Page 4 of Christmas D*ck

“When a woman’s not wearing ‘em, her walk’s unrestricted. Graceful.”

I beamed with pride. “I walk with grace?”

His smirk returned. “Pantiless grace.” He shifted his gaze to Kaci. “Would you consider yourself a strong woman?” He leaned onto the edge of the table and locked eyes with her. “Physically?”

“I uhhm.” She gave him a puzzled look. “I think so. I mean, I work out and stuff. So, yeah. Why?”

“Just wondering.” He reached for his coat and then stood. “Let’s get a drink.”

I would have followed his sexy ass into the fiery depths of hell. Following him to the bar was a no-brainer. I drank what was left in my glass and glanced at Kaci. “C’mon.”

She sprung from her chair and scurried to Santa’s right side. “I’m ready to start drinking something other than wine.”

“What’s the story with you two?” he asked. “Are you sisters?”

Kaci laughed. “We get asked that all the time. She’s my boss. I’m Kaci, by the way.”

“Kaci, huh?” He looked at me. “And, you are?”

I stood and stepped to his left. “Tracey.”

“Kaci and Tracey?” His gaze hung on me for several steps. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Kaci said.

I offered a nod of reassurance. “Seriously.”

The trek to the bar revealed his bold gait Kaci mentioned earlier. I wondered if it came naturally, or if it was something he practiced in front of the mirror. I decided it didn’t matter. I needed to get drunk and toss my inhibitions to the wind. If he truly crashed the party, and I was pretty sure he did, the chances that I’d ever see him again were nil. I needed to find the courage to act like I’d never see him again.

He nodded at the bartender and raised three fingers. “Three shots of Patrón.”

The lanky bartender grinned. “Patrón times three, coming right up.”

“Oh God,” I whined. “Tequila makes me act stupid.”

“Stupid how?” Santa asked.

“She takes off her clothes,” Kaci warned.

“Make ‘em doubles,” Santa said dryly. “No salt, no lime.”

Tequila caused me to do and say things that I normally wouldn’t. Kaci, however, had proven repeatedly that she was impervious to its effects.

The bartender poured the shots and slid them to the edge of the bar. Santa cupped the three glasses in his massive tattooed hand, and then offered them to us. After we accepted, he raised his glass.

“The snake calls the grass his home, to the sailor, it’s the sea. The biker’s feet aren’t nailed down, all he wants is to be free. If he offers toast, raise your glass, but no salt will you lick. If you drink, be forewarned, you’ll be gettin’ the Christmas Dick.”

It was the beginning of what was sure to be one wild and crazy night, but I didn’t care. It didn’t seem Kaci did, either. In unison, we raised our glasses.

Here’s to getting the Christmas Dick.