The Counterfeit Claus by Cherie Noel Page A

home. He rubbed a hand across his stubble covered jaw. Instead he spent time he could have used to sleep obsessing over the hottest guy he’d ever seen. Devon spotted Hottie McHotpants walking across campus two days ago with Roses’ younger brother, Sam. The guy with Sam was a pocket sized piece of perfection with the most delicious ass and—
    A hideous retching sound spilling from the tiny speaker at the top of his phone snapped his attention back to the present. Devon sat up in bed, clapping a hand over his mouth as his own stomach clenched and roiled in sync with the vile squelching sounds coming from the other end of the phone.
“Jesus Christ, Kid. What the hell is wrong with you?”
    Rose grunted. There was an ominous splashing noise accompanied by a low, piteous sounding moan. A couple of gnarly, lung-and-stomach-clearing hacks later, his normally honey drenched voice rasped over the line. “Sergeant Soto. Sarge. I need a real favor. I’m due at work in like, an hour. Already talked to my boss, and he said as long as I have a replacement he won’t write me up as a late call-off. Please, Dev. You know the gig—the Santa thing, just like we did during the last deployment, but usually with less camouflage and swearing.”
    Devon reached over to turn on the faux oil lamp he used as a bedside light. His mother was always foisting off kitschy stuff on him. He would never in a million years admit to anyone how much he actually liked the weird things him mom gifted him with. A small smile graced his generous lips. His madre was a hot mess, but he loved her beyond all reason and respected her right down to the soles of her feet. One of the things she’d drummed into him long before the Drill Sergeants at Fort Leonard Wood got their hands on him was that he was never to let down a friend in need. Scrubbing a hand along his jaw, Devon resigned himself to a grueling twenty-four hours before he could sleep again. “Rose, are you trying to say you want me to fill in at your job at the mall?”
    A weak chuckle greeted his statement. “Yeah, could you? You’re the only one I know who’s worked there before, and fits my suit—I’d hate to screw Andy over after he bent over backwards to fit my work shifts around my classes.”
    Devon groaned. “Andy’s okay with me filling in for you?”
The relief in Rose’s tone was palpable. “Yeah, in fact he suggested I ask you.”
Swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his favorite jeans off the floor, Devon grunted. “Huh. I just bet he did.”
A pained sigh sounded over the phone. “Dev, I’m sorry I—”
Yanking the faded denim over his lean hips, Devon sighed. He picked up his tee shirt from the day before, sniffed it, and shuddered. Nope, the shirt was so far beyond wearable it should come with a bio-hazard warning. He turned, walking toward the dark wood dresser against the far wall. “Not your fault man. We just didn’t fit. Not Andy’s fault. I was the one too uncomfortable to work there again this year. Me. Just—drop it, okay?”
After a beat of silence Rose’s voice came back. “Okay. I meant it when I promised to not try to set you up with anymore of my old high school buddies. Is that alright?”
Devon snorted. Sometimes the kid was so damned dramatic. Really, how many of his school pals could possibly be gay? Recalling what Rose had told him about the group he hung out with in high school, Devon corrected his thought on the matter. Rose had been friends with a disproportionately high number of gay and bi kids in school. Devon took another step forward and then yelped as his bare toes connected with the one of his five pound weights. Mierda, he’d forgotten about leaving those out yesterday. Rose’s voice came with less Deep South honey and more combat medic concern this time. “Dev, what happened?”
Rustling cloth on the opposite end of the connection had Devon barking at Rose as though he were still the man’s squad leader. “Lay your ass back