The Counterfeit Claus (2 page)

A weak chuckle greeted his statement. “Yeah, could you? You’re the only one I know who’s worked there before, and fits my suit—I’d hate to screw Andy over after he bent over backwards to fit my work shifts around my classes.”

Devon groaned. “Andy’s okay with me filling in for you?”
The relief in Rose’s tone was palpable. “Yeah, in fact he suggested I ask you.”
Swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his favorite jeans off the floor, Devon grunted. “Huh. I just bet he did.”
A pained sigh sounded over the phone. “Dev, I’m sorry I—”
Yanking the faded denim over his lean hips, Devon sighed. He picked up his tee shirt from the day before, sniffed it, and shuddered. Nope, the shirt was so far beyond wearable it should come with a bio-hazard warning. He turned, walking toward the dark wood dresser against the far wall. “Not your fault man. We just didn’t fit. Not Andy’s fault. I was the one too uncomfortable to work there again this year. Me. Just—drop it, okay?”
After a beat of silence Rose’s voice came back. “Okay. I meant it when I promised to not try to set you up with anymore of my old high school buddies. Is that alright?”
Devon snorted. Sometimes the kid was so damned dramatic. Really, how many of his school pals could possibly be gay? Recalling what Rose had told him about the group he hung out with in high school, Devon corrected his thought on the matter. Rose had been friends with a disproportionately high number of gay and bi kids in school. Devon took another step forward and then yelped as his bare toes connected with the one of his five pound weights. Mierda, he’d forgotten about leaving those out yesterday. Rose’s voice came with less Deep South honey and more combat medic concern this time. “Dev, what happened?”
Rustling cloth on the opposite end of the connection had Devon barking at Rose as though he were still the man’s squad leader. “Lay your ass back down, Rose. I stubbed my toe. Christ, Kid, one day you’ll be the death of me, but—”
Rose grunted, and a muffled thud told Devon the younger man had just obeyed him. “Hell, Sarge, I know how that ends. Today ain’t the day, right?”
Devon paused long enough to pull a plain black teeshirt out of the middle drawer and slip it over his head. Spying the bottle of his favorite cologne, Drakkar Noir, sitting dead center on the top of the dresser, Devon sprayed a shot on as he checked himself out in the mirror. Same brown hair, same brown eyes as always. Same faintly olive skin two shades lighter than that of all his cousins, because his madre had gotten pregnant by what she called a beautiful Englishman. Seeing as how it happened during her senior class trip, Devon had to agree with his Abuelo when he called the man an unscrupulous cabron.
Devon eyed himself drolly. If his madre, Rosario Soto, had picked a nice Puerto Rican man like the rest of his aunts, then the dark circles under his eyes might not be so damn apparent. He snorted. The sleep deprived smudges were familiar from both his military stint and more recently from working two jobs and going to school full time. They were not his best look. He sprayed on another spritz of Drakkar to compensate for his haggard appearance, answering Rose as he did so. The kid had always been his favorite soldier, even though squad leaders weren’t supposed to have favorites.
Devon’s exasperated smile shaped the sound of his voice. “That’s right, kid. You still use the same locker combo?”
Rose coughed, one of those polite little coughs people gave when they were embarrassed as shit and didn’t know what to say. “Ah… yeah.”
Devon rolled his eyes.
Rose grunted. “Stop rolling your eyes, Dev. I only keep the stupid suit there. I hate learning new combos and passwords and shit.”
Devon sighed. Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his keys into his pocket and sat back on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on. “Not addressing that right now. You better believe we’re gonna deal with your lack of security as soon as you feel better.”
Rose full out whined. “Aw, Sarge, come on. That’s not fair.”
Devon shrugged regardless of the fact that Rose couldn’t see him. Snagging the edges of the duvet cover, blanket and top sheet all at once he flipped them all up over his queen sized bed. He shifted the phone back to his shoulder to free both hands. Devon straightened and smoothed the covers. “Life’s not fucking fair, Rose. I’ve been telling you for three years now that you need to get serious about protecting your identity. If it takes me kicking your ass at the gym to get my point across, then so be it.”
The petulance in Rose’s voice could be spread with a trowel. “Dev, you’re being a dick.”
Damn, the guy only got whiny like this when he was really sick. “Rose, is someone there with you?”
No answer came for a moment. Devon opened his mouth to ask the question again when Rose’s response came over the line. “Not exactly.”
Devon shook his head. Leaving his bedroom he strode into his living room and swiped his brown leather bomber jacket up from the couch on his way to the front door. “Not exactly had better mean you already called your brother and you’re just waiting for him to show up or I’m going to call him myself.”
Rose laughed weakly again. “Better. Mom’s coming.”
Devon’s shoulders dropped down a whole inch at those words. “You mean Mrs. Jimenez, the woman who mentored your Gay-Straight Alliance club all during high school?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. She just has to drive over. I think she’s gonna bring me back to her house if she doesn’t take me to the hospital.” Rose’s voice faded at the end of the sentence, signaling his exhaustion.
Pulling the front door open, Devon patted his pockets to make sure he had everything as he answered. “Okay. I’m just leaving the house now. You’re lucky I showered before I went to bed this morning, or I’d never have made it to the mall in time. Don’t worry Rose— I’ll be there in plenty of time for your shift. Feel better, and make sure Mrs. Jimenez has my number in case you need anything.”
Rose mumbled a farewell, and disconnected after slurring out something Devon thought was supposed to indicate giving Mrs. Jimenez Devon’s cell number.
Shaking his head, Devon pulled his phone away from his ear and spoke to the blank screen. “Kid, you are still a mess. I sweartagod, you and mi Madre are cut from the same cloth.”
Stepping out into the chilly air, Devon pulled his sturdy, solid wood door closed. He checked the door handle to make sure the locking mechanism had engaged, and then slid his key into the deadbolt to engage that lock as well. Nodding to himself, Devon jogged down his front steps and headed down the block to the cross street he’d been forced to park on the night before. He should have enough time to swing through a drive-thru to get coffee for the drive over to the mall. Devon figured he’d need every drop of caffeine he could squeeze into his body today, tonight and tomorrow morning. At least the Santa gig would be over before he was tired enough to forget he was a civilian now. He snorted, pulling his gloves out of his jacket pocket as he reached his Jeep. The shiny black paint job made him smile even though he had to wash the damn thing twice a week in the winter to keep his poor baby from looking like some kind of car hobo.
Clicking the auto-lock device on his keys, Devon cracked a smile. At least Betsy hadn’t been parked long enough to build up a heavy coating of snow. Hey, if he couldn’t find a silver lining in almost any situation, he wouldn’t be Rosario Soto’s son. The jeep cranked up beautifully. Devon sat for a full five minutes to warm the engine before he considered pulling out to start toward— no, Starbucks was in the wrong direction—double D’s it was, then. He’d get a little caffeine boost, and then get two of the biggest damn dark roast coffee’s he could get once he got to the mall. Course plotted, Devon eased the stick into first gear. In thirty-six hours or so he’d be back, and his bed would be waiting for him.

“Shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiitttttt!” The quiet popping, ripping sound of his elf hose giving way sent Adrien’s heart into a triple-time rhythm that could only be considered a good thing if he were trying to win a Salsa Dance competition worth a year’s entry free of cover charge at his favorite club. He so did not have time for this.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I picked up a new pair last night before we left. If I hit the lights right, I might be able to shave enough time off the drive to get there on time. God, it would be so much easier to just live at home with mom and dad some days.” His huge black cat, aptly named Michael Clarke Duncan, blinked skeptical green eyes at him. Adrien blushed.

“Fat lot you, know, Michael. And I am gonna get my ass chewed by Andy.” Adrien huffed out a breath. Andy still hadn’t forgiven Adrien for going away for a year after high school.

Adrien blew a puff of air up toward his forehead in an attempt to move the long lock of unruly brown bang off his face. The offending hair wafted up for a moment. As soon as he stopped blowing upward his silky bang drifted right back down over the right side of his face. He grabbed a plain gray pair of sweatpants out of his dresser, because there was no way he could be seen outside in the hot-pants Andy insisted were simply perfect for all the elves. The things clung to Adrien’s ass so tightly it was a wonder mall security didn’t try to arrest him for solicitation every day he worked. To be fair, Adrien did have a bigger butt than most of the elves. On the rest of them the damn things looked… cute, and respectably elfish. Only on Adrien did they look like go-go boy attire. He caught a quick glance at the clock on his bedside table, and started to really hustle.

Hopping on one foot, attempting to pull the sweats up while he tucked his newly highlighted hair behind his ear Adrien lost his balance. The hand that had been fixing his hair flailed out, thunking against something soft and furry. Michael the cat squalled out an indignant mewling noise. With a hiss, he ran across Adrien’s stomach and chest en route for the bedroom door.

