rose’s response

came over the line. “Not exactly.”

Devon shook his head. Leaving his bedroom he

strode into his living room and swiped his brown leather

bomber jacket up from the couch on his way to the front

door. “Not exactly had better mean you already called your

brother and you’re just waiting for him to show up or I’m

going to call him myself.”

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16

Rose laughed weakly again. “Better. Mom’s

coming.”

Devon’s shoulders dropped down a whole inch at

those words. “You mean Mrs. Jimenez, the woman who

mentored your Gay-Straight Alliance club all during high

school?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. She just has to drive over. I

think she’s gonna bring me back to her house if she doesn’t

take me to the hospital.” Rose’s voice faded at the end of

the sentence, signaling his exhaustion.

Pulling the front door open, Devon patted his

pockets to make sure he had everything as he answered.

“Okay. I’m just leaving the house now. You’re lucky I

showered before I went to bed this morning, or I’d never

have made it to the mall in time. Don’t worry Rose— I’ll

be there in plenty of time for your shift. Feel better, and

make sure Mrs. Jimenez has my number in case you need

anything.”

Rose mumbled a farewell, and disconnected after

slurring out something Devon thought was supposed to

indicate giving Mrs. Jimenez Devon’s cell number.

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17

Shaking his head, Devon pulled his phone away

from his ear and spoke to the blank screen. “Kid, you are

still a mess. I sweartagod, you and mi Madre are cut from

the same cloth.”

Stepping out into the chilly air, Devon pulled his

sturdy, solid wood door closed. He checked the door handle

to make sure the locking mechanism had engaged, and then

slid his key into the deadbolt to engage that lock as well.

Nodding to himself, Devon jogged down his front steps and

headed down the block to the cross street he’d been forced

to park on the night before. He should have enough time to

swing through a drive-thru to get coffee for the drive over

to the mall. Devon figured he’d need every drop of caffeine

he could squeeze into his body today, tonight and tomorrow

morning. At least the Santa gig would be over before he

was tired enough to forget he was a civilian now. He

snorted, pulling his gloves out of his jacket pocket as he

reached his Jeep. The shiny black paint job made him smile

even though he had to wash the damn thing twice a week in

the winter to keep his poor baby from looking like some

kind of car hobo.

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18

Clicking the auto-lock device on his keys, Devon

cracked a smile. At least Betsy hadn’t been parked long

enough to build up a heavy coating of snow. Hey, if he

couldn’t find a silver lining in almost any situation, he

wouldn’t be Rosario Soto’s son. The jeep cranked up

beautifully. Devon sat for a full five minutes to warm the

engine before he considered pulling out to start toward—

no, Starbucks was in the wrong direction—double D’s it

was, then. He’d get a little caffeine boost, and then get two

of the biggest damn dark roast coffee’s he could get once

he got to the mall. Course plotted, Devon eased the stick

into first gear. In thirty-six hours or so he’d be back, and

his bed would be waiting for him.

****

“Shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiitttttt!” The quiet popping,

ripping sound of his elf hose giving way sent Adrien’s heart

into a triple-time rhythm that could only be considered a

good thing if he were trying to win a Salsa Dance

competition worth a year’s entry free of cover charge at his

favorite club. He so did not have time for this.

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19

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I picked up a new

pair last night before we left. If I hit the lights right, I might

be able to shave enough time off the drive to get there on

time. God, it would be so much easier to just live at home

with mom and dad some days.” His huge black cat, aptly

named Michael Clarke Duncan, blinked skeptical green

eyes at him. Adrien blushed.

“Fat lot you, know, Michael. And I am gonna get

my ass chewed by Andy.” Adrien huffed out a breath.

Andy still hadn’t forgiven Adrien for going away for a year

after high school.

Adrien blew a puff of air up toward his forehead in

an attempt to move the long lock of unruly brown bang off

his face. The offending hair wafted up for a moment. As

soon as he stopped blowing upward his silky bang drifted

right back down over the right side of his face. He grabbed

a plain gray pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, because

there was no way he could be seen outside in the hot-pants

Andy insisted were simply perfect for all the elves. The

things clung to Adrien’s ass so tightly it was a wonder mall

security didn’t try to arrest him for solicitation every day he

worked. To be fair, Adrien did have a bigger butt than most

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20

of the elves. On the rest of them the damn things looked…

cute, and respectably elfish. Only on Adrien did they look

like go-go boy attire. He caught a quick glance at the clock

on his bedside table, and started to really hustle.

Hopping on one foot, attempting to pull the sweats

up while he tucked his newly highlighted hair behind his

ear Adrien lost his balance. The hand that had been fixing

his hair flailed out, thunking against something soft and

furry. Michael the cat squalled out an indignant mewling

noise. With a hiss, he ran across Adrien’s stomach and

chest en route for the bedroom door.

Adrien lay for a moment, looking up through the

brown and gold strands of his hair. Heaving a sigh, he

swiped the stuff out of his face again. Michael Clarke

Duncan yowled loudly from the living room. Cripes, it was

a good thing Sam wasn’t here. The whole humiliating

episode would surely be hitting Sam’s “Dumb-Shit Adrien

Does” YouTube channel right about now if Sam wasn’t off

somewhere with the study group he’d put together from his

fellow nursing students.

Bounding up off the bed, Adrien hesitantly turned

to the mirror hanging on the back of his closet door. His

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21

bare chest had a couple of ugly scratches, but thankfully

they weren’t bleeding badly. Even better, the cat’s claws

entirely missed his face. He so didn’t want to be the guy

who scarred some little kid’s psyche and ruined Christmas

for them forever with visions of evil elves. That kind of

stuff was best left to their parents. A quick tally of his

features assured him he was still passably handsome. If you

asked him, his lips were a touch too thin, and his eyes a

little too big, giving him an almost anime character look.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. It was a darn good thing

he’d gotten his mama’s gorgeous booty in the DNA lotto,

or he’d have to work a lot harder for dates.

