The SantaGram by A.L. Morrow

Author:A.L. Morrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SourGirl Books
Published: 2021-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

It was not going to be fun.

As soon as Rory tore the plastic off his costume in his changing stall, he knew this was going to be anything but fun. Hot and cold flashed over his body.

Shit.

This wasn’t Brooke’s fault. He knew that. It had been him who’d found Special Deliveries, LLC, last night on his phone while Nolan slept, and it had been him who’d called after he left the hospital gym this morning and agreed to meet TJ.

Still, he really wished Brooke hadn’t put this idea in his head.

He also felt a twinge of guilt, wishing he hadn’t sneaked out of the house on his morning off and made Nolan worry. That was the whole point of this, though: he was trying to surprise Nolan. When he texted earlier, he couldn’t exactly respond back with the truth—that he was on his way to take a new part-time job so he could spoil him with a lavish hotel suite later.

Now, Rory stared with abject horror at the costume on the hanger in front of him. Granted, he was a long way from childhood, and it had been about thirty years since he’d last sat on Santa’s lap for a photo at the mall. But to the best of his recollection, Santa Claus typically dressed in a fur-lined crimson coat, thick matching pants, and knee-high boots heavy enough to trudge through at least a foot of snow.

Of course good old Saint Nick did. He had to dress to withstand the harshest Arctic blizzard, didn’t he?

So if that was the case, why was there only a flimsy red vest, pom-pom topped Santa hat, and pair of matching thin pants hanging on the hook in his changing stall?

Wait ... was that …?

He took a deep breath, trying not to have a panic attack, as he leaned closer to examine the pants. Yes, that was exactly what Rory thought—what he feared. The pants had tiny tabs and a small seam midway down the thigh … the kind of tabs and seam that allowed the wearer to quickly rip away the fabric on the legs, leaving behind what appeared to be a rather skimpy pair of shorts.

Holy shit.

Had Rory signed up to deliver Santagrams or to do a striptease?

“Everything okay in there?”

It was Dean. Rory saw the man’s feet appear beneath the door to his stall. When Stacy had abandoned him a moment ago, it had been him who’d answered and shown him where to change. He was a tall man with short-cropped hair, muscles large enough to make Rory’s seem spindly, and a deep, gruff voice. The other man hadn’t shaken his hand or elaborated on his name, just reintroduced himself solely as “Dean.” Rory wasn’t sure if that was his first name, last name, or both. Dean Dean. He scoffed to himself at the idea of that travesty.

“Uh, yeah, man. Everything’s fine,” Rory called back over the door. “I just, um, think part of my costume’s missing.”

Dean snickered. “Yeah, I got your boots out here, bro.

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