I turned around and almost bashed into a slim guy with strawberry blond hair and a chin cleft to die for.
“Well, hello, Santa.” He stared up at me with a bratty grin on his face. “Aren’t you sexy?”
That was a better start. I let my stare travel over him while he checked me out. He was wearing a hat and short-sleeved shirt made of green crushed velvet. The shirt had a plummeting V-shaped neckline, which drew the eye down to his waist and then a pair of green-and-red-striped shorts. They were tight. It was impossible not to notice the bulge of his cock.
“Like what you see?” he asked.
His grin widened. “Do you want to dance?”
“I’m not a great dancer,” he admitted.
I laughed. “Nor am I.” Not at the kind of dancing that went on in clubs anyway. I leant closer so I could whisper into his ear. “I don’t think many people here are.”
“Probably not. Club-dancing is a bit like dad-dancing at a wedding,” he decided. “A bit sad, but what does it matter if you’re having fun?”
“I like that analogy.”
“Are you here alone?”
“It is a singles night.”
He threw his head back and laughed. His laughter was like sparkling Pims on a sunny day. “I know, but you might have brought a wingman with you.”
“No. Have you?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes. “My usual wingman has got himself a permanent Daddy.” He ran a hand through his floppy hair. “I’m here to have fun.”
“And pull?” I ventured.
“Yeah, that too.” He held his hand out. “I’m Barney. It’s nice to meet you, Santa.”
I took his hand and shook it firmly.
“Nice grip.” His eyes sparkled.
“My name’s not really Santa.”
He stepped in close and put his finger over my lips. “I bet you have a sexy name, but tonight, I’m going to call you Santa.”
“Does that mean I can call you a naughty elf?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”