Hurrying into his private bath Adrien wet a

washcloth, dabbed at the bloody stripes across his chest and

the two divots on his stomach. He quickly dabbed the spots

dry with a wad of toilet tissue. Sam was such a worry-wart,

and the sight of bloody tissues in the shared bath in the

hallway of their two bedroom apartment could only end

with the brat making a panic call to their mom. Adrien

shuddered. Their mom was amazing… and sometimes, she

was just a touch overwhelming.

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22

Adrien sighed as he slipped on a tight fitting green

tee shirt. Then he put on the dizzying green and red top half

of his elf uniform. He put his shiny green elf-a-go-go shorts

into his back pack. In his head, Adrien always called them

go-go shorts. Without the opaque tights under them that’s

what they looked like on him. He shoved his feet into his

sneakers—the pointy toed leather elf shoes stayed in his

locker at the mall so he wouldn’t ruin them in the snow—

and dashed towards his front door, only tripping over

Michael Clarke Duncan twice on the way out.

23

Chapter Two

The awkward moment Devon expected when he

saw Andy again showed up like a spoiled debutante at a

weeklong party with free cocaine. He groaned inwardly,

plastering a fake smile on his face. He had tried to tell

Andy right from the start that he wasn’t looking for

anything more than a quick fuck back when they met. Andy

was cute as hell, and frighteningly capable of twisting

anything said to him to match what he wanted the speaker

to say. He wasn’t a bad kid—and at eight years younger

than Devon chronologically and lifetimes younger in

experience he definitely seemed like a kid to Devon. Andy

was in love with being in love, and he fell in love at the

drop of—well, not a hat, but surely at the drop of a couple

of pairs of pants.

Devon, unfortunately didn’t find that particular

tidbit of information out until after he’d fucked the kid silly

for an entire weekend. Damn Corporal Michael Rose for

not warning him about Andy the second he invited Devon

to come home to Syracuse for a visit when their leaves

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24

lined up so perfectly. Devon’s annual leave started at the

same time as the start of Rose’s terminal leave. With his

mother out of the country visiting relatives Devon didn’t

care to see in Puerto Rico, Devon was at loose ends. Going

home with Rose had made perfect sense, and would have

been a perfect vacation if Rose had given him an

appropriate situation report.

If Devon had known that the sweet assed nineteen

year-old would be picking out matching china the second

he tapped said luscious ass he would fucking well have

steered clear. He ground his molars together as quietly as

possible and concentrated on being polite. He couldn’t stop

himself from arching an eyebrow at Andy’s perfectly made

up and carefully stoic expression. He nodded at the other

man. “Andy. You look well. Which locker is Michael’s?”

Christ, he should never have given in to his

boredom on that trip. It wasn’t like he’d needed to take a

temporary job during his leave. Worse yet, he’d made

assumptions about Andy, and he’d never meant to leave the

kid heart-broken when he went back to Germany. It had

actually been Andy’s tear stained letter that made him

reconsider re-enlistment. Not that Devon had any designs

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25

on the kid—far from it. In fact, given Michael’s response to

the whole of “Andy-gate”, Devon had feared losing the best

friend he’d ever had. He and Michael discussed the incident

exactly once. Devon apologized for hurting Michael’s

friend. Michael punched him in the jaw hard enough to

knock him on his ass. Devon sat on the floor, readjusting

his whole thought process about how badly he’d fucked up

while he moved his jaw gingerly from side to side. Then he

said the three words that salvaged their friendship. “I didn’t

know.”

Michael stretched a hand down, pulled him up into

a hug, and told Devon the beers were on him for the rest of

his trip. Devon figured the money spent paying a healthy

sized bar tab was the least he could have lost.

Andy was talking again, tucking a hank of silky

blond hair behind his almost girlishly delicate ear. Devon

had no idea what he’d said while Devon was strolling down

memory lane. “Sorry, could you say that again? I kind-of

drifted off a little. I worked all night last night… but don’t

worry, I’ll be okay for the shift. I just need another cup of

coffee.” Devon lobbed his Dunkin’ Donuts extra-large cup

into the trash can in the corner of the small locker room.

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26

“I said Michael’s locker is number seventeen.”

Andy’s big dark blue eyes were heavily lined with black

and his hair was a shockingly bright blond Devon didn’t

remember from his previous encounters with the younger

man. Whatever the reason for his new and improved look,

Andy’s voice was still the same, low and husky. No wonder

he’d managed to bend a straight arrow like Rose around…

hell, the kid was cute enough to have the Pope waving a

rainbow flag.

Andy gave him a shaky smile, finger-combing his

long bangs down to frame his incredible sapphire eyes.

“Did Michael say what was wrong? He sounded really sick,

and he still made sure we were covered… oh, gosh, it’s

almost time to open the village. Can you get into costume

and meet me out by Santa’s chair? I’m afraid there’s

something going around, and one of our elves is out sick as

well, and Adrien, the other elf isn’t here yet. Well, that’s

not unusual, because Adrien is almost always late. We’ve

learned not to expect him until fifteen minutes to a half an

hour after his shift starts. If it’s longer than that we call the

hospitals to find out how late he’s going to be.”

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27

The stiff feeling in Devon’s cheeks eased as Andy

turned his attention to things other than gazing soulfully at

him. He liked the genuine concern for Rose in the kid’s

sexy voice, and after he caught the other worker’s name, he

tuned out most of what Andy had to say about the guy.

Devon snorted. Though, given the little bit he’d actually

caught about what Andy said about Aaron? Adrien?

Whatever his name was, it was just possible the hilarious

stories Rose had told about his younger brother’s friend

were true if this was the same kid.

