Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“You don’t look like Santa Claus.”
He throws his head back and laughs. Like from his belly, like he thinks this is the funniest thing in the world. And when he laughs like this… it kind of feels like a Santa jolly laugh.
It takes him a good minute to stop laughing, but when he does and stares at me with that relaxed look on his handsome face my stomach drops through the floor. He’s so beautiful, he literally makes my mouth water.
“The family clause doesn’t go into place until you reach a certain age.”
“Certain age?” I cock a brow and play along with his game. “So like Santa Claus isn’t immortal?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “There have been seventeen Santa’s.”
Seventeen Santa’s.
Is this really a conversation I’m having right now? I thought we were going to have crazy wild sex. I thought the clause was some weird sexual fetish.
But no.
He’s telling me he’s the real-life heir to the Santa Claus empire— can you even call it that? This is a lot to process.
“You look like you don’t believe me.”
“Come on, bro,” the alcohol makes me less inhibited.
“Bro?” he enunciates the word like he detests every part of it.
“Stetson,” I correct myself quickly. “You’re seriously telling me that there’s really such thing as Santa Claus and that you’re… him?”
He takes his time before answering.
“In theory, yes.”
“In theory?”
“When I turn sixty-five, I’ll take over the role,” he explains like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or unless something happens to my father and he’s unable to fulfill the duties as outlined in the family clause.”
“So for all intents and purposes—” I begin slowly.
“I’m Santa Claus.” He finishes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Oh dear.
This is it. Staring me right in the face like a giant red flag—but dressed in a red bow like jolly old St. Nick. An extremely hot St. Nick. Sexy as hell St. Nick. And that’s just it—in no world would any man, woman or child believe Stetson was or could be Santa Claus. Like he couldn’t even be him for Halloween. If he dressed up like him, you’d think he was about to strip for Magic Mike. If he told me he was, Thor, this I’d believe without a doubt. Okay, I wouldn’t believe it at all, but I’d understand it because look at him.
Thor. In the flesh.
This superhero I can get into and just cosplay the hell out of it, but is Santa a superhero? Is the big bellied, jolly, gift giving and lover of all things sugary and decadent—
Wait a minute!
He did eat an unholy amount of candy and sweets yesterday. There was that… you’re reaching, Charlie. You’re reaching. While my mind races in all sorts of crazy directions Stetson has the audacity to smile at me.
Like a normal smile.
Nothing crazy about it at all. Nothing off… It’s sexy.
I sigh.
One resounding truth pops in my head and vibrates around my brain like a psychedelic Rudolph the red nose reindeer trip—I’m going to sleep with him despite the fact he believes he’s Santa Claus. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve slept with more delusional. Hell, my ex thought he was Jacob Elordi… he really did. Maybe Jacob Elordi in Frankenstein, sure if he was comparing himself to the monster, then one thousand percent, he’s Jacob Elordi. So there.
Santa is a walk in the fucking park!
At least Stetson believes he’s a nice old man who gives kids gifts for Christmas. He’s a giver! Not a taker of faces!
This level of delusion is much more palatable.
“You really don’t believe me,” he states the obvious.
I wonder what gave it away?
I’m guessing the disbelief written on my face.
Ba da bing!
I try to laugh and brush it off. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, per say…”
“Then what is it, Char Char?”
I gasp.
“What did you call me?”
“Char Char.” His voice sounds different now, more serious.
“My little brother used to call me that,” I whisper. Grace doesn’t even know about that nickname. It’s what he’d call me when he was a kid.
I used to love it.
“Ethan,” Stetson says slowly. “Ethan is your younger brother.”
My heart stops.
“I didn’t tell you that.”
He goes on.
“Your parents, Kate and Jeffrey, left you alone with him a lot when you were younger and through your teens,” Stetson takes a step toward me, his face so serious now. “You think of him like he’s your own child, even though there’s only a four-year age gap.”
“How do you…?”
My words trail off because I don’t understand what’s happening. He could have done some deep dive and looked me up, broken into my private social media account and seen my brother, who’s in a lot of the pictures I post for my closest friends. He’s rich enough.
But the rest…
The stuff about my mom and dad. That’s not public domain.
Those are my private memories. Ones I don’t talk about or share. Maybe once with Grace, so she could understand why my relationship was the way it was with my parents. But that’s all.