Page 37 of The Naughty List
“Oh! We did a fundraiser last year at the Tavern for local families of officers killed while on duty. We raised over twelve thousand dollars because I not only took donations at the event and a portion of profits from the night’s sales, but I posted online where people could donate. And I advertised on social media. That kind of money would make a big difference to this place. To kids like LK. What if we hosted something at the bar again and I posted about her online? We could reach out to the media and—”
“Whoa, Hollis. Slow down.” Jonah taps the underside of my chin gently. “It’s not a bad idea. Fundraising. I’m sure we can put something together. But the last thing I want is media attention. Especially not here, not where they could disrupt these kids’ lives with cameras and reporters and bullshit just because I grew up here.”
“Sorry if I overstepped,” I say softly, feeling deflated. I want to help. But I know he hates media attention. They haven’t been kind to him over the years.
“You didn’t. You have a big heart, Hollis. Biggest heart of anyone I know.”
My lips tug upward. He steps backward and I felt bereft without his body heat.
“You have plans tonight?”
I glance into the backseat of my car. “If you count making gingerbread houses and Christmas cookies as plans. My mom is taking them to the Alzheimer’s Center tomorrow.”
“Do you ever stop? When do you sleep?”
I laugh lightly. “I might sleep when I’m dead.”
“You, uh, want some help? We could make them at my place. I know the boys would love to see you.”
“That Santa suit must be cutting off your oxygen,” I tease. “You hate Christmas music but you want to spend your evening handing out presents and making gingerbread houses?”
He licks his lips and I nearly melt into a puddle in the snow. There is something about this man’s mouth, something I can’t quite explain. But I saw him with a toothpick once and literally could not look away.
He shrugs. “Yeah, Hollis. If you want my help that is. I don’t know if I could decorate them like you do but I worked construction for a few summers. I can probably put them together at least.”
I don’t hesitate. Even though I should. Even though I should think about what Addi said, about the possibility of him breaking me.
“I’ll follow you there,” I say, because when it comes to this man, and only this man, I am weak.
Once I’m in my car waiting for Jonah to pull out of the parking lot in front of me, I fire off a quick text to Addi.
My head is spinning, my brain drowning in a lust-filled haze. I need reinforcements.
Helped Jonah out tonight at a local youth group home. He invited me back to his place. Tell me it’s not a big deal.
Before she responds, we merge into traffic and I set my phone in the center console.
Last thing I need is to text and drive, rear-end Jonah, and have to explain I was texting an SOS because all I can think about is how to get him out of that Santa suit.
When we pull into the parking garage, I hear the notification that she’s texted back.
I park beside Jonah and glance at her message quickly.
It’s only a big deal if you want it to be. Use a condom. Don’t forget #6!
Gee, thanks, Addi. Definitely not the reminder I needed at this particular moment.
Jonah waits for me beside my car, wearing only his Santa pants and a white T-shirt. I still have his jacket on.
I climb out quickly, startled when he appears beside me before I can grab my stuff from the backseat.
“I got it,” he says vehemently.
Alright then. “Thanks,” I mumble. “It’s heavy. Those gingerbread walls are no joke.”
“I can handle it. Did you bake them?”
My head lowers. “Um, no. I bought them pre-baked. They aren’t going to eat them, so I figured it didn’t matter.” I clear my throat. “Well, except Mr. Parker, my grandpa’s nemesis, who puts everything in his mouth. But last year he just ate the icing off.”
