Page 22 of Santa's Baby

“You wanted Santa, Neely. I can play Santa. But a young Santa. Nobody wants jovial bullshit from me, anyway.”

“Do you have a suit?” I’m trying to remember if my parents dressed him up when he played Santa for us.

“I have a hat and a red Henley. Add some black suspenders and red work pants, and it’s a good approximation.”

“That’s really hot.” I tug my towel around me to keep warm and gesture out of the bathroom. “What a perfect way to start Christmas morning. Yes, let’s get you into that.”

He wraps his towel around his hips and steps into the main room—and promptly stops.

I push him from behind.

He doesn’t move.

“Ford.”

“Neely.” He clears his throat. “Your parents are here.”

ChapterTen

Neely

I peer around him.

Sure enough, my parents are pressed against the wall of glass windows around the door to Ford’s residence. And they don’t look pleased to see us coming out of the bathroom in nothing but matching towels.

“It could be worse,” I whisper. “We could be naked.”

Ford grunts. “Let’s get dressed.”

If we disappear into the bedroom together, my father might just break through the windows. “You go get dressed,” I say smoothly, with a confidence I am one hundred percent faking. “And I’ll let them in.”

“If you’re going to open that door, I’ll be right beside you.”

“That’s very sweet, but my dad might drag you outside, and it’s a bit cold for a towel only.” I pause for a second. “Please don’t kick his ass, okay?”

“He’s my oldest friend, Neely. Honor code demands I let him kick mine, anyway.”

“Nope, I don’t like that.” I shove him toward the bedroom.

“I’ll be ninety seconds, baby.”

I turn so my back is to my parents, just in case they can read lips. “Love you, Daddy.”

He grins.

Okay. We’re going to be okay.

Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door. “Merry Christmas!”

“Neely Anne McIntosh, what the hell are you doing?” my father barks.

My mom gives me a pained look. “Same question without the curse word, darling.”

“Come on in.” I step aside. “Ford is just—”

“We saw enough to guess what Ford isjust—”

The subject of conversation steps into the room dressed exactly like the hot young Santa he promised me. “Neely, why don’t you get dressed.”

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