Chapter 22

Being Santa only increased the need for silence. These kids had sat in his lap, boys and girls alike, and Vic knew too many ignorant people falsely believed gay men were predators to be kept from children. The wrong word, the wrong gesture—even something as simple as sharing a kiss—could spark a witch hunt or cost him his job. Sex in the parking lot sounded fun, but Vic didn’t dare chance it.

But the young girl stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, blissfully unaware of the troubled thoughts rolling through Vic’s mind. She leaned on the table and stared at Matt. “Who’s he?”

“I’m his special friend,” Matt said.

His words slurred a little—he’d definitely had a bit to drink. One beer usually gave him a buzz, and two was enough to send him reeling. Vic counted four bottles on the table, including his own, and noticed an empty wine glass that had been used earlier. So Matt had to be pretty sloshed.

“He’s one of my helpers,” Vic explained.