Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

HOLLY

O h, heck …

This is so wrong. He’s my brother’s best friend.

This will get me on the naughty list, one thousand percent.

I’ve gone too far now. I’m rubbing my hand quickly up and down my core, stroking my wetness over my sex. My nub is aching like it’s his hand touching me. I remember the gym, how he towered over me, staring with those captivating eyes, almost like he was going to lean down and kiss me.

I have very little experience, but my imagination doesn’t need it. My sex is so hot. In my mind, he’s in his towel, steam rising from him, the same steam moving through me. I bite down as the orgasm hits me.

I imagine squeezing my hands on his chest, my fingernails bending against his firmness, his powerful muscles swelling. This make-believe version of Asher groans and whispers in my ear, “You’re perfect …”

Sitting up, I quickly rush into my en suite, strip naked, and jump into the shower. I turn the temperature up so hot. It’s boiling. Maybe I can wash away what I just did.

That was all kinds of wrong. I can’t ever let something like that happen again. I need to have more discipline. When I got into bed, I couldn’t help myself. It was the way he was looking at me in the gym.

I leave for work early the next day. I don’t want to ride with Dan and Asher. It’d be too awkward. It’s not like they’ll know what I did, but I feel like it’s written on my forehead, and one look at me will give the game away.

In the office, I hunker down for some editing work.

When the Secret Santa phone vibrates, I debate not checking it. I enjoy texting this stranger. It’s easy and uncomplicated—all the things that Asher is not . Well, he’s not Asher . That shouldn’t make any difference. It should make it easier to text him, but it doesn’t.

Who can ignore a text, though? I haven’t got superhuman willpower.

My Secret Santa: Why are you so enthusiastic about Christmas, Miss Goody Two-shoes?

Me: Why do you hate it so much, Grinch?

My Secret Santa: That would involve getting into some depressing territory , he replies. You’re happy, positive, and excited. That seems like it might be more uplifting than my tale. The last thing I’d ever do around this time of year is bring you down.

Me: That intrigues me even more, you know. Are you really interested?

My Secret Santa: I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

I tap my finger against my chin. It’s nice that he’s taking an interest. Maybe, once this is over, we could be friends. Or perhaps I could forget about this whole Asher thing and actually date somebody appropriate? What a world that would be.

Me: My dad used to work away a lot. He was a traveling salesman. The last of a dying breed, he called himself. He always made sure he was back for the holidays, even if only for a few days. So, my mom, brother, and I would ensure it was as special as possible. We knew how important it was to him to come home to a happy family. Even if we’d been arguing, we’d put that behind us. We’d let the Christmas cheer take over. I never forgot the magic of that feeling. I will never forget how transformative it could be. One second, we’re struggling to get into the spirit. The next, the spirit is taking us over. Is that cheesy enough for you, Grinch?

I click send, hoping I haven’t gone too far, but he asked. You can expect an essay if you get me talking about the holidays. It’s in my blood.

Minutes pass, then an hour. No reply. Nada. I focus on my work until the end of the day. Then I check it.

There’s still no reply. I don’t get it. The conversation was going well, and he suddenly decided not to text back. It leaves me feeling overexposed. I’ve shared too much, made an ass out of myself.

That evening, when I return home, I must have a sour look on my face. Dan looks up from his open laptop in his usual spot at the kitchen island. “You good?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t look … well, as ecstatically happy as you usually do at this time of year.”

“I’m fine,” I say, grabbing a coffee pod.

“And a coffee at this time of the evening?”

“What’s with the psychoanalysis?” I say, shoving the pod into the machine without much Christmas cheer. I slam the drawer shut, happy for the loud whirring sound to block out any other questions Dan might have.

I’m not safe for long. He looks at me in that searching, concerned way. One downside of being so close with my big brother is that he genuinely cares and wants to spend time with me. That never felt like a negative before I started fantasizing about his best friend.

As he keeps looking—and I continue stubbornly refusing to speak—I wonder if my Grinch, my Secret Santa, might’ve been the person to save me from this inappropriate attraction to Asher. I could’ve broken the rules, found out who he was, and went on a date.

Sure, I would’ve been thinking of Asher and comparing him at first. Maybe, if I kept trying, I could’ve gotten over that and found a place of genuine affection and desire. I could have a normal relationship, not one that ends with me breaking my big brother’s heart.

“Are you going to drink your coffee or stare into space?” Dan says.

“It’s still hot.”

“We’ve been sitting here in frankly awkward—some might say torturous—silence for five minutes.”

Is that true? Jeez. From the temperature of the java, he seems to be correct.

“I want to get some late work done.”

