Page 84 of Santa's Girl
Once they were gone, Diesel walked up beside me.
“You alright, Prez?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, jaw still tight. “Just pissed I had to cut my night short.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Then you better keep clearing the path, brother. World like this? You don’t get women like that without a fight.”
I looked out over the treeline, snow starting to fall again.
And I knew he was right.
If I wanted a life with Becca — not just moments — I’d have to earn it. Over and over.
And that started with keeping her safe.
No matter how dirty I had to get. MC business handled for now…
Jinx grinned like a motherfucker. “Tomorrow. 1pm Santa… saddle up.” He slapped my back as he headed back to the truck.”
“My gun isn’t holstered yet,” I muttered.
“A bet’s a bet, brother.”
“Fuck off, Jinx.”
He just cackled as he starting humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
I’d been dodgingthis all week, ever since Jinx’s smug grin lit up the bar after that damn football game. He’d called in his bet, and now here I was, stuffed into a red velvet suit that smelled like mothballs and regret. The community center’s holiday bazaar was in full swing—kids screaming, tinsel everywhere, and me, Bear, playing Santa Claus for a bunch of sticky-fingered brats. My beard itched, the hat kept slipping, and every ho-ho-ho Iforced out felt like a betrayal of everything I stood for. Jinx was gonna pay for this.
I told myself I’d keep it together. Do the job, get out, go home, crack a beer. But then I saw her. Becca. Sitting at a folding table on her coffee break, sipping from a paper cup, her scarf loose around her neck, cheeks pink from the cold. She hadn’t spotted me yet, thank fuck. I hadn’t told her about this humiliation—didn’t need her seeing me like this, all decked out like a Christmas cartoon. Her laughter from the other night was still burned into my brain, and I didn’t trust myself around her. Not after the cabin. Not after I’d spent every night since fighting the urge to knock on her door.
But now she was here, and my blood was already simmering. Part of me wanted to bolt. The other part—the one I didn’t want to listen to—wanted to drag her somewhere quiet and make her forget her own name.
I adjusted the stupid beard, muttered a curse, and made my way through the crowd. Kids tugged at my coat, moms gave me syrupy smiles, and I kept my eyes on her. She was talking to some woman about gingerbread or some crap, her hands moving like they always did when she got excited. Damn it, why did she have to look like that? All bright and soft and like she belonged in a better man’s life.
I was halfway to the table when she glanced up. Her eyes locked on mine, and for a split second, I thought she didn’t recognize me. Then her lips twitched, and I knew I was screwed. That little spark in her gaze said she was about to make this worse.
“Santa?” she called out, loud enough to turn heads. “Didn’t know you were on duty today.”
I growled under my breath, the sound muffled by the fake beard. “Don’t,” I said, stalking closer. Her grin widened, and Iswear I felt it like a punch to the chest. She was enjoying this too much.
“Need a break, Mr. Claus?” she teased, setting her coffee down. “You look… festive.”
I didn’t think. Just moved. Grabbed her wrist, gentle but firm, and pulled her toward the hallway. “Come with me,” I muttered, ignoring the curious looks from the bazaar crowd. She didn’t resist, just laughed that damn laugh of hers, the one that made my skin feel too tight.
I found a door—an empty storage room, thank fuck—and yanked it open, pulling her inside. The second the door clicked shut, I backed her against it, my hands on either side of her head, the stupid Santa hat brushing her hair. The room was dim, cluttered with folding chairs and boxes of decorations, but all I could see was her. Those eyes, wide and bright, half amused, half something else that made my pulse hammer.
“You think this is funny?” I growled, my voice low, rough. The beard was half off now, hanging crooked, and I didn’t care. “Jinx and his damn bets.”
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh, but her eyes were dancing. “You make a pretty good Santa,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “Very… authoritative.”
“Becca,” I warned, leaning closer. Too close. Her scent hit me—vanilla, spice, that same damn smell that’d been haunting me since the cabin. My hands flexed against the door, itching to touch her. “Keep talking, and you’re gonna regret it.”