Andy shot Devon another wide eyed look when he

snorted. The younger man bit at his plush bottom lip before

turning toward the door and hurrying off. Devon shook his

head. He’d better get his ass in gear and get out to the

Christmas Village before they were inundated with

screaming toddlers and exhausted parents. Opening Rose’s

locker was pathetically easy. Devon didn’t even need the

combination, as his former soldier hadn’t even bothered to

check to make sure the lock engaged fully.

Devon huffed out an aggravated breath. He was

definitely going to kick Rose’s ass as soon as the guy could

put up a decent fight. He’d trained Corporal Rose better

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28

than this. Staying sharp with his police skills wasn’t

something Devon had ever thought he would have to beat

into the youngster. There was clearly more wrong with him

than just a nasty case of stomach flu.

Devon pulled out the familiar red suit, glad to see it

still there. Slipping into the outfit, he found the pants a little

loose in the waist and the jacket a little tight in the

shoulders. Eh, not much he could do about the slight

discomfort. Hopefully the discomfort would help him stay

awake and alert.

****

Adrien ran down the hallway to the tiny—and

disgustingly smelly—locker room for the male employees.

As he rounded the last corner he smacked right into Andy.

They were roughly the same size—small—and bounced off

in opposite directions, with Andy getting the worst of the

collision. Adrien fell on his nicely cushioned ass, but poor

Andy somehow managed to spin around and pull a full on

face-plant on the concrete floor. When he sat up, the skin of

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29

his right cheek was split open, and blood streamed freely

down the creamy skin of his face.

“Oh shit! Andy, I’m so sorry. Oh my god, oh my

god, your pretty face… oh.” Adrien clapped a hand over his

mouth. Damn his clumsiness.

Andy reached a hand up to his face, grimacing

when he touched just below the wound. He glanced over at

Adrien, a panicked look on his face. “I’ll have to go to the

hospital. Oh, crap-doodly, Adrien, this is bad.”

Adrien jumped up, and then thought better of his

plan to rush over to help Andy. “Come on, Andy, I’ll walk

you over to security. Liam’s on duty today He’ll give you a

ride to the hospital and then go back and pick you up when

you’re done. I’m so sorry. Do we need to close the

Village?”

Andy shook his head. “No, you know how

everything runs. I’m putting you in charge.” Handing over

his keys and clipboard, Andy smiled. “I didn’t pick up the

cash box yet… I can’t give that to you, so just let the

parents know if they want to either leave checks or pay by

credit card we’ll mail the pictures or they can come back

next week to pick them up… and I guess if they have

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30

cash… um, give them a “rein-check” to come back next

week, and we’ll give them a twenty-five percent discount

for their trouble. Can you manage that?”

Adrien’s head spun. Yeah he knew how to do all the

little tasks of running the village, but Andy had always put

Michael in charge when he couldn’t be present before. “I…

you aren’t going to put Michael in charge.”

Andy shook his head, grimaced, and gripped the

sides of his head carefully. “No. That won’t work today

He swayed then, and Adrien grabbed his arm to

steady him. The security office was only a few more steps

down the hall. “Hey, Liam! Help!”

Liam came boiling out of the security office in a

flash, a thunderous expression on his lean face. He took in

Andy’s battered condition and Adrien’s disheveled

appearance in a glance. The anger melted off his face, an

exasperated look crossing in its stead. “Damn, Adrien, you

usually don’t take out casual bystanders.”

Adrien winced. “I know. I just. Shit.”

Andy patted his shoulder. “It was bound to happen

at some time. You’re like a walking bio-hazard-natural-

disaster and I’m a place waiting for an accident to happen.”

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31

Adrien’s gut clenched. Oh. He hadn’t realized Andy

just expected to get hurt all the time. Admittedly, Andy did

get hurt a surprising amount—but to just expect the bad

stuff was kinda like he was inviting those things to visit

him. Gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip, Adrien

glanced up at Liam. “Li, will your boss cut you enough

slack to take Andy to the hospital?”

Liam nodded. “Yeah, he’s got a soft spot for Andy,

just like the rest of us.” He rapped on the door to the

security office. A huge bald-headed black man opened it.

Liam grinned up at him. “Hey, Scotty, I gotta take Danger

Mouse here to the hospital to get his pretty cheek stitched

up. You need me to clock out?”

Adrien wanted to hide behind Andy when the

Scotty’s gaze bored into him. The man was mountain sized,

and he had mad-crazy ninja skills. Adrien looked down at

the security chief’s hands. Geez, even the guy’s hands were

huge—the darn things were the size of small countries.

Adrien blinked, lifting his eyes to try to meet Scotty’s. “I—

” His voice squeaked and broke. He ducked his chin down,

and then forced himself to look back up. “It was an

accident!”

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32

Scotty and Liam both got identical long-suffering

expressions on their faces. Liam shook his head at the

Security Chief. “Oh, hell—never mind about this one,

Scotty. I’ll sort him out later. Adrien, you’d better get into

your costume and over to the Village… you guys were

supposed to open five minutes ago.”

Adrien squeaked again, and turned around on the

spot. As he picked up his foot to take his first step, three

voices rang out behind him. “Carefully!”

Glancing over his shoulder, Adrien nodded his

head. He could do careful.

Andy sighed loudly, and Liam gave a frustrated

sounding grunt. Scotty’s deep rumble was low enough that

he probably hadn’t intended for Adrien to hear it. “Liam,

we have to do something about that boy. He needs a damn

keeper. Or a leash.”

Oh. Ouch. That hurt worse than the fall had. Adrien

hustled very carefully to the locker room and very, very

carefully put on his new tights and go-go elf-boy shorts.

Then he very, very, very carefully went to find Santa. This

had to be the worst day ever. Maybe Michael would be able

to cheer him up.

