Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“News to me,” she says. “I’m sorry. Joking. I know you’re not. You’re surprisingly nice for somebody who used to bully me.”
“I never meant to bully you,” I say brusquely. “I never mea—” I stop when I see the look on her face. “You’re teasing me.”
“Isn’t that what I do best?”
It looks like we’re not going to talk about what I did outside my mom’s place, gripping onto her waist. As we wait for our drinks, I relive the moment. I remember how thick, how perfect she felt. My rigid arousal makes it difficult to drag my thoughts from the memory.
Finally, our drinks arrive, along with the platter, earlier than expected.
“Thank you,” I tell the waitress.
“No problem, sir,” she says, lingering at the table too long.
“Talk about obvious,” Holly mutters with an eye roll.
“Huh?”
She gives me that look again. “Are you kidding? She was totally trying to flirt with you.”
“Who?”
“The waitress, Asher!” she says, exasperated. “Didn’t you notice the way she was looking at you? Why do you think she hung around the table for a full calendar year?”
I shrug. I’ve only got eyes for you, Holly. “I didn’t notice, Snowflake,” I tell her. “You better choose some meat before I devour the whole thing.”
She laughs, staring at the platter. “I highly doubt you could eat all of this.”
“When I get an appetite for something, I can’t stop,” I say, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I wonder if she knows I’m not speaking about our meal anymore.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I don’t know,” she mutters. “Maybe see a couple of friends. There’s this rock-climbing place I’ve been interested in, too. It’s not usually my thing, but they have a Christmas theme, and I think I could record a good video there.”
“Why don’t you go?”
“None of my friends are interested. I think they would come, but they don’t want to eat up a precious day off for that. It’s not a big deal.”
I almost offer to take her. If that doesn’t qualify as a date, what does? This is on the borderline: eating a meal together.
At least we have the excuse that we got hungry on our way home. I won’t have an excuse if I arrange something with just her and me.
CHAPTER 9
HOLLY
At work the following morning, I take my camera and tour the office, interviewing people about how their Secret Santa is going. Most people are keeping everything casual as they should be. Nobody mentions nicknames or about becoming borderline obsessively curious about their Santas.
Nobody mentions wondering if their Santa is their brother’s best friend.
What am I basing that on? He said, “Fake it until you make it.” That’s a common phrase. He talked about my body-image stuff and called it “black-and-white thinking”—again, a common phrase.
Somehow, I wish for it to be true while knowing I shouldn’t. Dan has been much happier and less stressed since Asher came home. It’s not like he was miserable before, but he’s got an extra spring in his step now.
When I swing by the product design department, Asher is elsewhere, having a meeting. Derek sees me and rushes over. He seems less OTT than usual. I feel sympathy for him. Sometimes, I think he’s just trying his best to be friendly.
“Working on a new project, Holly?” he says.
“I’m interviewing people about their Secret Santa,” I tell him.
“Wow, that sounds awesome,” he grins. “Do you want to interview me? I don’t mind. I’ve got a free ten minutes. You don’t have to.”
“Uh, sure.”
Why did I say that? I couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough. Also, I want things to be normal with Derek. I don’t want to lead him on either. It’s not fair that I’m thinking like this.
He sits at his desk, takes a comb from his top drawer, and methodically combs his hair. I don’t want to be judgmental, but it has American Psycho vibes—so much for not being judgmental.
I switch on my camera.
“Aren’t you going to use a tripod?” he says with a frown.
“I want a more naturalistic look,” I tell him, annoyed he’s telling me how to do my job.
“Oh, okay.” He puts his comb down. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m prepared to give you the best interview of your life … to really knock your socks off.” He grins. “Maybe even impress you so much you’ll let me ask you on a date. Hey, what are you doing?”
People around us are looking, no doubt wondering why Derek’s being so weird.
I switch off my camera. “Derek, I’ve talked to you about this. I’m not interested in going on a date with you. I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you want, but I’d like to keep things professional between us.”
“I was just making a comment,” he says in disgust. “There’s no reason to overreact.”