Wanna Scrooge? (A Filthy Dirty Christmas) by L. Nicole

Author:L. Nicole [Nicole, L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

Holly

Sitting at my desk, I’m focused on the bookwork. I’m writing with a quill and ink in a leather-bound book of rough paper. Christmas always seems to bring out the crazies. I hate it. The door swings open, and Deputy Johnson walks a guy in. The man is wearing a Santa robe. I refrain from rolling my eyes.

“Sheriff, Santa here has been flashing people.” The deputy stands still, waiting for me to tell him what to do.

The office seems smaller. It just has two desks, one cell, and a front door. The deputy is wearing something a cowboy would wear—a long coat over a button-up shirt, a vest with his deputy star shining on it, and boots with spurs on them. That seems strange. It's not Halloween.

“Uncuff him and put him in the drunk tank. It seems the holidays just give people a reason to get drunk,” I grumble, going back to the bookwork. “Get home to your family, deputy.”

“Why don’t you go home and let me stay? You are always working,” he adds, securing the prisoner.

“I don’t have anyone but myself. I hate Christmas. I'd rather just work.” I don’t bother looking up. People don’t like to hear you’re alone during Christmas, and I don’t want to see my deputy’s pity. I’m fine working. I prefer it.

“Okay then, Merry Christmas,” Deputy Johnson says as he leaves. The spurs on the back of his boots make noise as he grabs his stuff and walks out.

I’m finishing up on the form I’m filling out. I’m writing in the names of those we arrested this week and what their fines are.

“You’re wrong, you know,” a deep voice interrupts my work. “I’m not drunk. I’m just spreading Christmas cheer.”

I don’t respond, but I look up and watch him. He’s not struggling to stand, not slurring his words, and his eyes aren’t glazed over like fresh doughnuts. His stare is intense.

“What’s your name?” he asks, still staring at me.

“Holly. What’s yours?” I flip the book to an open spot. If he’s talking, I might as well get his information.

“It's Santa,” he purrs, smiling. There’s a hint of a dimple in one cheek that I have a hard time looking away from.

“No, there’s no way that’s your real name.” I just shake my head. What is it about the holidays that makes people play games? It just adds some sourness to my already grumpy mood.

“Fine. It’s Drew, but everyone calls me Santa now.”

“You don’t have a beard or hat,” I point out, writing his name down before looking back in his direction. “If you’re not drunk, what are you doing here?”

“I told you. I’m spreading Christmas cheer.” He gives me a megawatt smile, and I feel the corner of my mouth wanting to lift—I won’t allow it. I can’t allow myself to feed into this guy's game.

“How? By flashing everyone you get around?” I ask sarcastically.

“Maybe I’m just doing something to make their Christmas a little brighter.”

“By showing off your miniature candy cane?” I quip, finally cracking a smile.

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