33

Chapter Three

Devon looked around at the Christmas Village,

warmth spreading through his center. The set up was

identical to the last time he’d been here… but that wasn’t

what made him want to work here every single day of the

holiday season. No, what choked him up just a little was

the way the damn Village looked almost identical to the

one his madre used to take a train and two buses to bring

him to every December when he was a kid. It even smelled

the same, like fake pine and real peppermint. They’d been

dirt poor back then, but his madre—well, Rosario Soto

somehow always managed to find not only enough extra

money for the double bus fare on a non-work day, but she

also managed lunch at the mall and a cocoa at the transfer

station on the way home.

The first time Devon asked Santa to bring his dad—

just for a visit—and St. Nick didn’t follow through, he’d

figured out that the jolly old guy in the snazzy red suit

really didn’t have any special powers… but his mom did.

He was six. He went along with his madre’s stories about

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34

Santa for another seven years before he could bring himself

to let on that he’d long ago figured out that she was the one

who brought magic and light to his world. Devon made his

way past the handful of families in line, noting that most of

the kids were already half-way out of their winter gear and

starting to whine as hats bobbled in their small hands and

scarves dragged on the ground. He walked behind the

raised partition that gave the kids the illusion of a private

time with Santa while allowing their parents to stand to one

side with an unobstructed view of the whole area. He

settled into his seat, and prepared to do his part to help

spread a little magic in the world… just as soon as his

helper elf showed up to get things rolling.

Twenty minutes later Devon faced an ever

lengthening line of children and parents with absolutely no

idea where either Andy or the promised “elf or elves” were.

A little sprite of a girl with curly reddish brown hair, thick

black eyelashes, summer blue eyes and chocolate on her

face started crying. Sad faces spread up and down the line.

Devon stood up, about to make up something about his

helper elves dealing with a toy emergency at the North

Pole. The young, fresh faced mother standing in line

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35

rocking her baby and petting the infant’s fluff of blond hair

at random moments had even started to sniffle a bit as she

rocked the baby against her shoulder. Suddenly, her eyes

widened and she took a step back, bumping the man behind

her. Out of the corner of his eye, Devon caught sight of a

streak of green and red tumbling out of the hall where the

locker rooms were. At first Devon thought the exaggerated

flailing was part of an act. Then he realized the elf was

actually in danger of falling and hurting himself or worse

yet, one of the kids. The little fool had come around the

corner from the locker room area at a dead run. At that

pace, in the slick little leather slippers he had on his feet

Devon would have to say the real Christmas miracle had to

be that the guy hadn’t fallen and cracked his head open yet.

Devon was damned if something that potentially

traumatizing to all these kid was going to happen on his

watch. Not to mention what could happen to the poor,

dumb elf. The elf flailed again, but this time he

overcorrected. Everything broke down into scatter-shots of

time, each instant moving as slowly as whole minutes.

Snap. The little elf’s feet flew out in front of him. Snap.

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36

Devon launched himself off the platform in a long dive.

Snap.

Devon had a long, golden moment where he seemed

to float in the air. He could see he was going to just make it

to the man before his head hit. Mierda, when he crashed

down on the hard floor the padding for his Santa belly

would protect him from some of the impact but it was

going to hurt like hell. The possible cracked ribs could be

hidden from all the kids in line, though. Cracked ribs and

bruises would heal. If elf-boy smashed his melon on the

pretty, hard as hell marble flooring there was no telling if

he would live long enough to heal.

****

By the time Adrien figured out he didn’t have

everything under control—and that he couldn’t even pull

off a controlled crash without risking really hurting one of

the smaller kids in the line he’d already overbalanced. He

flung his arms out behind him, hoping to fall away from the

kids. His feet sliding out in front of him answered his wish

in seconds.

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37

Adrien was going to end the day in one of the local

hospitals, having traumatized countless kids in the process,

because even if his brother Sam wasn’t here to catch the

footage and post it to YouTube, dollars to donuts someone

had their phone out and was already taping his latest bit of

clumsiness.

He had an awful vision of mean bully older kids

with hard faces showing the clip to horrified five, six and

seven year olds for years to come. A whole generation of

kids would forever think of Christmas as “the season when

clumsy elves die.”

As he slid past Santa’s throne in an ungainly skid

headed more toward the horizontal than the vertical,

Michael launched himself off the platform yelling at the top

of his fool lungs. “Noooooooo!”

Remembering the horde of pint-sized shoppers

watching in horror, Adrien kept his composure enough to

bite back the utterance fighting to get out of his throat,

which was a hearty “OH SHIT!” He didn’t even cry out

Michael’s name. He wanted to do anything necessary in a

desperate attempt to get the big goof-ball to use some of

those finely tuned military police skills he loved bragging

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38

about. They would come in uber-handy for saving Adrien’s

ass right about now.

Michael hit the floor with a sickening thud. Adrien

winced, both in anticipation of his own eminent thud, and

at Michael’s having hurt himself to no good effect. The big

idiot belly flopping on the floor couldn’t possibly save

Adrien.

Except, somehow, it did.

Adrien had forgotten to take into account how the

slick velvet of the Santa suit would keep Michael sliding

forward. Just before Adrien hit the floor, Michael was

there. He’d turned half on his side, and managed to catch

Adrien’s head in the palm of one broad hand.

Adrien

realized

several

pertinent

facts

simultaneously. The man in the shiny red Santa suit, the

same one who had saved him from what could easily have

been a serious head injury, was not Michael. His fluffy

white beard was twisted half off his face, showing a

stubble-covered jaw that looked positively edible. A

tsunami of lust crashed down on Adrien, and the only

coherent thought he could muster for a second had to do

with wanting to spend a few weeks nibbling on the not-

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39

Michael Santa. Reason returned with the realization that

Adrien had fallen in a weird pretzel twist that showed off

his flexibility in the most humiliating way possible.

