What’s your problem?” Willow asked.
Greg was pacing in the little makeshift dressing room situated behind the Santa’s throne area. He’d been out of the chair almost before Ethan’s little girls hopped off his lap, making his way to the sales table. He’d roughly grabbed her arm, gripping it so tightly she thought it might bruise, and dragged her away from Ethan. The poor, sexy man stood there, looking dumbfounded.
“My problem is, I’ve had enough of your flirting,” Greg said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was apparently afraid his voice would carry out of the dressing room and didn’t want the kids and parents waiting in line to hear. “It’s humiliating. Embarrassing.”
“It’s harmless,” Willow said, as she had dozens of times before. “It’s not like I’m f*****g them or anything.”
“Even
