Page 2 of A Christmas For Holly

“Any idea why he’s like this?” I asked, watching Holly stumble toward the bar again.

Kai shrugged. “Team’s not doing so well.”

“Right. The fate of the world,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Holly captained his team as if it were a matter of life or death, and I understood why he’d be upset with a few losses—well,a lotof losses. It took many zero points to be three points from the bottom of the league.

But to act out as if his whole world was falling apart because of them…

I went to the bar where Holly was ordering another drink. “I think you’re good for now,” I told him, reaching out to steady him when he swayed.

Holly turned, eyebrows lifted. “Lucas! Sexy man!” He slung an arm around my shoulders, and I could smell the sharp tang of whiskey on his breath. “Here to join the party?”

“Here to make sure you don’t ruin the party,” I said, peeling his arm off me. “How much have you had?”

“Not enough,” he grinned, a hard edge to his voice.

“Well, stop,” I said, nodding toward Kai and Bailey. “Remember them?”

Holly’s gaze softened momentarily, and he seemed to remember where he was. “Yeah. I’m happy for them. Just wish…” He shook his head, turning away.

“Wish what?” I asked before I couldn’t stop myself from stepping around him so I could meet his dark brown eyes.

My breath hitched at the emotion I saw there, and I wanted to hug him so badly. I was the guy who was always content on his own. The guy who watched friends fall in and out of love while he focused on work, family, and a handful of friendships that didn’t come with strings or expectations.

But here I was, staring at Paul Hollister, wondering why, tonight, when he was acting like an asshole, I was still there with this tug in my chest.

“Wish what, Holly?” I asked again, hearing the softness in my voice.

He blinked at me, his gaze sharp for someone with too much liquor in him. “Nothing.” He gestured to the dance floor, where many people had started swaying to some Christmas tune. “Let’s dance,” he said, his tone half challenge, half plea.

I snorted. “Yeah, I don’t dance.”

“Then hold my drink,” he said, thrusting his near-empty glass at me before staggering toward the middle of the dance floor.

I stood there awkwardly, holding his drink as he stumbled and spun, coaxing laughter from people around him, grabbing the hands of strangers and putting on a show.

“Youcansit down, you know,” I muttered when he made his way back for a refill, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, a grin plastered across his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Sit? At a wedding?” he scoffed, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip. “What are you, ninety?”

“You don’t have to keep up the act, you know,” I said, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.

For a moment, his smile dropped, and his eyes met mine, searching. Then he laughed. “What act?”

“You tell me,” I replied, my voice low.

He opened his mouth as if he were about to answer, but then he just shook his head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

His bravado kept slipping, showing these quick flashes of vulnerability before he covered it up with another laugh. Or perhaps it was that, for once, I wanted to share that vulnerability, and I don’t know… fix it?

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you care?” His voice was rough, almost accusing.

“Good question,” I muttered. Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know why his ridiculous act, half-sober smirk, or stupid laugh didn’t stop me from feeling the pull toward him.

“You don’t know me, Lucas,” he said, his voice a low rasp, his eyes bright with emotion. “And trust me, you don’t want to.”

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