His left ankle ended up somewhere around his right

ear, his right leg bent and twisted so that leg was under his

butt. His left arm was flung up above his head. He’d even

managed to smack himself with his right hand. Sheesh. His

only saving grace in the whole ridiculous mess was that the

undignified heap he was in fell squarely between the

counterfeit Santa and the kids.

The breadth of his shoulders, while not god-like,

was enough to hide Santa’s dishabille for a critical few

seconds. Thinking quickly, he decided to camp things up so

the adult guests of Christmas Village could be left with a

scrap of plausible deniability when their young charges

started questioning Santa’s very un-Santa like behavior.

“Oh, Santa, I didn’t see the ice! That must be why

you’re always telling all the elves to walk carefully.”

Adrien used every bit of his high school theater training to

project his voice as he wiggled closer to the strange Santa

facing him. As soon as the crowd behind them broke out in

exclamations, he leaned forward. Whispering quickly, in

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40

barely audible tones, Adrien broke the bad news. “Santa,

your beard is broken. Pretend you’ve got to take me to Mrs.

Claus for a quick bit of mothering, and then carry me out of

here so we can hide your face.”

Santa’s big brown eyes widened and then narrowed

intently. His voice came out in an equally hushed baritone.

“Mierda! I don’t care how cute you are… I am not picking

you up, Papi.”

The man’s voice poured into Adrien’s ears hotly, an

aural aphrodisiac. He closed his eyes for a split second.

Between falling three times in less than two hours and the

effect Counterfeit Claus was having on his libido, he really

might need to be carried. Adrien sucked in a deep breath.

“Crap-Doodly.”

A warm hand cupped his cheek. His eyes flew back

open, meeting a piercing brown gaze. Adrien hurried to

explain the important parts of the situation to the slow-

coach in front of him. “We have to get you out of here—

Santa—at least long enough to fix your beard. If you don’t

wanna pick me up so I can shield your face, just pretend

you hit your head or something. You should be able to pull

that off.”

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41

Adrien untangled his limbs. As he lowered his left

leg, managing to keep his body between Santa and the

crowd, the big man on the floor with him watched him

intently. Adrien ignored the man’s increasingly heated

looks, turning to the crowd instead. “Folks, I’m afraid

Santa bumped his head saving me. We just have to go get a

good cup of cocoa from Mrs. Claus and some of her

delicious cookies to fix us right up. We’ll be back in half an

hour if you want to wait.”

Santa sat up next to him, one hand pressed to his

temple to hold the edge of his beard in place. With a

suppressed grunt he was on his feet. He bent down,

wrapped one huge paw around Adrien’s slim arm and

hauled Adrien upright with an ease that made Adrien’s

heart beat faster. A delicious smell permeated the air

around him… oh. Oh dear Lord, the damn man was

wearing Drakkar Noir. The scent of Drakkar invariably

made Adrien want to strip out of whatever he was wearing

and offer his ass up to the nearest likely candidate.

Not that he was a slut. Really. The response was

conditioned by his first lover. Adrien shivered. The man

had been a complete prick outside of the bedroom, but holy

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42

shit-balls, he had a skill bordering on miraculous between

the sheets. Adrien sucked in a deep breath and forced his

wandering thoughts back to the present.

Tipping his head back, he looked up and up again

into smoldering brown eyes. Holy guacamole, his whole

body was going to burn to cinders in the wake of this man’s

heated looks. Santa manhandled him around, turning him

towards the locker room. Adrien went willingly when a

broad hand pressed between his shoulders. He’d forgotten

about the kids and Christmas Village the second the big

man put his hands on him. The skin of Adrien’s upper arms

tingled where the man’s rough palms rested, guiding

Adrien along in front of him. The strange Santa walked

close, heat from his big body radiating across the space

between them. They turned the corner away from where the

families could see them. Santa’s hands fell away from

Adrien’s arms.

Adrien bit back a moan. Nibbling at one corner of

his lip, he looked over his shoulder. The man had stepped

back, and now stood slightly more than an arm’s length

away, his eyes locked on Adrien’s elf-a-go-go clad ass. He

looked up all at once, his whole posture changing,

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43

becoming more intent. The effect was startling. Adrien met

his hot, dark eyes. A shiver swept him from head to feet.

Santa’s sinfully bitable lips curved into a wicked smile.

Stepping forward, he reached past Adrien to push open the

locker room door. Adrien licked his bottom lip, sucking it

into his mouth afterward. The counterfeit Santa stepped

forward, leaning down to whisper in Adrien’s ear. “We

should probably go into the locker room. I imagine some of

the nosier folks are working up their nerve to follow us

around that corner.”

The hot rush of air against his ear combined with

his three falls, and Adrien’s knees gave out on him. Okay,

so the warm, moist air from that beautiful mouth could

easily make him weak kneed all by itself. Even without the

added zinger of the—oh God, Adrien’s clothes really

needed to come off—damned Drakkar. He clutched at

Santa’s sleeves. “Santa, I’m going to—”

A husky chuckle cut across his words. “You can

call me Devon. I just play Santa on TV.”

Laughter shook loose from Adrien in quick bursts

that rocked his compact frame and put enough starch back

into his knees to keep him standing. After a moment he

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44

manfully tamped the noise down by biting him bottom lip

as he looked down. One glance up into Devon’s twinkling

brown eyes ended his attempted decorum. Giggling

helplessly, Adrien stumbled backward into the locker room.

Muscles in his neck and shoulders loosened from the knots

two hours of nearly continuous catastrophes had caused.

Santa—Devon’s smile grew wider, his slight

Hispanic accent growing stronger with every word. “You

are just a hot little mess, aren’t you? I didn’t believe

Michael when he said he knew someone who was more

trouble than he could ever dream of being, but here chu are,

papi.”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. During the big brou-

ha-ha out at the Village, the man must have hit his head.

There was no other acceptable explanation for him—

“Did you just call me a mess?”

