“Now, have you been good this year?”

“I’ve done the best with what I’ve got,” Jagger answered. He wasn’t kidding. He liked sex. He liked to mingle. There might have been an occasion or two where he’d had a few too many and gone home with a guy only to have the relationship last as long as the blow job, but who was honestly a total angel?

“I see. I’ll have to keep my eye on you.” Santa shifted in his seat. “What would you like for Christmas?”

“An angel.” 

“A what? A porcelain one?”

“No, no. Like the old song. An angel sent to me.” He’d loved that Shelly Fabares song so much. So the tune was hokey and the words were dated…he didn’t care.

“Ah. What do you want her to look like?” Santa asked.

Oh boy. Jagger fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’d like him to be at least six feet tall. Brown hair. Shaggy hair, like just rolled out of bed shaggy. Blue eyes. Nice smile. Not a ton of chest hair. Great personality. Oh, and I want him to be the boyfriend type.” That about summed up what he’d wanted.

“You’re thorough.” Santa rubbed his chin. “That’s a tall order, pardon the pun.”

“I know. I figure you’re my last hope. I’ve tried meeting guys on my own. Tried the dating scene, the website thing, and the set up by friends thing. None of it has worked. If you can’t, then I’m hopeless, and December will forever suck.”

“Aren’t you positive?” Santa paused. His dark eyes glittered. “Does his name have to be Johnny?”

“Nope.”

“If you have this man come to you, you’ll enjoy the holiday?” Santa asked.

“I will.” Granted, he wanted the man to stick around and be more than short term, but love wasn’t going to happen overnight. 

“Well, I’ll see what can be done. You’re cutting it mighty close.”

“Don’t I know it.”