Connolly pulled his gaze to sea glass colored eyes that were now glaring in his direction. “How so?”
“You’re Santa. I’m an elf. Clearly, you were my supervisor. Isn’t this some kind of violation of your position?”
Connolly pinched his lips together to hold back a laugh. Honestly, Connolly was seriously considering violating this angry elf in a number of positions, so he guessed the joke was on him. “Are you suggesting that I, as a fake Santa, violated some OSHA guideline because I failed to keep you in the pristine, virginal elf status that you theoretically had when you were given to me?”
“My virginal elf status is not theoretical. It is painfully, painfully literal. And it just seems to me that if you were acting as Santa—who is supposed to be old, jolly, and fat, not smoking hot, ornery, and…well, I guess you’re kind of old—if you were acting as Santa then we wouldn’t have ended up half-naked in bed. And just because we didn’t go…all the way doesn’t mean we didn’t do something.
Your pants were down to your…and my clothes are missing, and I’m wearing this get-up. Something clearly happened.”
“You talk so much,” Connolly said, fascinated.
“You’re rude,” the boy countered.
“No, I’m honest. I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I clearly liked something I saw in you last night,” he reasoned, gazing down at the gold band on his finger, a flash of a memory hitting him like a punch.
Connolly slipping the dainty silver ring on the boy’s delicate finger.
“Why do you say that?” he grumbled, putting the tea cup to his lips.
“‘Cause I’m pretty sure we’re married.”
There was a startled inhale, and then the boy was coughing, coffee sloshing all over Connolly’s nana’s kitchen table. Connolly set his own cup down to rescue the tea cup and pound on the boy’s back, feeling like he was going to shatter him into a million pieces.
“Married?” he finally wheezed. “Why the frick would we have gotten married?”
Frick? That was a great question. Why would Connolly want this spritely, ginger-haired virgin boy with his big green eyes, freckled cheeks, and a mouth that looked sinful despite apparently refusing to swear? Connolly wasn’t a forever kind of guy. Not anymore. He’d tried that once, and it had ended with two caskets. Connolly had buried his heart with those caskets. “We were both clearly intoxicated. Maybe you didn’t want to lose your virginity without the sanctity of marriage.”
“Oh, so you’re saying this is my fault.”
“I’m saying I can’t think of any other reason why two strangers decided to marry each other and then drive back to my cabin when there’s a snowstorm coming unless we thought it would be a great time to make good on deflowering you.”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I thought about my first time.”
“I can’t imagine anybody imagines losing their virginity to Santa, wearing an elf crop top and a holiday jock strap, but the imagery is definitely working for me. I’m still down if you are?”
There was a long silence as the boy stared at nothing, possibly regretting marrying Connolly. He wouldn’t be the first…or the second. But then the boy muttered, “You wanna help me put the hoe in holiday.”
“What?” Connolly laughed.
Once more, the boy was a delicious shade of pink. “That’s what I said to you. ‘Do you wanna help me put the hoe in holiday.’ Oh. God.”
The boy stood, his blanket sweeping behind him like a cape and disappeared back into the bedroom. Connolly half expected to find him crawling out a window, but he found him starfished on the bed, his head buried in his hands. Was he crying? Connolly didn’t know how to handle tears. He crept closer, relieved when he didn’t hear any sobs or see the boy’s shoulders heaving.
He settled on the corner of the bed closest to the pillows, leaning in. “If it’s any consolation, I clearly accepted what I’m sure was a charming offer. I even married you, and only two other people have ever managed to get me to do that.”
The boy’s head popped up like a gopher, his pretty mouth hanging open in a way that made Connolly want to kiss his way inside and feel the soft slide of the boy’s tongue. Shit. That wasn’t good.
“I’m your third husband? Isn’t that a little greedy?” Jacob huffed.
“You’re awfully judgey for somebody who grew up in a cult where the leader had, like, six wives. I’m not keeping my other two spouses in the cellar. They’re my ex’s. Also, you’re my first husband.”
“I just wanted normal, you know? I’ve spent my whole life living in the weirdest situations. First, in a cult, then in Hollywood, then back on the farm. I just wanted to find a nice, normal guy like my brother did, have somebody who’s, like, super romantic and gets down on one knee. We get married and have some kids, maybe? I don’t know. Instead, I’m married to an alcoholic who clearly likes to fight and dresses up like Santa and is dumb enough to get seduced into marriage by a virgin in an elf costume after the worst pick up line ever. What the frick?”
“First, I’m not an alcoholic.” It wasn’t a total lie. Alcoholics go to meetings. “Second, I don’t like to fight. I get paid to fight. I’m an MMA fighter. I suppose I’ll have to concede to the seduction, though I don’t think anybody could fault me for that. You look very…enticing…in that costume.”
Jacob looked down at his lap as if to make sure the blanket and mattress covered his lower half.
“Oh, wow. I never thought I’d be that guy, you know? The one seduced by a pretty face, but like, yeah, I guess I am ‘cause that definitely did things for me.”