Adrien lay for a moment, looking up through the brown and gold strands of his hair. Heaving a sigh, he swiped the stuff out of his face again. Michael Clarke Duncan yowled loudly from the living room. Cripes, it was a good thing Sam wasn’t here. The whole humiliating episode would surely be hitting Sam’s “Dumb-Shit Adrien Does” YouTube channel right about now if Sam wasn’t off somewhere with the study group he’d put together from his fellow nursing students.

Bounding up off the bed, Adrien hesitantly turned to the mirror hanging on the back of his closet door. His bare chest had a couple of ugly scratches, but thankfully they weren’t bleeding badly. Even better, the cat’s claws entirely missed his face. He so didn’t want to be the guy who scarred some little kid’s psyche and ruined Christmas for them forever with visions of evil elves. That kind of stuff was best left to their parents. A quick tally of his features assured him he was still passably handsome. If you asked him, his lips were a touch too thin, and his eyes a little too big, giving him an almost anime character look. He cast a glance over his shoulder. It was a darn good thing he’d gotten his mama’s gorgeous booty in the DNA lotto, or he’d have to work a lot harder for dates.

Hurrying into his private bath Adrien wet a washcloth, dabbed at the bloody stripes across his chest and the two divots on his stomach. He quickly dabbed the spots dry with a wad of toilet tissue. Sam was such a worry-wart, and the sight of bloody tissues in the shared bath in the hallway of their two bedroom apartment could only end with the brat making a panic call to their mom. Adrien shuddered. Their mom was amazing… and sometimes, she was just a touch overwhelming.

Adrien sighed as he slipped on a tight fitting green tee shirt. Then he put on the dizzying green and red top half of his elf uniform. He put his shiny green elf-a-go-go shorts into his back pack. In his head, Adrien always called them go-go shorts. Without the opaque tights under them that’s what they looked like on him. He shoved his feet into his sneakers—the pointy toed leather elf shoes stayed in his locker at the mall so he wouldn’t ruin them in the snow— and dashed towards his front door, only tripping over Michael Clarke Duncan twice on the way out.

The awkward moment Devon expected when he saw Andy again showed up like a spoiled debutante at a weeklong party with free cocaine. He groaned inwardly, plastering a fake smile on his face. He had tried to tell Andy right from the start that he wasn’t looking for anything more than a quick fuck back when they met. Andy was cute as hell, and frighteningly capable of twisting anything said to him to match what he wanted the speaker to say. He wasn’t a bad kid—and at eight years younger than Devon chronologically and lifetimes younger in experience he definitely seemed like a kid to Devon. Andy was in love with being in love, and he fell in love at the drop of—well, not a hat, but surely at the drop of a couple of pairs of pants.

Devon, unfortunately didn’t find that particular tidbit of information out until after he’d fucked the kid silly for an entire weekend. Damn Corporal Michael Rose for not warning him about Andy the second he invited Devon to come home to Syracuse for a visit when their leaves lined up so perfectly. Devon’s annual leave started at the same time as the start of Rose’s terminal leave. With his mother out of the country visiting relatives Devon didn’t care to see in Puerto Rico, Devon was at loose ends. Going home with Rose had made perfect sense, and would have been a perfect vacation if Rose had given him an appropriate situation report.

If Devon had known that the sweet assed nineteen year-old would be picking out matching china the second he tapped said luscious ass he would fucking well have steered clear. He ground his molars together as quietly as possible and concentrated on being polite. He couldn’t stop himself from arching an eyebrow at Andy’s perfectly made up and carefully stoic expression. He nodded at the other man. “Andy. You look well. Which locker is Michael’s?”

Christ, he should never have given in to his boredom on that trip. It wasn’t like he’d needed to take a temporary job during his leave. Worse yet, he’d made assumptions about Andy, and he’d never meant to leave the kid heart-broken when he went back to Germany. It had actually been Andy’s tear stained letter that made him reconsider re-enlistment. Not that Devon had any designs on the kid—far from it. In fact, given Michael’s response to the whole of “Andy-gate”, Devon had feared losing the best friend he’d ever had. He and Michael discussed the incident exactly once. Devon apologized for hurting Michael’s friend. Michael punched him in the jaw hard enough to knock him on his ass. Devon sat on the floor, readjusting his whole thought process about how badly he’d fucked up while he moved his jaw gingerly from side to side. Then he said the three words that salvaged their friendship. “I didn’t know.”