45

Chapter Four

Devon took a quick inventory. He’d learned a long

time ago not to assume the feeling was mutual just because

he was hot for someone. His sweet little mess—Adrien’s—

pupils were dilated, leaving only a thin line of golden

brown around them. He was taking short, shallow breaths,

and ay-ay-ay, the hot little elf had enough wood in his tight

shorts to keep Santa’s fires stoked for quite a while. The

wash of heat flooding his body cranked up in intensity. He

put his hands on the compact form in front of him just to

feel those finely sculpted muscles flex under his fingers.

What had Adrien asked him? Oh, right… Adrien

asked if he’d called the pocket sized beauty a mess. Devon

gave his best lecherous grin and waggled his eyebrows at

Adrien. “No. I mean, yeah, I did call you that, but not just a

mess. I called you a hot mess.”

While he spoke, Devon slid the hands he’d wrapped

around Adrien’s upper arms along the soft skin of the

man’s biceps. Mierda, he wanted a bite of that caramel

colored flesh. Curling his fingers around the back where

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46

Adrien’s triceps flexed and bunched under the hem of his

short sleeved tee shirt he picked the smaller man up. Two

steps put them at the end of the row of lockers. He turned

and pressed Adrien’s back against the smooth metal side of

the row. Adrien squeaked, his eyes enormous above his

high cheeks bones. Devon spread his legs, bent slightly at

the knees and pressed his chest hard against Adrien’s.

Another jolt of heat flashed through him. Devon growled,

and then fought to control his breathing. He refused to

allow himself act like an animal. He would give the sexy

little man a choice about what happened next.

He leaned down to breathe his words directly into

Adrien’s ear. “I’m going to kiss you, hard and deep enough

you’re still going to feel it tomorrow. After I’m done

kissing you, you’re gonna help me fix this damn beard, and

we’re going to go back out to the Village and make those

kids believe we just spent a half an hour getting patched up

by Mrs. Claus. And at the end of the day, I’m either going

to walk you to your car, or I’m going to walk you to mine.

If you come to my car, I’m going to put you in my Jeep,

drive you to my place on Walnut Street, call off my other

job and screw you until the only name you remember is

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47

mine because you’re so busy screaming it. If I walk you to

your car, I’ll wait until you get it started and drive away.

And that will be that. No—don’t speak now. After I kiss

you, if you don’t want to come with me tonight, say

mistletoe. Got it?”

Adrien’s head nodded, brushing his cheek against

the line of Devon’s jaw. The silk of his brown and gold

mop of hair brushed Devon’s temple. His stomach flexed

where it pressed against Devon’s, and his legs—ay-ay—

parted to wrap around Devon’s waist. He tilted his head

back against the cool metal behind him and closed his eyes

in a classic waiting-for-a-kiss pose. His long, dark lashes

cast faint shadows on his cheeks, and the trusting pose

sparked a feeling of possessiveness in Devon. He pulled

Adrien forward enough to slip his arms behind the other

man’s back. Crushing Adrien’s lithe form against his chest,

he sealed his mouth over the sassy little elf’s lips.

****

Adrien’s chest stung where his cat had scratched

him, his bottom was bruised from the earlier debacle with

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48

Andy, and his side throbbed something fierce from his most

recent fall. Devon had one hand on his jaw though,

massaging gently as the sexy man licked across the seam of

Adrien’s lips. The cool metal at his back had warmed, and

Devon’s other hand held a goodly portion of his left ass

cheek.

Right in this moment, every single bite of pain just

amped his arousal higher. Adrien moaned, opening his

mouth for plundering. Devon made an indescribable

noise—half chuckle, half moan and half growl. There were

too many halves, and that made perfect sense, because the

one thing Adrien was sure of was that this was entirely too

much man for him. He wrapped his arms tightly around

Devon’s neck. There really ought to be a way to crawl right

into the man’s skin with him.

Devon lifted his head, lapping at Adrien’s lips in a

barely there tease. Adrien growled, chasing the other man’s

mouth. Devon pulled farther back, moving the hand on

Adrien’s jaw around until he was tracing the damp line of

Adrien’s lips with one finger. Adrien closed his mouth. He

shot Devon a petulant look. Devon chuckled and pressed

down on Adrien’s lower lip. Electricity arced through

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49

Adrien, bowing his back up and forcing a tiny whine out of

his throat. He caught Devon’s finger in his mouth. A warm,

slightly salty taste burst across his taste buds. He wanted

more. Nownownownownow. He bit down lightly, liking the

way Devon’s finger felt in his mouth. He licked around the

base, right over the webbing between one finger and the

next and then sucked Devon’s longer middle finger into the

hot depths of his mouth. He bit down again, a touch

harder.

Devon growled down at him, nostrils flaring as he

fought to keep his breathing steady. His eyes, hot and dark,

were almost wet looking as he snarled out the most

possessive thing Adrien had ever heard and liked. “You are

going to be mine.”

The words washed warmly over Adrien. He wanted

that. He wanted to be naked in this man’s bed, with those

big hands holding him down and pushing him high enough

to burn like the center of the sun.

Damn it. The Anthropology exam was tomorrow.

His timing always sucked. He released the big man’s finger

reluctantly. “I sure hope so, but does it have to be tonight?

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50

Tonight doesn’t work for me at all. I have an exam

tomorrow morning and I still have to study for it.”

He unlocked his ankles from where he’d hooked

them together at the small of Devon’s back. Letting go of

Devon felt wrong, and Adrien hurried to push words

between them. “We’d better get your beard fixed. Our half-

hour’s nearly over.”

Adrien pushed against Devon’s chest, his legs

slipping down a fraction—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Devon’s hands

grasped Adrien’s thighs, and he leaned in, pinning Adrien

in place, a low moan slipping from him as his hips surged

against Adrien.

