Page 1 of Playing Santa

Chapter 1

Sean

I’d like to take full credit for the mob at the East Boston Animal Shelter Holiday Open House today, but about a dozen of us from the Boston Militia football team show up with me to help raise funds. And to adopt pets.

Because I have a reputation as the team’s showman—my teammates would argue the correct term is big fucking ham or big mouth or clown—I take on the role of Santa for the neighborhood kids.

Sporting my Santa outfit I heft a large bag over my shoulder and head for the front door handling the weight easily. I may be a field goal kicker, but I started out as a linebacker and work out regularly, making it my business to look every bit the part of a football player. I don’t want anyone mistaking me for a soccer player, kicker or not.

“This should be fun.” I grin at Tate Fontanna and his pregnant wife Chloe. We’re all going to give out gifts to the kids, courtesy of the team. Joining the others, we carry several bags inside the large building. A deluge of kids swarm me as I head for the big chair set up center stage in the front of the room. My teammates follow to play Santa’s helpers. The gifts are Militia related items like footballs and jerseys and team hats and scarves. Not as good as trucks and dolls, but better than a kick in the ass.

After a minute of intros, I settle onto my throne-like chair, stroke my beard and let out an ear-splitting, “Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas.”

Then I commence with giving out gifts to eager kids of all sizes while cameras flash. I could get into this gig. What a kick. What’s not to love? Making the faces of all these kids light up is beyond cool. By the time the line dwindles, we still have a ton of stuff left.

A scrawny kid with pants that are too short and a shirt that’s too big and sneakers with a duct tape patch lingers a distance away. Smiling, I reach out and hand the kid a big box with a football. He wears a My Name is Jimmy tag. He takes the box, staring at me shamelessly like little kids do. He looks like he’s five or six and still believes in the big man—me. So I take care to act the part and deepen my voice.

“What do you want for Christmas, Jimmy?” I go to him and squat down to ask because the kid looks like he needs a good meal let alone a football. A sudden need to help him slams my gut. I can’t do anything about world peace, but I can do something about one hungry little kid.

He tugs on his shirt and says, “A Militia jersey. Number two.”

My fucking number.

“You a fan of the field goal kicker?” I grin. The kid smiles back, nodding, but he looks almost scared. Before I can rip the shirt off my back to give it to him gladly, a waiflike woman with lush dark wavy tresses and sapphire eyes rushes forward, wrapping her arms around the boy. The motherly gesture pulls at me. Or maybe it’s the free sway of her extra-large breasts under the faded flannel shirt that causes the stir. A worn belt cinches her oversized jeans that almost cover her old work boots. She’s dressed more for Halloween than Christmas, but her smile blinds me.

“Is Jimmy your son? He’s a real winner. I was about to give him a jersey with my—Sean Patrick’s number on it.” Shit. I need to remember I’m playing Santa. I don’t mention to Jimmy’s hot mama that I was ready to rip off the Santa outfit and pull my own jersey over my shoulders to it give him.

“That’s so nice of you, but you already gave him this football and all the kids haven’t received gifts yet.”

Her voice plays like music in my head so her words don’t hit me as I reach into the bag pulling out several jerseys, looking for one with my number on it. Finding one, I hand it to Jimmy though it’ll likely be too big.

“Here you go, Jimmy. Ho ho ho.” The boy beams a smile.

“Thank you Santa.” He stares at the jersey and clutches it to his chest.

“He’ll grow into it,” I say, recapturing his mother’s smile.

“Thank you. What about…” she waves toward the other children.

“We have more than enough for everyone. Don’t you worry about it, Mam.” I add for her ears only, “Kids with gorgeous moms are a top priority.”

She blushes and my dick kicks into gear as my heart beat picks up that familiar rhythm. Until she frowns.

On a laugh she whispers, “That doesn’t sound fair. Besides I’m not—”

“Oh yes you are. Gorgeous.” I keep my voice low. “You’re so gorgeous that you’re not fair.” Cheesy line delivered.

Her blush grows furious now. Jimmy sits on the floor, tearing open the box with the football in it. The other guys are handing out gifts to the remaining kids in line while I pay way too much attention to Jimmy and his mom.

“I have to go get the pets ready.” She takes her eyes off me then and smiles down at Jimmy.

“Let’s go honey.” Jimmy picks up his shirt and football, holding them against his scrawny little body as his mom puts an arm around his shoulders. The lucky bastard. “We have some work to do.” She guides him away before I can think of what to say to keep her here. Hell, I don’t even know her name.

My first impulse is to follow her, but I’ve grown enough good sense over the years to squash my stupider first impulses, having learned the hard knocks way to figure when following impulses are a bad idea. Instead I turn and hand out gifts to anyone and everyone in reach, adults and kids, until my bag is empty and good will warms me like I’ve just had a shot of Patron.

With the gifts dispersed, I leave through the back, waving and shouting Merry Christmas. Luckily the parents stop the kids from following me.

I use the men’s room to ditch the Santa outfit, revealing my jersey and jeans. I’m hoping to have another chance to flirt with Jimmy’s hot momma as I make my way back to the decked out shelter lobby to grab some refreshments. Along with my team mates, I help myself at the buffet, knowing it’s been provided by the Militia organization. The hot mama isn’t anywhere to be seen. After we eat, I sit with Tate Fontanna and his wife Chloe for the best part of this gig, the pet auction.