Grumble Monkey and the Department Store Elf Read Free

kid’s coat was soaked.
    “Where’s your car?” Nick asked.
    “Over there.” Elf pointed, and Nick saw the very Jeep he had barely missed hitting when he first pulled off the highway. “That’s as far as I got. At least no one should hit it.”
    Except I almost did!
    Nick sighed. “Get in.”
    “But—”
    “Get in! I’ll drive you.” He quickly moved the few things in the front seat to the back so that Elf could get in. The red-and-brown vehicle was at least 150 feet away. No sense in the little elf (well, he wasn’t really “little”) getting any wetter than he already was.
    “Gee! Thanks!” And before Nick could even open the driver’s side door, Elf had dashed around to the other side of the car (Nick cringed, sure the kid would slip and fall on the icy pavement) and climbed in.
    Nick joined him and only then realized how wet and nasty he was himself. Crap! I should change. I could catch my death. But damn! That would mean another delay. And just what the hell did the possibility of a cold mean to him now anyway?
    “Thank you so much, Mister. I’m Kit, by the way.”
    “Kit?” Nick asked. What the hell kind of name is Kit?
    “It’s a nickname,” the kid replied as if reading Nick’s mind. “My family called me ‘Kitten’ when I was growing up.”
    “Kitten?” Nick asked, incredulous. I don’t believe it! Kitten? Is there a more faggy name on Earth? Well, at least “Kit” is better than “Kitten.”
    “My sister Valentine couldn’t say my real name, which is Keaton. So she called me Kitten and, well, it stuck. What’s your name?” asked “Kit.”
    “Nick St. George,” he answered automatically and held out his hand without even thinking about it. It was mechanical. He was forever the businessman. And he was a successful one as well. Very successful.
    Yippee.
    “You’re kidding, right?” Kit grinned comically.
    “What do you mean?” Nick yanked off his Gucci glasses and, pulling a tissue from the dispenser between the front seats, began to wipe the wet lenses. “Why would I kid about my name?”
    “Nick? St. George? Like Saint Nicholas?”
    Nick thrust his glasses back on his face and saw Kit’s look of utter joy. He gritted his teeth.
    “And it’s Christmas Eve!” Kit giggled. He actually giggled. Was there anything more annoying than a full-grown man who giggled? This was getting worse by the minute. And Nick was going to have “Kit” in his car for two hours?
    For one brief minute, he considered taking back his offer. This was going to be hell. It wasn’t the first time someone had made the hated Saint Nicholas joke, especially at this time of year. At least it would probably be the last. For about a tenth of a second, he’d almost bitten the kid’s head off. Snapped at him as surely as he did some of his more lazy, good-for-nothing employees. But how did you yell at someone who was looking at you like that? It would be like slapping a… well, a kitten.
    “And people don’t believe in Christmas miracles!”
    Nick drove Kit over to his Jeep—it was a Tracker, and this one was a piece of crap, if Nick had ever seen one. He was horrified. How could anyone drive in such a piece of shit? What had looked like red and brown from a distance and through icy rain turned out to be red and rust. Lots of rust. Tons of rust. In fact, Nick didn’t know how the thing hadn’t fallen apart.
    And sure enough! Right there on the back bumper. It wasn’t shaped like Mickey Mouse but it was a gay pride flag. Nick wasn’t surprised in the least.
    Kit scrambled out of Nick’s car, leaned into his own, and ran back with a duffle bag. He threw it in the backseat and returned to his Jeep. This time he came back with a huge green trash bag filled to the bursting point.
    “You’re taking garbage home?” Nick asked as Kit climbed back in the car.
    Kit blushed through cheeks already red from the cold. “Laundry.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a college kid. Don’t we