Page 35 of Of Magic and Reindeer
“So there’s a reindeer hierarchy? And Rudy’s what, the big boss reindeer?” I was making an absolute guess since they all seemed to turn to him, and he was the biggest out of the bunch.
Kip pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “You could say that.”
My mind raced with questions. Suddenly, I remembered something from a nature documentary I’d watched during a deep Netflix hole one insomnia-filled night.
“Wait a minute. When do your antlers fall off? When I saw Rudy, Dash, and Dane, they still had theirs. Is it too early? Is it the warm temperature here?” The implications hit me like a snowball to the face as I remembered the documentary’s narration about reindeer behavior. “Oh shit, it’s the middle of your mating season, isn’t it? Is that why I want to mount you all? You’re giving off horny reindeer pheromones?”
The truck swerved slightly before Cole corrected it, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.
Kip’s face drained of all color, his freckles standing out more than usual. He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Neve, you can never talk about antlers falling off to a reindeer’s face again.”
I blinked, looking between them. They were both dead serious. “What? Why?”
Cole made a low, guttural noise that reminded me of thunder. “Because losing our antlers means we don’t have enough magic to fly.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. I could get behind them shifting, but flying? That was absurd. “Seriously? Reindeer can’t really fly. Plus, losing them is a natural process, isn’t it?”
Cole’s face was carved from stone, and Kip looked like I’d suggested we eat a baby reindeer for dinner.
“It’s not a natural process for magical reindeer. It’s like asking a man if he’s...” Kip gestured vaguely toward his lap.
“Impotent,” Cole finished bluntly.
My mouth formed a perfect O. “Oh. So, reindeer erectile dysfunction?”
Cole’s jaw ticked as if he were holding back his true feelings on this topic. “Worse. It’s magical dysfunction. It’s very serious, Neve.”
“Got it. No R.E.D. talk or asking if there are little red pills instead of blue.” I held up my hands in surrender, desperate to change the subject away from anything regarding their dicks. “So why are we headed for the golf course? I’m not dressed for eighteen holes.”
Cole flicked on the turn signal and steered the truck off the highway onto a side road. “We’re not golfing.”
A few minutes later, the truck pulled into an empty parking lot.
I groaned when I saw the sign. “An ice rink? You’re joking.”
“Surprise!” Kip bounced in his seat like a kid on Christmas morning, all talk of antler shedding forgotten.
“I’m wearing a tank top,” I protested. “It’s going to be freezing in there.”
Kip reached behind Cole’s seat and produced a large shopping bag. “We came prepared.”
“Of course you did.” I tried to peer into the bag, already dreading whatever festive monstrosities they’d brought.
Sure enough, Kip pulled out three Christmas sweaters. Mine was eye-searing red with a 3D reindeer face complete with googly eyes and a bell for a nose.
“You can’t be serious.” I glared at the offending sweater as I took it. The eyes on the reindeer seemed to mock me, as if they knew exactly how ridiculous I’d look. “There has to be a law against forcing someone to wear something that jingles when they walk. I have dignity. Not much, granted, but it exists. Honestly, I’d rather freeze to death.”
Cole’s eyes met mine as he pulled his sweater over his head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Kip nodded solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. “Christmas sweaters are sacred traditions.”
The word “tradition” hit something inside me, and I wasn’t in the truck anymore.
I was sitting on a plush carpet, about six years old, giggling uncontrollably as my father strutted down a makeshift runway in our living room. He wore a sweater with a dancing snowman whose arms moved. Behind him, nine other men waited their turns, each in a more ridiculous sweater than the last.
“Next up,” Mom announced in a game show host voice, “Blitzen models this year’s ‘Snow Much Fun’ collection!”
One of the tall men spun dramatically, showing off a sweater covered in tiny fake snowballs that bounced with his movement.
