Santa Vic
By J.M. Snyder
Published by JMS Books LLC atSmashwords
Visit jms-books.com for moreinformation.
Copyright 2011 J.M. Snyder
ISBN 9781611522211
For more titles by J.M. Snyder at Smashwordsvisit https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jmsnyder
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Cover Credits: csakisti
Used under a Standard Royalty-FreeLicense.
Cover Design: J.M. Snyder
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It isfor your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, itis an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators willbe prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted orreproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission inwriting from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerptsused for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Itcontains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic languagewhich may be considered offensive by some readers. Please storeyour files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,places and incidents are solely the product of the author’simagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may bemade to actual historical events or existing locations. Anyresemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
Published in the United States ofAmerica.
NOTE: Though this story doesn’t go intodetail about the special relationship shared between Vic and Matt,readers can learn more them online at vic-and-matt.com.
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Santa Vic
By J.M. Snyder
The last thing city bus driver Vic Braunsonwanted to see on his locker when he returned to the depot after adouble shift was a Post-It with a note to stop by the boss’s officebefore he left for the night. It was already late—Vic’s usual shiftran from noon until eight in the evening, and with the holidaysapproaching, he had to pick up a second route. He’d clocked in alittle after ten that morning, and didn’t drive back into the busgarage until almost midnight. He was exhausted and wanted nothingmore than to fall out in his bed for a good twelve hours, but hehad to be back into work early the next morning. He didn’t havetime to stop by the boss’s office. More importantly, he didn’twant to. How many more hours could he possibly be expectedto work?
But the money was a good incentive—hislover Matt diLorenzo had been talking about house hunting for thepast few months, and all the overtime Vic was putting in wouldallow them to make a sizable down payment if they decided to takethe plunge. Plus there was the expensive matching ring set Mattpicked out for them that still needed to be paid off. As Vic pulledhis heavy winter coat out of his locker, the white gold ring on hisleft hand caught the overhead light and winked at him almostconspiratorially. Soon, that flash of brilliance seemed topromise. Matty’s waiting up for you, so go see what Mr. Morrisonwants and call it a night. The thought of curling up beside hislover in the bed they shared only encouraged him to cut short anymeeting with the boss.
Slamming his locker shut, Vic spun thecombination lock and tore the Post-It off the door. Then he headedfor the time clock. But instead of stopping, he walked right byit—if Morrison wanted to eat into Vic’s personal time, Vic sure ashell wanted to be paid for it. He’d clock out after stopping by thebossman’s office.
Morrison’s door was ajar, the light on insidethe room. Vic knocked and eased the door open enough to duck hishead around it. Morrison sat hunched over a stack of paperwork,elbows on the desk in front of him, the heels of his hands pressedhard against his closed eyes. His thin glasses sat to one side,discarded. A lit cigarette was pinched between the first twofingers of his right hand, an inch of ash dangling from its tip,dangerously close to breaking off onto Morrison’s balding pate.
Clearing his throat to announce his presence,Vic asked, “You wanted to see me?”
His voice sounded gruff to his own ears, butit had been a long day. From the look of things, Morrisonfelt just as worn out and used as Vic did himself. Make thisquick, Vic prayed, his thoughts straying to Matty, already homeand waiting for him. I have someone waiting on me to get homesometime tonight.
Slowly Morrison stirred. He rubbed his eyes,then lowered his hands to the desk. The cigarette ash crumbled ontothe stack of papers but Morrison negligently brushed it to thefloor. “Braunson,” he growled.
Sounds like I feel, Vic thought.Taking another step into the office, Vic held up the Post-It as ifto remind his boss this little visit wasn’t his idea. “Itsays to stop by on my way out.”
“Come in, come in,” Morrison said with a waveof his hand.
Vic felt his temper begin to simmer. “Nodisrespect, sir, but I need to get home…”
“I’ll make this real quick,” Morrisonpromised.
Distrustful, Vic came into the office andclosed the door partway behind him. He heard something rustlebehind the door—plastic, from the sound of it, like one of thosedry cleaning bags the company laundry service used to returnuniforms in. Vic kept his gaze focused on Morrison, though. Hewasn’t here to sightsee. He’d had enough of work for one day andwas ready to head out. Every second spent here in the boss’s officewas one more second away from his lover.
For a long moment, Morrison considered Vic.Dread filled him—what the hell was this all about? And so close tothe holidays? Vic was putting in the overtime now to avoid havingto work a few days at Christmas. He’d been with the bus company forso long, he had seniority over most of the other drivers. Butbecause he didn’t have kids or a wife, none of the other guysseemed bothered about asking him to switch. Before Matt came intohis life, Vic took the extra shifts willingly enough, but now hehad someone to celebrate the holidays with, and the way Matttreated their spoiled mutt Sadie, she was practically a surrogatechild. Vic knew half the presents Matt stuck under their tree werefor the damn dog. He couldn’t work any more than he already was. Hewouldn’t.
But maybe that wasn’t what Morrison wanted.Pinching the bridge of his nose, where an imprint of his glasseslingered, Morrison asked,
