How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

by Meghan Quinn

“Okay, if I’m going to sit back and watch this story unfold, the least I can do is set you straight. It’s just Cole . . . no Connor involved.” Narrator: Yes, but Connor rhymed with honor, it worked better. “You’re giving readers the wrong impression.” Narrator: Would you have preferred if I found a way to rhyme Cole with A-hole? “Never mind.” Narrator: That’s what I thought. You focus on your part, and I’ll handle the narrating. Now, back to the story.

His brain spun with thoughts, some big and some small. And then an idea came to him, the greatest idea of them all . . .

Not a jolly bone in my body. Wait until he gets a hold of this . . . Shoulders back, chest puffed, I smile widely, flashing all of my teeth, my eyes crinkling in the corners. Max takes a step back, shielding his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can see from your stare that you’re mesmerized.” “Oh fuck off,” I scoff.

those days hold my most cherished memories. Watching you girls run up and down the stairwell when you smelled fresh cookies. How we would sit in front of the fireplace, cross-stitching silly Christmas sayings to hang in the bathroom. Those late nights we would hunker under blanket forts, discussing when we thought Santa was going to arrive. I will leave this earth with those memories close to my heart. I don’t want those memories to die with me.”

“What

a loss,” Storee says. “He could have had a real feast.” “Jesus,” I mutter. “We are in public.”

She made that clear ten years ago.

Narrator: Sir, I have the receipts to prove otherwise. “You’re telling the story. If you’re not happy with my attitude, then change it.” Narrator: Fine . . . “Golly gee, what a fine day it is. Do you hear those birds chirping, the vibrant colors under their wings as they puff their feathery chests? It’s so beautiful, it makes me want to cry.” Narrator: That better? “Don’t fucking do that again.” Narrator: Then mind your own business and carry on.

There are bells on the collar. On the chest. On the . . . nipples. In the armpits! I have to walk around with my arms slightly propped up because of all the bells. And boy do they jingle jangle. I’m

He has a bone structure that was made with precise angles, so the light bounces off it in a magical way. And yeah, he has light blue eyes that are framed by very dark and long—the prick—eyelashes. And when he was being made, whoever was in charge decided to grace him with height, and thick dark hair, and . . . glutes. High, tight glutes. Frankly, it’s kind of rude and offensive if you ask me.

This is a perfect description of my husband

“You know exactly what I’m called.” He leans in close again. “Your holly jolly sidekick. And I thought the reindeer ears added some whimsy to our team. You might be wearing the sash, but I’m bringing in the sass.” “I hate you,” I mutter.

Snow Daddy.”

“Storee Taylor!”

i audibly laughed out loud

The truth is that his pelvic thrust made her wetter and wetter.

“You know, you don’t have to be a dick about it.” Narrator: I’m just telling it like I see it. “Yeah, well . . . there weren’t any chocolate-covered

“Thanks for coming over,” he says quietly. “Thanks for letting me sit on your lap.” He smiles. “Yeah, you can do that anytime.” “Noted.” I stand on my toes and kiss him again, but when I pull away. I poke my finger into