Page 2 of My Not-So-Secret Santa

“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this.”Cardigan turns to me.“What wouldyoudo if you packed up your whole life and moved to Canada for a great job, then three weeks later your boss framed you for embezzlement and got you deported?”

All I can do is blink.“For real?”Not even in my wildest speculations would I have pictured Ponytail as an international fugitive.

“For real,” Ponytail says.Although her voice is level, anger burns in her eyes.It’s the first real emotion I’ve seen from her, and it’s spectacular.“To be clear,” she adds, “I didn’t do it.”

“But Canada kicked her out anyway!”her friend says.

“That is totally fuc—” I rock back on my heels, struggling to bite back a word that isn’t on the approved list for the waitstaff.“Uh, messed up.Totally messed up.”

“On the bright side, I’m now extremely familiar with the Canadian legal system,” Ponytail says, tapping her nails against the side of the glass in atic, tic, ticof agitation.“The investigators figured out pretty quickly that it was my boss and not me, but not before he made sure I got perp-walked out of the building in front of the whole office.”

Her jaw tenses in a way that makes me want to find that Tim Hortons-loving motherfucker and moose-stomp him.

My expression must show my bloody thoughts because Cardigan gestures to me.“See?Jonesy gets it.Murder.”

“Got a truck out back you can borrow if you need to move a body,” I offer cheerfully, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to the staff parking lot.“She’ll get you over the border and back.”

Ponytail shakes her head as she lifts the glass.“That might be tough since my former boss is locked up pending trial.”She lets her brown eyes drift shut as the bourbon hits her lips and she savors and swallows.“It’s tempting though,” she murmurs with her eyes still closed.

I steal the opportunity to study her.Christ, she’s elegant.Great body, strict posture.Not a strand of hair out of place and not a speck on her expensive-looking sweater.In my experience, getting a woman like her into bed could go one of two ways, full starfish or full porn star.My body tightens with the sudden need to find out which one she’d be.

The scrape of silverware against plates at a nearby table pulls me away from my racing thoughts, and I give myself a mental shake.It’s been forever since anybody got under my skin this quickly at either of my jobs, and naturally, she’s at the one where I’d never act on it.Ain’t that a fucking shame?

I clear my throat, purge any thoughts that aren’t about providing good service, and ask, “Are you two ready to order?”

“Yes, but only if you forget this conversation.”Ponytail’s back to the cool control from earlier, and she turns it on her friend next.“That means you too.This is the last time I talk about it with anybody.I’m putting it behind me.”

Cardigan raises her hands in mock surrender, and I take the hint and go about my business as if they were any other table.I keep their glasses full, deliver their tacos, and check in on them with my usual just-this-side-of-flirty banter that guarantees a thirty percent tip at the end of the meal.As much as I’d like to see what she’s like outside of these four walls, the holiday hopes and dreams of five little kids depend on me socking away as much cash as I can, as fast as I can, and I’m not willing to risk that for a shot with this gingerbread-haired angel.

I’m congratulating myself on only wondering three or four times about the color of Ponytail’s nipples—brown, right?I bet they’re lightish brown like her hair—as I swing by with their bill.The two are speaking more quietly now, their conversation barely audible over the Christmas music that’s been pumping through the dining room since the beginning of the month.

“Did you want to hit that boutique tomorrow?”Cardigan asks.

“Sure,” Ponytail replies as I pick up one of their empty dishes.

“Just a heads-up,” Cardigan says as she reaches for her purse, “it’s in a tiny town an hour from here that doesn’t have zoning per se, so it’s next to a strip club.”

The unexpected reference to the Crimson Lounge surprises me so much that I drop the plate back onto the table with a thunk.Thankfully, they’re both too busy reaching for their bill folders to notice.

“I wonder if they ever do a ladies’ night.”Cardigan slips her credit card into the folder and holds it out for me to take.

“Would you believe I didn’t study up on central Illinois’ male stripper population before I fled the Great White North?”Ponytail says dryly.

I can’t help it.The tiniest smirk crosses my face.It’s there and gone, but she notices.I can see it in the slight narrowing of her eyes, the flash of curiosity prompted by my amusement.

Our gazes lock, and the crowded dining room falls away as her lips part.She’s about to form a question, and everything in me whispers,Yes, ask.Let me tell you what you want to know.The things I’d fill her ears with would put a blush on way more than her cheeks.

But after a beat, she blinks and breaks the spell, the spark in her eyes cooling to politeness yet again.She holds her folder out for me to take, then turns to continue the conversation with her friend, putting me out of her mind.

And that’s for the best.I keep my familiarity with the schedule at the Crimson Lounge as far from this family-friendly place as possible.I’ve learned my lesson about mixing my night job and my day job.Hell, I’m constantly exhausted just fromdoingmy night job and my day job.I already know something has to give, and adding sex to the mix would only make it worse.

Still, I’m disappointed that Ponytail paid with cash.Unlike Cardigan—Charlotte West, according to her Visa—the gorgeous non-embezzler is destined to remain nameless.

Too bad.Before she stuffed it back down, I saw that anger simmering hot and wild under her skin, and I felt her sharp interest in the secrets I was keeping.I bet I could pull those big, messy emotions to the surface and set them loose.I bet she’d like it.I knowIwould.

Well, theotherme could.And both he and I think that’s a great idea.

The thought of it fires my reckless side, and I scrawl a note on my order pad that I tuck into the folder with her receipt.Fuck it.What have I got to lose, right?Other than my dignity and my job, that is.

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