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)
Is this freak serious?
Is this his warped idea of a Christmas gift?
Derek: Send me the photo.
Me: I’m not sending anything. I’m not having digital evidence of anything like that out there. I can’t trust that you won’t post it somewhere.
Derek: Then prepare for this to be your big bro’s worst Christmas ever.
I try to think quickly, but panic floods me and makes me sluggish.
I push through the fog, step by step.
Me: I don’t want digital evidence, but I have a Polaroid camera. I won’t let you keep the photo, but if you’re determined to see me, I’ll take a picture and meet you in person.
Derek: Do it now.
Me: I can’t, Derek. I’ve got meetings and responsibilities. Please. Give me until tomorrow morning.
Derek: Don’t even think about tricking me. All I’ve ever wanted is to be kind to you. I’ve had a tough life, Holly. My mother was a sick, abusive woman, but she always told me that one day, I’d find a girl who was better than her and would make everything okay. As soon as I saw you, I knew I’d found my one.
Oh, no. He’s even more unhinged than I thought.
Derek: You’re my one, he texts. Tomorrow, at the Christmas tree. Eight a.m. We’ll have the wonderful meeting we should have had this morning.
I shiver. Jeez. This is bad. He’s always been too forward and insistent. Now, he’s stepped it up a notch or several? I’ve bought myself some time, but I’m unsure what to do. I need to get that phone from him.
I’ve pushed away the one person I could, maybe should, ask for help—Asher.
Perhaps I can talk to him and explain I want to work together on this with zero romantic feelings and nothing that will make my skin sizzle, my heart soar, and my resolve shake like Christmas gifts bouncing around in the back of Santa’s sleigh.
For now, I get on with the important task of chewing the hell out of my fingernails.
By the time Asher and Dan return from their date, I’m still no closer to an answer.
Snatch Derek’s phone?
If he doesn’t bring the phone, could I lure him back to his place and search for it? That would mean putting myself in the vulnerable position of being close to him in a confined, private place. That’s the last thing I want.
I turn to say hello to my brother and ex-lover, but only Asher is standing there.
“Where’s Dan?” I ask.
A pang of jealousy strikes me. Asher is wearing a dapper suit that would have any woman salivating. “His half of the double date went better than mine … not that I wanted it to go well.” He sits on the couch. “What have you been up to, Snow …” He trails off before completing my nickname. He’s trying to be good.
"Oh, nothing much,” I want to say. “Just sitting here thinking about the fact I’m being blackmailed by a jerk who could ruin our lives.”
“Just … sitting.”
“In the dark,” he mutters, leaning over and switching on a lamp. “With the TV off. And you’re not reading a book. Are you giving yourself the gift of transcendental meditation skills this year, then?” he smirks.
I smile. It’s always so easy with him. “I’m going to make some cocoa. Do you want anything?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a whiskey,” he says.
“The date went that bad, huh?”
“I like to have one from time to time to decompress,” he says. “Just one or two, though. You know …”
“Yeah, I get it.”
He doesn’t need to say it’s because of his mom.
Walking into the hallway, I catch sight of myself in a mirror. I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt and PJ bottoms that have seen better days. I adjust the shirt. I shouldn’t care, but I look frumpy. Yep, that’s the word.
I make the drinks and carry them into the living room. He’s taken off his jacket and laid it across the arm of the chair. As usual, his muscular physique gets me all kinds of inappropriately excited.
He sips his whiskey. “You make a mean drink.”
I laugh. It’s the first positive thing I’ve felt since Derek’s text. “You’re right. I’m one hell of a bottle pourer. So, why didn’t the date go well?”
He stares at me with his wintery eyes. “Don’t ask silly questions, Holly. We both know why the date didn’t go well. No date I’ve ever been on has gone well, except when I took a certain somebody to a climbing center. Come to think of it, a certain toy drive and steakhouse weren’t bad, either.”
Three dates. It’s so much more than that. We’ve got our history, the fact I’m the only person who’s been able to crack the ice that has covered him for so long.
“We’ll always have those memories,” I say, turning away from him.
“That’s all they’ll ever be,” he mutters.