The Santa Suit Bet: CHAPTER 2 – Naughty List, Population: Me
Santa’s first stop of the crawl is pure chaos — crowded bars, flirty tasks, and Miles glued to Eli’s side like he belongs there. And when the mistletoe challenge is announced, Eli realizes he might actually be in trouble.
Chapter Two
Eli
Reindeer Roadhouse
The Reindeer Roadhouse is already stuffed to the walls when we push through the door. Heat slams into my face, loud music pounds through the floors, and someone thought it was a good idea to hang fake holly from every possible surface. A giant inflatable reindeer sits on the bar like it’s judging everyone’s life choices.
I take one step inside and my entire outfit jingles.
Loudly.
Miles bursts out laughing beside me. Not cute private laughing. Not ‘I’m trying to be respectful’ laughing. Full-body, shoulders-shaking laughing that draws looks from three different tables.
A couple people grin when they look over, which somehow makes the heat rush up my neck even faster. I swear every jingle echoes louder just because he’s watching me.
“Stop,” I hiss, adjusting the belt that’s digging into my ribs. “This suit wasn’t designed for movement.”
“It wasn’t designed for dignity either,” he says, grin widening. “Try walking again.”
I do and the jingling gets louder.
Miles wheezes.
I consider leaving. Just walking out, shedding the Santa coat in the parking lot, and pretending none of this ever happened. Except Miles is watching me with that warm, unfair smile that makes my chest feel too small.
He nudges my arm. “Come on, Santa. First task of the night.”
“What task?” I mutter.
He nods toward a chalkboard hanging near the bar. Someone wrote ‘Santa’s To-Do List’ across the top in messy red chalk. Underneath:
Give a flirty compliment
Take a photo with a stranger
Practice your mistletoe kiss
Make someone blush
Don’t get kicked out
I stare at it. “No way. Absolutely not.”
Miles steps closer, shoulder brushing mine. “Which one are you refusing first?”
“All of them.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he already knows the answer. “No you’re not.”
Before I can argue, he hooks two fingers gently into the fur trim of my coat and tugs me closer. The tug is barely anything, just a small pull on cheap faux fur, but it sends a stupid little shock through me like my body didn’t get the memo that this is supposed to be a joke, not a moment.
My breath catches.
“Start with number one,” he says. “Compliment me.”
My brain melts.
“That’s not how this works,” I manage.
“That’s exactly how it works.” He nods toward the board again. “It says flirty. So flirt.”
“I don’t— I’m not— why would I flirt with you?”
He raises a brow, amused. “Why wouldn’t you?”
The room is way too hot. Or maybe that’s just me inside this furnace of a suit while the man I’ve been trying very hard not to stare at all year looks at me like he’s waiting for something to break.
I try to think of something neutral. Something bland. Something not revealing.
Except my mouth betrays me.
“You look good,” I say.
Miles freezes for half a second. Then a slow smile pulls at his mouth, soft at the edges, like he’s savoring it.
My heart slams against my ribs, immediately regretting every life choice that led me to saying that out loud. I want to take it back and also never take it back at the same time.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Now make it flirty.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“No you don’t.” His grin grows. “Try again.”
I should come up with something clever. Something sarcastic. Something that doesn’t give away every unhelpful thought I’ve had since last spring when he rolled up his sleeves at a cookout and my soul left my body.
Instead I step in closer, swallow hard, and say, “Fine. You look… annoyingly hot.”
His breath hitches the smallest bit before he laughs, low and pleased. “There he is.”
I want to crawl inside a snowbank and disappear.
A group of people squeeze past us, bumping my shoulder and pushing me right into Miles’s chest. His hand comes up to steady me, landing warm and firm at my waist.
The contact hits fast and hard, like my body was waiting for an excuse to lean into him. His fingers tighten just a little, enough to make my breath catch again, enough to make it feel way less like an accident.
“You good?” he asks.
No.
No, I am absolutely not good.
My brain is a scrambled egg inside a Santa hat.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Crowd just moved weird.”
His hand stays there a second longer than necessary. Maybe two. Maybe enough that the heat of it burns through the suit and brands me permanently. When he finally drops it, my skin still tingles.
“Ready for number three?” Miles asks, nodding at the chalkboard.
“I don’t even know what two is.”
He smirks. “Photo with a stranger. We’ll circle back to it. But practicing your mistletoe kiss? That seems promising.”
“I’m not kissing you in the middle of the bar,” I say, voice cracking on the word ‘kissing’ like I’m thirteen and hopelessly in love.
“Who said it had to be the middle?” His voice dips into something warm and husky, and my stomach flips hard.
He’s doing this on purpose.
He has to be.
Nobody accidentally sounds like that.
Miles reaches up, adjusting the fake beard that’s itching my entire face. His fingers brush my cheek, gentle and lingering, like he’s checking if I’m overheating or if I’m about to pass out.
Maybe both.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re doing great.”
“I am not doing great,” I whisper.
“You’re doing better than you think.”
Another surge of bodies moves through the bar, crushing me into him again. His chest presses against mine. His hand lands at my side, steady and sure. My pulse kicks hard.
This crush… it’s not a crush anymore.
It hits me like a brick to the sternum. Hard, undeniable, and impossible to keep hiding.
My pulse won’t settle, and it’s ridiculous how aware I am of every place we’re touching. The room feels too loud, too hot, too full of him. If anyone asked, I couldn’t even pretend I’m unaffected.
Miles looks down at me, eyes flicking briefly to my mouth before snapping back up. The shift is subtle but it lights every wire in my body.
It’s quick, barely a second, but it lands like a match dropped on something already ready to burn.
He’s looking.
He’s really looking.
A guy in an ugly sweater shouts from near the door, “Next bar is Frosty’s! The Mistletoe challenge starts there!”
Mistletoe challenge.
Miles’s smile turns dangerous. Sharp in a playful way. Like he just heard the starting bell for something he’s been waiting on.
“Well,” he says, stepping even closer, voice warm enough to melt the fake snow on the windows. “Looks like the night’s about to get interesting.”
I swallow hard.
The beard shifts.
The bells on my coat jingle like they’re mocking me.
I am not surviving this crawl.
Not with him.
Not even a little.
Come back tomorrow for Chapter Two
Copyright © by LS Phoenix
No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by LS Phoenix
New Hampshire, USA
https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix
First Edition: December 2025
Cover Design by LS Phoenix
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