Page 42 of Holly Ever After

I shake my head, my heart doing that weird little fluttery thing that I absolutely refuse to analyze right now.

“See you around,” he says, heading for the door.

“See you,” I reply, feeling oddly disappointed as he closes the door behind him.

I beat the heel of my palm against my forehead and instantly regret it. I’m turned on and hungover and I’m still hungry.

My eyes flicker to my phone, reminding me of the text from Jackie about the Christmas dress-up night at Molly's. Ugh. I quickly tap out a reply.

Me: Jackie, for the love of God, I have nothing to wear tonight. Also need a tree. And I’m hungover. Send help!

I don’t mention how I want to climb Sean like a tree because I don’t have the energy to explain.

Her response comes through almost instantly, with the characteristic Jackie flair.

Jackie: Get your hungover ass ready. One hour. We'll grease you up with breakfast, find the bushiest tree in the lot, and buy something that makes you look like a ho-ho-ho, but classy.

I snort, thankful my mouth is empty of coffee.

Me: Classy ho-ho-ho, got it. What's for breakfast? My liver has demands.

Jackie: Your liver can write me a thank-you letter. I’m introducing you to the breakfast burrito that should be illegal. Heart attack wrapped in a tortilla.

Me: Ah, you truly are the Santa of shitty mornings.

Jackie: Merry fucking Christmas, bitch. Let’s deck your halls.

Sixteen

I've just spent half an hour laughing, cringing, and debating with Jackie over a rack of the most offensive holiday clothing I've ever seen. Who knew Santa could be turned into such a sex symbol?

“Look at this,” Jackie exclaims, holding up a sweater that reads “Jingle My Bells.” She giggles uncontrollably, the kind of laughter that happens after one too many mimosas. “You should totally get it!”

“Ha, very funny. Unless you want me to pick out your outfit too? How about these leggings? They say, 'Santa’s Favorite Ho'.”

Jackie snorts. “Please, I’ve got some class.”

We both erupt into laughter, drawing the attention of nearby shoppers who probably think we've lost our minds. And maybe we have.

I'm still torn between two ridiculous options: an elf costume that's more lingerie than clothing, and a naughty Mrs. Claus ensemble that's just screaming for trouble.

My phone buzzes, startling me out of my holiday-induced moral dilemma. It's a picture from Sean. He's shirtless, flexing next to a half-assembled baby crib. The caption reads, “Some daily inspiration for your porn books.”

I burst into laughter, so much so that Jackie gives me a worried look. “What? What's so funny?”

“It’s Sean.”

“Aww, is lumberjack daddy checking up on you?”

I roll my eyes. “Don't call him that.”

“But he is, though. With all those muscles and flannels, he's just an axe away from a lumberjack calendar. December, specifically.”

I turn my phone to her. “He sent me this.”

Her eyes go wide. “Holy mistletoe. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's auditioning for a spot inMagic Mike: Christmas Edition.”

I roll my eyes but can't suppress a smile. “Knowing my brother took this picture somehow makes it less sexy and more...bizarre.”

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