Page 11 of Texting My Secret Santa

“I know that,” she replies. “I wasn’t saying I needed to … Just a comment, that’s all.” She looks at me with the aura of an investigator, like she’s trying to see if there’s only bleakness in my soul. “Thanks. If Ihadissues about my body image, that would’ve been a nice comment.”

I smirk, but it’s tricky. I’m not sure she’s telling half the truth or the total truth. It’s natural. A person’s thinking is rarely blackand white. She probably walks the line between believing her body is perfectly shaped and wishing it were different.

For me, she’s built perfectly. She walks to the weight rack. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get an eyeful of her plump ass. Her round globes swaying side to side in those shorts seem designed to make her brother’s best friend get bad ideas.

“Are you still working out?” she asks, turning, spotting me watching her.

“I was just thinking of ways to get you back for your little prank yesterday.”

“Little,” she murmurs.

“Is the word offensive or something?”

“It just reminds me … It doesn’t matter,” she says off-handedly.

“It does now. Don’t play that game,” I grunt.

“Whatgame?”

“Thegamewhere you say something, then stop and expect me to pretend it never happened. Whatever it was, spit it out.”

“Do you have to be such a jerk?” she snaps.

I soften. I don’t want to upset her. “I’m sorry.”

“Whoa, I didn’t expect that.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be such a jerk all the time, especially around this time of year. What were you going to say?”

“Little … It’s what you always used to say about me. I was ‘little Spielberg,’ or I was recording one of my ‘little videos.’ It always seemed like a way to demean my passion for video making.”

This hits me like a Mac truck. Suddenly, I walked across the room. I stand so close to her that I can smell her scent, sweet with a hint of vanilla, like a sugar cookie I want to devour. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was a million years ago.”

“I wasn’t trying to belittle you. I thought I was joking. I hate bullies, Holly. I never wanted to bully you.”

“Relax.” She lifts her hand to wave me off.

We both pause. What is she doing? Her hand is on my chest. Her warm palm presses against my sweatiness. My heart is thundering. She must be able to feel it, my blood rushing through my veins. She must be able to sense how difficult it is to hold myself back and be this close to her—the effect she’s having on me.

She quickly removes her hand. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She laughs shakily. “I justassaultedyou.”

“A little tap—I’ll be fine.”

“There’s that word again …”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Holly,” I say, discouraged.

“Hey, I got my revenge with the clothes trick. Who knows? I might even find other ways to get payback, too. Honestly, don’t sweat it. Like I said, it was ages ago.”

“You took your childhood passion, and you made it into a career,” I say, guilt still niggling at me. “Dan told me that when he put out a call for video submissions, you submittedanonymously. You didn’t want to use your connection to him to get the gig. Your talent did that for you.”

She looks down. Am I making her uncomfortable? I’m speaking with excessive intensity. It’s like I’m giving a speech. “Honestly, it’s fine. Seriously.”

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