“I—we have to get back to the village.” Adrien

stared at Devon’s jaw as the words slipped breathlessly

from his mouth. The muscles and—oh god—the tendons

there flexed. Adrien’s mouth watered for a tiny nibble of

the lightly tanned skin.

Silence slipped a thin, cold wall between them.

Devon’s body held Adrien pinned against the locker as his

hands loosened, sliding up the outsides of Adrien’s thighs.

Devon’s hands laid a trial of fire all along Adrien’s sides as

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51

they traced a simmering trail of awareness up from hip to

chest. He stopped there a moment. Adrien held his breath.

Devon peeled his hands away long enough to grip Adrien’s

upper arms again. He eased Adrien down until he stood on

the floor, his own shaking legs all that held him up. Then

Devon stepped back until there was half an arm’s length

between them. Something dark and hurtful flitted across his

face. He stepped farther back, the look solidifying into a lip

curl and eyes narrowed to slits. “If you didn’t want me to

touch you like that all you had to do was say so. Fuck, I

gave you time.”

Shaking his head in denial, Adrien swallowed hard

and tried again. “I’m not like this. I don’t wanna be the guy

you fucked in the locker room at the mall, Devon. You’re

hot, you’re wearing Drakkar—which is like, my favorite

scent to jack-off to ever since Michael accidentally left a

shirt some friend of his wore and left at Michael’s and then

Michael left it at my house but that doesn’t matter now—

and Oh. My. God. You just went all super-hero-action-

figure on me and saved me from getting hurt, or worse yet

squishing one of those tiny minions of Doom out there into

kid-jelly all over the floor of the mall. Don’t be stupid. Of

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52

course I want you. I just—I really do have an exam, and we

have to get back to the Village. You’re filling in for

Michael, okay. I need this job. This isn’t a fill in gig for

me. I can’t afford to lose my rent money over one fuck

from a hot guy.”

His stomach burned. Devon stopped backing away,

his angry look softening. He nodded, one corner of his

mouth lifting in a wry curl. “Okay. I shouldn’t call off

tonight anyway—we’re short staffed right now with all the

student workers who went home for the holidays already.”

Everything in Adrien loosened. He ignored the

feeling, tilting his head to the side like it would somehow

give him a better perspective on what was happening. He

used words in his best smoke and mirror style to deflect the

vaguely questioning look in Devon’s eyes. “Give me a sec

to get the spirit gum I keep in my locker… Michael lost his

beard entirely one day, when a little girl decided to pull on

it. It happened right at the end of our shift, and there

weren’t that many kids around, but still… it was just awful.

After that we both thought it would be better if we glued it

down every day.”

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53

Devon cocked an eyebrow at him. He didn’t say a

word, just looked at Adrien straight on and waited.

Adrien flung his hands in the air, sidling around

Devon to get to his locker. “What? I was well aware that I

was gay in high school. The theater department was like a

second home.”

If Devon’s dammed eyebrow climbed any farther

up his forehead the freaking thing would be in danger of

falling off the back of his head. Adrien bristled. “Oh,

whatever—I could give two shits if the stereotypical nature

of my being a gay boy who liked theater offends your

manly sensibilities, Mr. Action-Hero.”

Devon choked, and then threw back his head to

laugh, his teeth gleaming whitely against his honey colored

skin. Watching the way the man laughed made Adrien’s

heart hurt a little. The openness of his face and the strong

line of his throat reached right in through the walls of

Adrien’s chest, grabbed his heart and squeezed. Adrien’s

breath caught in his throat. For just a second, he forgot

everything but Devon again while his unruly cock

screamed out a litany of gimme-gimme-gotta-gotta-have-it-

bay-beeeee. Adrien shuddered, and Devon caught the

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54

reaction as he finished laughing and lowered his chin to

look back at Adrien.

Devon just watched him silently for a handful of

heartbeats. Adrien thought he wouldn’t be able to stop

himself from grabbing Devon’s face between his hands so

he could hold the big man still while he kissed him again.

Adrien’s mouth watered at the thought of licking the little

divot on Devon’s chin. Right then, in the second before he

moved, Devon walked over, tapped Adrien on the nose, and

sat down on the bench between Adrien and the lockers.

“Do your stuff, Mr. Theater. We really do need to get back

out there asap. We can still make it so their parents have a

shot at keeping this a good trip to see Santa for most of

these kids… I wouldn’t want them to have bad memories

about Christmas because of me.”

Devon’s voice dropped a little at the end of his little

speech, and Adrien knew. Somebody somewhere had

fucked up Santa for this guy, and for whatever reason the

hurt had been big enough, or important enough to linger

well into his adulthood. Adrien let his eyes wander a

meandering path from the tousled top of Devon’s head to

the tips of his shiny black boots. The urge to peel the man

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55

out of his shiny red suit and lick all the points in between

those boots and then along his chiseled jaw to his dimpled

chin left Adrien flushed with a wild mix of anger, sorrow

and yearning. Maybe there was a way to make whatever it

was up to Devon? Adrien kept his questions about who’d

messed Santa up for Devon on hold for the moment. This

was not the time, nor the place. Hopefully he’d get another

chance to ask them.

56

Chapter Five

Devon sat still, letting Adrien apply the spirit gum

to his face, and press the beard down. Adrien stood

between his spread thighs, his lean hands moving delicately

over Devon’s face. With the younger man intent on his

task, Devon took advantage of the opportunity to observe

him closely. Adrien’s lashes were tipped with gold, and he

had the faintest smattering of freckles across his nose.

Devon’s stomach lurched as he realized that in another few

hours he’d be parting company with Adrien. He might

never get a chance to really map those freckles, not unless

Adrien gave him permission. Adrien was the Hottie

McHotpants he’d been obsessing over since the first time

he saw him. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he’d been

intrigued ever since the first story Rose had told about

Adrien. He had to get Adrien to commit to going out on a

date with him. His breath hitched as Adrien leaned closer.

