Page 15 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Are you sure, Holly?”

Not even a little bit. “Totally.”

“Okay, then. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that, then. I’m going to slam this sandwich down at the desk in my room. I’ve got some designs to review. See you tomorrow.”

Once Asher’s gone, Dan says, “Thanks, Holly. I know I pushed that on you, but if anybody needs help with anything to do with Christmas, it’s Asher.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re a wonderful sister.”

Don’t say that, Dan. You don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.

CHAPTER 6

ASHER

After working, I lie in bed, rereading the text from my Secret Santa. Is it possible that there’s another person at the company whose dad worked as a traveling salesman who referred to himself as ‘a dying breed,’ and another woman whose family made an extra special effort to ensure Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year?

When my Secret Santa sent me that text, I almost threw my phone at the wall. It’s not like I’d ever let something as simple as texting make my head spin. Though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find my Secret Santa interesting.

Now that I know she’s most likely my best friend’s sister, I should probably destroy this phone and never think about her again. It was bad enough when she touched me and sent my mind spiraling into steamville.

I wasinterestedbefore I suspected she was Holly. That’s ticked up several decibels into outright lust territory. It’s physically challenging not to type a reply. When speaking with them earlier in the kitchen, I did my best not to even look at Holly. Couldn’t Dan read the desire on my face?

Why did I agree to let her come with me tomorrow? Nothing good can come from that. Except, maybe it’ll be nice not to have to face my childhood on my own.

The phone vibrates in my hand. My Secret Santa has texted me.

My Secret Santa:Was my Hallmark story about the joy of the holidays too much for you, Grinch?

I smile and then wipe the smile off my face. I shouldn’t type a reply, but I do. Maybe I can lie to myself and say it isn’t Holly.

Me:There’s nothing wrong with trying to make your family happy,I reply hypocritically.

I’m not making Mom happy unless you count housing and a monthly allowance. By providing for her financially, I’ve given myself a get-out-of-jail-free card for any meaningful connection.

My Secret Santa:You’ve changed your tune,she texts.

Me:Maybe I’m in a position where I’ll need to try soon.

My Secret Santa:How come?

Me:A family engagement,I tell her.I’ve got something coming up, classic holiday crap. I’ll need to be Mr. Christmas Cheer or as close to it as possible.

My Secret Santa:You might want to start by not calling it “classic holiday crap.”

Me:If I can’t be honest with my Secret Santa, who can I be honest with?

As I wait for a reply, I think of her in her bedroom, wearing shorts that show off her mouth-watering thick thighs, a shirtwith no bra, her nipples poking through the fabric, ready for me to suck and caress.

My Secret Santa:The whole idea of Secret Santa is NOT to be honest …

That’s my bind. If I tell her what I suspect, that she’s Holly, I’ll have to confront the fact that I’m lying here with a goofy grin on my face, texting my best friend’s sister. But if she remains Miss Goody Two-shoes, I can pretend otherwise and trick myself a while longer.

My Secret Santa:What’s the event?she asks.

I can’t be honest. It would give the game away.

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