Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,29

your pants… er, pouch.”

He huffed and made a racket of getting clean sheets and unlocking the office door. “Luckily my hole is already uncovered,” he said, getting one last jibe in before he stepped out and quickly closed the door.

I glared after him. I liked Philip. He had a good heart and treated me like a normal person. Though sometimes I wished he’d find me invisible like most men did. He made me feel dirty, which was quite an accomplishment, considering I’d worked at the bathhouse for over seven years. But I’d seen the guys he preferred. Philip was a self-proclaimed chubby chaser. It didn’t matter what their faces looked like, if they smelled, or even had all their teeth. If they were five times bigger than him, he was interested. Most of the men Philip lusted after made me cringe. I hated that I was his type. I knew I was a bear, and not the muscle-type bear. Just a bear. And at forty-five, I had to admit I was also now officially a daddy.

And I hated it.

I walked across the office and began shelving the box of poppers. The door chimed, a gust of cold air somehow making its way through the small vestibule and the sliver of an opening under the safely glass. I sighed and called back over my shoulder, “One second. I’ll be right there.” The past week had been unusually cold for a Denver December and seemed to be ushering larger crowds than normal to the bathhouse.

I was tempted to keep stocking the poppers and then find something else to do and hope the customer would go away. I didn’t want to see anyone right now. Not till I somehow shrugged off the ick Philip had left me with. But that would top it off nicely—getting fired. Like Christmas didn’t suck enough. Add applying for unemployment to endless Christmas carols, and you had yourself a recipe for depression. I forced a smile on my lips and turned to walk back to the window, then halted.

It was him.

He’d been in a couple of times, but I was never the one in the office when he arrived. He was a bear. The good kind. The muscly kind. The over-six-foot, dark, and handsome kind.

A small grin tugged at his lips. “You okay?”

“Uh.” Fuck. “Uhm, yeah. All good. Sorry. Got dizzy.” Move, feet! Move, damn it! And they did. Taking me all the way over to the window, where I grasped the edge of the counter to keep my hands from shaking.

Dear God, the man was hot. And the last person I wanted to see when I felt like the kind of fat slob Philip liked.

His grin widened.

My feet had worked. Now, mouth, your turn. “Uhm, can I get your license and membership card, please?”

“You bet.” He already had them out and dropped them in the little metal tray under the safety glass.

I retrieved the cards and averted my eyes to the computer. “Locker or room?”

“Locker, please.”

Typically I’d think insulting thoughts about the kind of cheap guys who only wanted lockers. Or the really slutty ones who planned on going to someone else’s room or getting fucked out in one of the main areas where everyone else could see. Not with this guy. From what I’d noticed, he liked to put on a show. And I was more than okay with that. I tensed as I realized I was beginning to get a stiffy at the thought. I stepped closer to the computer, which only made it harder to type. Stupid, I was being stupid. He couldn’t see anything lower than my belly, thanks to the counter.

I glanced his way but didn’t really look at him. “One more second. Sorry. Computer is moving slowly.”

“No problem. I’m in no rush.”

Dear Lord, the low, gravelly voice. I’d not heard him speak the other times I saw him. Of course he had that voice. Forcing my attention to the computer, I entered his info. James Olsen. I glanced at the date to make sure he was eighteen. Ridiculous, of course, but simply habit. He was fifty-one. A long way from eighteen. And all the better for it. The picture on his license wasn’t very good. He had a full beard, and it made him look older than his trimmed scruff did now. His sideburns and mustache were still overly thick, but it managed to give him an older, sexy hipster look.

I scanned his membership card, waited for the acceptance chime, and