I won’t get much sleep tonight, anyway. I put myself out there with my Secret Santa, sharing personal stuff. It felt like oversharing. I was on an emotional limb, and his non-reply was like he cut that limb off.

Overdramatic? Sue me.

“Seriously, sis, you know we can talk about anything you want.”

Nope, we can’t. It’s not like I can casually start outlining how I’ve been fantasizing about his bestie.

Maybe I can share the Secret Santa stuff, but that would mean admitting my idea has one flaw we should’ve seen coming. People are going to make their texts personal. He made an HR comment during the announcement. It’s true. It’s a nightmare waiting to happen.

Or maybe everybody else has more self-control than me.

“Another night owl,” Dan says, grinning when Asher walks in.

Asher smiles at my brother, then walks to the fridge. Is he purposefully not looking at me? Maybe he’s annoyed that I touched him. It wasn’t a big deal. I just put my hand on his chest. It was instinct, a reaction.

“Busy evening?” Dan asks as Asher makes himself a sandwich.

“I was on the phone with Mom. She wants me to swing by her place tomorrow to help decorate her tree. Wants to make up for old times, I guess.”

“That’s great, Asher.”

“Is it?” Asher mutters, with his back turned.

Dan attempts to be positive for his friend. “I know you had your ups and downs. That’s probably putting it mildly, but it’s never too late to reconnect. You said she’s been doing much better.”

“It was easier to be proud before I had to see her. It brings up a bunch of crap. Then it makes me feel like a whiny little kid for even caring. I’m a grown-ass man, and the idea of decorating a tree …”

He stops, turns, and takes a big bite of his sandwich. I think he’s embarrassed for oversharing. Join the club.

Again, no look at me, not even a glance. It’s like he’d rather do anything but lay eyes on me. That’s where my inappropriate touching has gotten us.

“I think it’ll be good for you both,” Dan says. “If you need backup, you could always ask the tree-decorator extraordinaire to help.” Dan winks innocently at me. “Holly will take any chance to decorate a tree she can get, and she’s good at talking people’s heads off when things get awkward.”

I try not to show how panicked this makes me. Dan doesn’t know what he’s doing. From his perspective, he’s making a kind offer to a friend. He knows I try to be helpful wherever I can.

If this were anybody except Asher, I’d leap at the opportunity to do a good deed, especially this time of year.

“I’m sure Asher doesn’t want me third-wheeling with his mom,” I blurt out.

“She doesn’t want to help, Dan,” Asher says.

I glare at him, looking dashing in his tight-fitting shirt. He’s so stubbornly tempting. “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it on my own,” he mutters.

He doesn’t look sure about that.

“I love decorating trees. I-I just don’t want to impose,” I stutter.

“I’m debating canceling, anyway.”

“What? Why?” I say abruptly.

Asher sighs. “We don’t have to get into his.”

“We don’t have to not get into it, either,” Dan says. “You’re in safe hands here.”

That isn’t exactly true. There’s nothing safe about Asher and me spending one more minute together than is strictly necessary. Safe hands? Nope, not mine. I want to put my hands on him in ways that would put me on the naughty list.

“It’s like she thinks we can rewind time like this is A Christmas Carol . She’s the Ghost of Christmas past, going over all her mistakes. Now, she wants to make amends. Real life doesn’t work like that. She had her chance when I was a kid. I’ve moved on. I don’t even think about my childhood anymore. It’s all she seems to think about.”

“Naturally, she wants to make up for her mistakes,” I say.

It’s not my place to comfort him, but how can I not? He claims not to care, but his tone says the opposite.

“I understand that, but I don’t see the use of opening that can of worms.”

“You can just go there and decorate the tree,” Dan says encouragingly, giving me a look.

He wants me to help his best friend through this. Understanding eludes him. He’s pushing me closer to a man I need to do everything in my power to stay away from.

“I really don’t mind coming with you,” I say, “if it’ll help. I met your mom a few times, remember? I was the tagalong sister Dan couldn’t wait to get rid of.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You were never the tagalong sister. I was too chivalrous, generous, and kind for that.”

“Don’t forget ‘humble,’” Asher says with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’m the humblest man alive.”

We all laugh. Asher finally looks at me. I almost suck in a breath. Texting my Secret Santa made me feel … something. When Asher looks at me, I feel everything. That’s the difference.

“Are you sure, Holly?”

Not even a little bit. “Totally.”

“Okay, then. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that, then. I’m going to slam this sandwich down at the desk in my room. I’ve got some designs to review. See you tomorrow.”

Once Asher’s gone, Dan says, “Thanks, Holly. I know I pushed that on you, but if anybody needs help with anything to do with Christmas, it’s Asher.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re a wonderful sister.”

Don’t say that, Dan. You don’t know what the heck you’re talking about.