The first words out of Leonard McCoy’s mouth were, “What the hell are you wearing?”
Jim turned from pulling a draft beer to smirk at his friend, who’d just took a seat at the bar.
“A Santa suit.”
He moved away from Bones, a nickname he’d given his friend, and delivered the beer to a big gruff weightlifter type, who, surprisingly, left him a hefty bunch of credits.
“I’ve never seen Santa wearing that,” Bones remarked dryly.
Jim laughed and shook his head.
“Since when has Santa worn red sequined shorts and suspenders?”
“That’s the boss’ idea.”
Jim’s uniform consisted of, as Bones noted, Christmas red sequined shorts, trimmed in faux white fur, with a black sequined belt around the waist that the suspenders were hooked to. The suspenders were black but the bow tie around his throat was also red sequined. On his head he wore a Santa hat, also made of the same sequined material and trimmed in the white fur. In the middle of the hat, also made from sequins, were holly leaves and a berry. On his feet were black Santa boots, which, thankfully, were actually comfortable.
Jim felt a bit ridiculous in the outfit, but he couldn’t deny he was getting loads of tips.
“You’re actually okay with wearing that?” Bones asked, gaping.
Jim shrugged. “The ladies are wearing similar outfits. I mean, sure, it’s totally objectifying, I get it. But it’s only temporary. I’m just working here through the Academy break.”
Just then a gum smacking cocktail waitress came over to the side next to Bones with a tray for the drinks her customers had ordered. Instead of shorts, she wore a sequined body suit.
She glanced at Bones. “Hiya, cutie.”
“Hi yourself. How do you feel about wearing such a costume…” Bones paused to look at her name tag. “Janice.”
“It’s crass, misogynist, and humiliating,” Janice told him. “But it pays better than any other job out there right now and I need it to buy my kid Christmas presents. You dig?”
Bones sighed. “Unfortunately. I got a kiddie of my own.”
She placed her drinks on the tray and started to move away. “Figures. All the cute ones are married.”
“I’m not married,” Bones called after her. But she kept walking. “I’m not married,” Bones muttered. He glanced at Jim again. “That belt is stupid.”
“Yep. But it’s keeping these tiny shorts on.”
“Is it? I could have sworn they were painted on.”
Jim chuckled. “You’re in rare form. What can I get you to drink?”
“A whiskey sour.” Bones watched Jim make his drink. “You could have gone home to Riverside for the break. Spend Christmas with your family.”
Jim made a face. “Mom’s got Sam and his whole brood there, doesn’t need me too. And anyway, she’s got a new man.”
“Yeah? A new husband?”
“Nah. She hasn’t remarried since she divorced Frank. This guy won’t last. Most don’t.”
“What’s his name?” Bones sipped the drink Jim put in front of him.
“Tim. Or Tom. Or Tam. Who knows.”
Bones snorted and then his gaze went down to the other end of the bar. “Since when do Vulcans drink?”
Jim didn’t even need to look over to know who his friend was talking about. “He’s been coming in here the last few afternoons.”
“You don’t say. He looks pretty familiar.” Bones snapped his fingers. “He works as an instructor at the Academy. Spock is his name.”
“Yeah?” Jim considered this. “I think he’s the one who’s programmed the test.”
Bones rolled his eyes. “You and that test. Will you give it a rest?”
“I’ll pass it someday.”
“No one passes it.”
“I will.”
“What do you think he wants?” Bones asked, ignoring Jim.
Jim smiled. “A drink, I imagine.”
He left Bones to head to the other end of the bar and leaned against it to study the Vulcan.
“Peppermint Mocha Martini?”
Spock, if Bones was correct, nodded. “Yes, please.”
“That’s a very festive drink this time of year.” Jim smiled. “Are Vulcans into festivities?”
“I cannot speak for other Vulcans,” he said primly. “I only know that I am into Peppermint Mocha Martinis.”
“Coming right up. Hey, is your name Spock?”
“It is.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jim.”
“Hello, Jim.”
Jim moved away to make the martini, but his mood soured as soon as he saw who suddenly appeared on the stool next to Spock. That just figured.
He finished the martini and brought it to Spock.
“Farm Boy,” she said with a superior smirk.
He didn’t rise to that bait. “What’ll you have?”
She stabbed her manicured nail at the menu of the list of holiday drinks. “The candy cane mule.”
Jim nodded. “Coming right up.”
When he reached where Bones sat, his friend said, “Boy if looks could kill. What’s up?”
“Ah, nothing. I met her on the transport to San Francisco. Wasn’t a good first meeting. And looks like she’s probably his girlfriend.”
Bones laughed. “Doubt that.”
Jim frowned. “Why?”
“His gaze never left your ass, Jim.”
“Oh sure.”
“Trust me. He’s not coming in for the charming atmosphere. He’s here for your sequined ass. Ask him out.”
“He’s an instructor.”
“So? You’re not in his class and the Academy’s on a break.”
Jim considered this. “Still. Vulcans don’t do casual and Jim doesn’t do serious.”
Bones snorted. “Suit yourself. Missed opportunities.” He turned away from Jim to gaze out over the main seating. “Now where is Janice?”
Spirk (with a small dose of Pinto) 