Page 50 of Texting My Secret Santa

“We’reeasy,” Holly mutters. “Our entire situation is difficult. You saw me a few times as a kid, Brianna. How many times did you see my brother?”

“Countless,” Brianna says.

“How do you think he’d feel if he found out his best buddy and baby sister were in a relationship?” Holly glances at me. “I’m not saying that’s what we are. I don’t even know how to discuss us.”

Obsession. Desire. A miracle—making me feel things I never have.

“Whatever it is, it’s important to you both,” Brianna says. “I saw that.”

“Do you think anybody else noticed?” Holly says anxiously. “We need to be more careful.”

“We agreed to stop it,” I explain to Mom, “for obvious reasons. It’s already gotten out of hand.”

We’ve been texting a lot, I almost add, but I’ve improved since leaving my phone at my desk. No more texts, flirting, or skirting close to danger. She’s probably resentful about her Secret Santa giving her the silent treatment again.

“How is that working out for you?” Mom asks.

“You saw how it’s working,” I mutter. “We need to be better … for Dan’s sake.”

“Or you could tell Dan.”

“Tell himwhat?” Holly snaps. “I’m sorry, Brianna. I don’t mean to yell, but what exactly should we tell him? We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re not officially dating. We’re nothing.”

She bites down. “I didn’t mean …”

“It’s fine,” I grunt.

Nothing.

I can’t judge her for saying that. I can’t blame her for venting.

Holly stands. “Can we go, please?”

“Dear, I’m sorry.” Mom walks around the table and touches both of Holly’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was—I am—happy for you both. I saw how much you care about each other. I won’t tell you what to do, but my money’s on you making it through—together.”

After hugging Mom goodbye, Holly and I go out to the car.

“I didn’t mean ‘nothing,’” she says as I pull away.

“It’d be easier if you did.”

“I can’t believe she just looked at us and saw.”

“She watches me more than most people. I wouldn’t worry about it. Plus, nobody who knows Dan was there this evening,” I murmur.

“I hate sneaking around. It feels so secret … Santa.”

If there was ever an obvious hint, that’s one for sure. Eventually, I’m going to have to tell her.

She folds her arms and stares out the window. Minutes pass in awkward silence. “Anyway, good luck with your date tomorrow.”

“Snowflake,” I demand. “Stop pouting. I’ve already told you that date means nothing.”

“I’m being petty? I don’t give a fuck.”

She gasps when I grab her leg. I’ve wanted to do it all night. Her thigh is cool to the couch, North Pole-cold, waiting for her Santa to heat her up. She bites her lip, staring at me.

“I just want you,” I confess. “My perfect elf in tight stockings, showing off her thick, gorgeous legs. Don’t even think about me wanting anybody else. It’s not true. It never will be.”

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