Then the brush of Adrien’s firm thigh against the sensitive

spot on the side of his knee shot a flash of heat through

him.

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Devon blurted out the first reasonable word he

could dredge from a brain rapidly losing blood to points

south. “When?”

Adrien’s head jerked back. As he met Devon’s

gaze, his brows lifted. “When what?”

Devon groaned. Oh, suave. He’d only blurted out

the one word. Way to sound like a freak of nature. “When

can I see you again?”

A little smile tipped the corner of Adrien’s firm

little mouth up. “You’re seeing me now, Devon. We’re in

the middle of a shift. You’re going to be seeing me for

several more hours.”

Devon lifted his hands up, resting them lightly on

Adrien’s sides and giving him a little shake. “Don’t be

deliberately obtuse, Adrien. When can I take you out? You

know, on a date?”

Adrien’s mouth made a sweet little “O”, all pink

and luscious looking. Devon met his eyes, tightening his

fingers fractionally on Adrien’s sides before he continued.

“I wanna take you out. You can ask Rose—Michael, about

me. He’ll vouch for me. I was his squad leader, you know?

The man lived practically in my pocket for two years. You

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58

ask him anything you want to know. I’ll tell him it’s okay

to tell you the answer to anything you wanna know.”

Adrien’s lashes dipped down as he listened. He

drew in a fast breath, peeping out from underneath those

thick lashes. “I know about you. Michael used to write me

letters. He said you were an okay guy, and if I ever got

around to wanting to settle down I should steer clear of

you, but if I just wanted to play, you were the go-to guy.”

A jolt of something lava hot and sharper than the

edge of his bayonet cut into the center of Devon’s chest.

“Rose said that?”

Adrien opened his eyes wide. “Yeah, and I’m not

looking to settle down—but I wouldn’t mind playing with

you for a bit… just not in a locker room at work, you know,

and not tonight. I have that exam tomorrow.”

A thin wire of hurt cut into Devon’s throat like a

skillfully applied garrote, choking the words he’d been

meaning to say to Adrien. He closed his eyes. “Okay.

Maybe give me your number before we leave tonight, and

I’ll call you sometime.”

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Those weren’t the impulsive, baby-be-mine words

that had been scratching to get out of his throat just minutes

before. And maybe that was for the best.

****

As they walked back towards Christmas Village,

Adrien gnawed on his lower lip. Normally, nothing was

less like him than telling a whopper like the one he’d just

laid on Devon… but he’d heard Andy’s side of things, and

well… he didn’t want to be just another notch on Santa

Devon’s wide black belt. As they passed Annie’s Cookies,

his favorite counter-girl, LaTrece, came hurrying over with

two mugs filled to the brim and topped with small mounds

of whipped cream. The scent of baking cookies and

chocolate wafted with her. She smiled and lifted an

eyebrow as she reached them. “Here, take these. Hah. I

guess this makes me Mrs. Claus, huh?”

Devon snorted with laughter. Adrien looked

between the two of them, his forehead crinkling up for a

moment. “Oh, right. We were gonna get coco from Mrs.

Claus to fix us up. Good save, Trece.”

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Handing off the drinks, LaTrece flipped a hand at

Adrien. The bright white of her smile grew wider in the

rich brown of her flawless skin as she spoke. Within

seconds the expression lit her whole face. “Baby, you the

only one I let get away with dropping the La from the front

of my name. You are just so damn cute, I can’t stay mad at

you. Get back over to your village before those parents

make another run on my coco and cookies. Some of us

actually want to get out of here on time tonight!”

Adrien reached to hand Devon his drink, and as

Devon took the cup, their fingers brushed. A spark of

electricity jumped between their hands. Adrien gasped, his

gaze flying up to meet Devon’s. The big man’s eyes were

dark pools of pained longing. Adrien threw caution to the

wind, baring his heart right there in the echoing cavern of

the food court. “I didn’t mean it. I do have an exam tonight,

but I lied about the other thing. I—Michael used to write

me about you and he did say I should be careful but he also

said he thought when you were ready to settle down that I

should—that he thought I was maybe the guy who could

get you to. Settle down. But not settle, because he said he

thought maybe you’d be—”

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The seconds between when Devon placed his

fingers against Adrien’s mouth and when he started to

speak were the longest in Adrien’s whole life. “If we

weren’t standing in full sight of at least twenty-five to forty

little kids and their parents, I’d kiss you until your knees

gave out again. In a moment, I’m gonna take my hand

away from your mouth, and you’re gonna say—yes,

Devon—and you’re gonna be saying yes to these things:

me coming to your house tonight. I’ll make dinner, and

you’ll study, and then when you’re done I’ll put away

whatever I’m doing and we’ll go to bed. I’m not going to

have sex with you tonight, because if we get started, you

won’t get any sleep, and then you’ll flunk your exam. So

you’ll sleep under the blankets and I’ll sleep on top, but I’ll

still have you in my arms all night. Then, tomorrow, after

your exam is over and I get home from my regular job,

we’ll spend a little time talking. You’re gonna have the

night off because you’re gonna call Andy first thing in the

morning, and I’m not covering another night for Rose. He

never stays sick longer than a day anyway. And after we

talk, I’m gonna take you to bed, but not to sleep. After that

we’ll see where this thing is going.”

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He lifted his fingers, and Adrien grinned up at him.

Devon stared down at him, and the whole mall seemed to

fall away, all the noises of restless children and muzak

versions of at least three different Christmas carols fading

into the back ground. Adrien lifted his to-go cup of hot

coco to his face, breathed in the warm rich chocolate and

cinnamon smell of the drink and with a heart as light as the

fragrant steam rising from his drink spoke the only two

words possible. “Yes, Devon.”

The End