Page 7 of The Detective's Secret Santa

“Can we get another round?” Meg, my boss and friend, waves down the server. I probably don’t need a third margarita, but I also don’t mind the warm, fuzzy feeling the alcohol has given me. Tonight, with all of my four-plex neighbors—now friends—I feel as though my life isn’t totally falling apart. There is no job I got fired from, no missing Christmas bonus, or empty bank accounts.

I scan the bar for the hundredth time, but I don’t see Bash anywhere.

Guess the margaritas can’t fix all my problems tonight.

“So what’s with the mistletoe part of this mistletoe and margaritas?” Addison asks, pushing her empty water glass to the edge. She works the night shift at the bakery and switched to water after her first margarita. She’s likely the only sober one at the table.

Meg shrugs, pulling a nacho free from the giant plate that sits in the middle of our table. “Still working that part out.”

“And here I was hoping you’d lined up some sexy Santas to sweep us off our feet,” Piper says with a heavy sigh.

An image of Bash in a Santa hat and nothing else assaults me. I squeeze my thighs tight together, but it does little to ward off the tingling there. I’d been avoiding Mom’s. Avoiding Bash. And then I had to go and run into him downtown today and invite him to help us decorate the tree tomorrow.

“What’s that look about?” Meg presses, drawing everyone’s attention to me.

I focus on a nacho, refusing to meet any of their quizzical gazes. “What look?”

“Oh please. If you’re not getting laid, you’re thinking about getting laid. Who’s the guy?” Addison’s tone is uncomfortably insistent. All three of my friends have leaned forward over the table, expectantly. Crowding me. I feel my cheeks heat to fifty shades of hot.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s not nothing,” Meg insists.

Rule number one says we’re not allowed to tell anyone who we drew for the Secret Santa event. I’m not about to jeopardize my rent free month by breaking the first rule. But if I omit that part of it…it might feel good to talk about my dilemma with my friends. Right? Because I really am at a loss about Bash. All the complications. All the…feelings.

“I saw you talking to some man outside the police station today,” Piper says. “He was…hot. Who is he?”

I could lie. Say that he’s no one. I don’t think they’d buy it. “Sebastian Fraser,” I finally say. “He and my dad were close friends. He came to visit for the holidays.”

“Isn’t he a little old for you?” Meg asks.

“Age is just a number,” Addison chimes in, extending a smile that promises she’s on my side. She’s had a crush on our handyman at least since I moved in. Probably longer considering the way she practically melts into a puddle every time she sees him. He’s definitely older than her by ten or more years. It doesn’t faze her a bit.

I never thought about the age gap between Bash and me. He’s younger than my dad, but I don’t by how much. I take a generous sip of my refilled margarita, surprised at how much this doesn’t bother me.

“You bang him yet?” Piper asks.

Before I can answer that question, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck raise. A drunk man braces himself on the back of my chair. “Aren’t you a bunch of gifts I’d like to unwrap this Christmas.”

Not for the first or even tenth time, I search the bar, wishing Bash was nearby. Okay. I know I’m not some damsel in distress. I’ve chased off my share of creepy men. But tonight, I just don’t want to deal with it. I want Bash to march into this bar and chase off this creep. And maybe whisk me away to my bed and have his way with me. Tonight, I’d happily accept the fairytale.

6

BASH

I hang up the phone inside the cab of my truck, annoyed as hell to find out that Brook’s old boss is still working at her old company. The bastard’s on probation, but he hasn’t been let go pending an HR investigation. I’m relieved others stepped up to report his sorry ass for the sexual harassment. But it’s not fucking good enough. He should be fired. Hell, with some of the things I’ve uncovered, he should be behind bars. But I don’t have the evidence to put him there.

In the parking lot outside the local bar, watching Brook with her friends—ensuring her safety like I’ve done dozens of times in the past three years—I war with staying in Alpine Valley for Christmas or flying back to Houston to wrap this shit up before I potentially start a new position on New Year’s Day. I hate loose ends.

“Mistletoe and margaritas,” I mumble under my breath, slamming the case file I’ve created for Brook’s former boss back down on my passenger seat. Tonight, my priority is her safety.

A couple hours of observation have brought me some comfort about Brook’s relocation. The friends she has in Alpine Valley are a far better caliber than the ones she had in Houston. Meg, Addison, and Piper seem like the type of friends who’d have her back if someone got out of line.

But it’s not enough for me to abandon my post outside the bar until I see that Brook makes it safely home.

I peer through binoculars, catching Brooklyn in the middle of an overzealous laugh that brightens all her features. If she weren’t sexy enough, that happy glow about her makes her irresistible. The urge to abandon my loyalty to my late friend so I can claim his daughter tugs at me fucking hard tonight.

It’s not the only thing that’s hard, either.

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