Page 59 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Just … sitting.”

“In the dark,” he mutters, leaning over and switching on a lamp. “With the TV off. And you’re not reading a book. Are you giving yourself the gift of transcendental meditation skills this year, then?” he smirks.

I smile. It’s always so easy with him. “I’m going to make some cocoa. Do you want anything?”

“I wouldn’t turn down a whiskey,” he says.

“The date went that bad, huh?”

“I like to have one from time to time to decompress,” he says. “Just one or two, though. You know …”

“Yeah, I get it.”

He doesn’t need to say it’s because of his mom.

Walking into the hallway, I catch sight of myself in a mirror. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt and PJ bottoms that have seen better days. I adjust the shirt. I shouldn’t care, but I look frumpy. Yep, that’s the word.

I make the drinks and carry them into the living room. He’s taken off his jacket and laid it across the arm of the chair. As usual, his muscular physique gets me all kinds of inappropriately excited.

He sips his whiskey. “You make a mean drink.”

I laugh. It’s the first positive thing I’ve felt since Derek’s text. “You’re right. I’m one hell of a bottle pourer. So, why didn’t the date go well?”

He stares at me with his wintery eyes. “Don’t ask silly questions, Holly. We both know why the date didn’t go well. No date I’ve ever been on has gone well, except when I took a certain somebody to a climbing center. Come to think of it, a certain toy drive and steakhouse weren’t bad, either.”

Three dates. It’s so much more than that. We’ve got our history, the fact I’m the only person who’s been able to crack the ice that has covered him for so long.

“We’ll always have those memories,” I say, turning away from him.

“That’s all they’ll ever be,” he mutters.

“Uh, oh. Are you a depressing drunk?”

“I’m nowhere near close to being drunk. But if you’re asking me if the thought of not being with you makes me feel low, then hell yeah, it does. I understand it’s the way things have to be. I know you’re right. You should’ve heard Dan when the ladies went to the bathroom.”

“What?” I ask.

He laughs ruefully. “He demanded to know why I wouldn’t flirt with his date’s friend. I was doing my best, but it felt like I was betraying you.” He sets his glass down, looking thoughtfully at me. “I know you don’t want to hear it.”

“Ican’thear it,” I say. “It’s not a question of want.”

“It’s the truth.”

“We have to be good.”

He smirks. “Miss Goody Two-shoes, right?”

Standing, he walks up to me and pulls me to my feet. When he kisses me, I know it’s inappropriate. I’ve known every single time, but the fact never seems to make any lasting impression in my psyche.

He groans, pressing against me. Then he pauses. “Is something wrong?”

Yes. Derek. Tomorrow. Everything.

What would Asher do if I told him? Would he go nuts and confront Derek? If he did that, Dan might hear about it.

“I’m just tired,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” When he lets me go, I can see how difficult it is for him. “You’ve told me to back off. I can’t be around you, Snowflake. Knowing what we could be drives me crazy. I can live in this snow globe forever.”

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