A Gift for Greg: Story Orgy Stories, #4

By Hank Edwards

Light your yuletide log and spike your eggnog, Hank Edwards has three Holiday themed flash fiction stories that will put some Christmas in your carols this season. Take a seat by the fire and read about unexpected reunions, cowboys getting back in the saddle... with each other, and a hot--and flexible--mall Santa!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hank Edwards
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215194164

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards has been writing gay erotic fiction for more than twenty years. He has written over two dozen novels and even more short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. Find out more at www.hankedwardsbooks.com.

Book preview

1

A GIFT FOR GREG

Thanks to Andrea Speed for her prompt suggestions: pizza delivery guy, abandoned house, and snowman

Fucking economy.

Greg Marwell pulled into the parking lot behind Sal's Pizzeria and twisted the key of his old Fiesta. The engine chugged, coughed, sputtered, chortled, and, finally, gasped before shutting off. Greg sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. His breath plumed around his face as the cold settled into the car and wrapped chill arms around him.

Marwell!

The ragged, wet voice of Sal, the owner of Sal's Pizzeria, made Greg snap upright. He squinted through the frosted windshield to find the man waving him in the back door.

Not even a minute to catch my breath, Greg grumbled. The car door squealed in protest as he shoved it open. With the empty insulated carrier dangling from one hand, he stomped into the back room of the pizza shop.

Got another delivery, Sal said. He didn't look at Greg; his attention was on the pizza he was slicing.

It's after one in the morning, Greg noted, trying not to whine. He hated whiners. Every member of his team back at General Motors had whined and moaned and carried on, even more than usual on the day they had all been walked out three years ago. But not Greg. He had been hopeful, optimistic, eager for a change.

And he was still waiting for that optimism to pay off. This job couldn't have been that life change he had been waiting for. Delivering pizzas for Sal's Pizzeria wasn't exactly a step up from his $90,000 a year job as an automotive engineer. But it had been close to home and he worked at night while he hit the interview trail during the day. So many interviews, more than 450 over the last three years, and only a handful of call backs. Always the same response: either he was over qualified, or he just didn't have the right skill set.

Marwell?

Greg blinked and looked up to find Sal standing right in front of him. The man held the pizza box in both hands and had raised his eyebrows. You awake?

Barely, Greg muttered. He took the pizza, slid it into the insulated carrier, grabbed the printed order with the house address, and shoved out the back door of the building, Sal's sarcastic, Oh, yeah, Merry Christmas, trailing behind him.

The Fiesta's engine was reluctant to turn over, but the spark finally caught and Greg let out a relieved breath. He didn't have the money for car repairs. Ramen noodles and day old bread were keeping him alive. That and any pizzas made with the wrong toppings.

As Greg navigated the icy, deserted city streets, the smell of the fresh pizza tempted him. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered. Christmas Eve, well, technically, Christmas Day, and here he was hungry for pizza.

Focus, he scolded himself. You can have Ramen noodles and instant oatmeal when you get home.

He checked the address on the slip again and frowned. What road was this place on? He pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a stop beneath a swaying light up wreath bound to a street lamp. Flicking on the dome light, Greg squinted down at the address as he tried to think of where he could find the street to get to this house. Why couldn't he think of where this street was?

Then a mental wall tumbled down and a memory, blurred with age, floated to the surface of his mind. Windswept Lane, the street where Jerry Golling had lived back in high school. Jerry Golling, nerd hunk of his high school, and someone