Page 33 of All I Wank for Christmas

I look up my tissue, dabbing my eyes like I’m Scarlett O’Hara. “He just got really into his character. He can’t help it. He’s a classically trained actor.”

I have no idea where this bullshit is coming from before it spews from my mouth.

“Is that so?” Sheriff DeWitt asks, scratching his head.

“If you could find it in your heart to release him for tonight, I’ll make sure he shows up to any court appearances and pays any fines.” I put my hand over my heart and sniff again. “You have my word. Don’t you all trust me?”

“Of course, we do,” Roy soothes, still rubbing circles over my back.

Deacon picks up a pen and clicks it several times. “You need to pay bail for disorderly conduct and trespassing, Holly.”

Fear sinks into my stomach. I have to get Jasper out of here. My only other option is to take the sleigh and deliver the presents myself.

Wait. Is that an option? I know how the stock works. I watched over Jasper’s shoulder as he used the navigation tablet. Could I go back to the Tanner house, ring the doorbell, ask for the Santa suit I’d need, and just get on with the whole thing as the first female Santa to save the day?

Why the fuck not?

It’s a last resort, though. I shouldtryto help Jasper. He’s amazing, handsome, kind, and all the things a girl wants in a man, wrapped up in a little red Christmas bow.

And that mouth.

I take a deep breath through my nose and increase the smile on my face until I’m sure the guys can see my back molars. “Alright, boys, whip ‘em out.”

Sheriff DeWitt startles and shakes his head. Roy pulls his hand off my back and tilts his head like I just took a shit on Deacon’s desk. Deacon’s hands move to his belt buckle, and he smiles like…well, like it’s Christmas morning.

“Uh, Holly, that’s not what we do here. This isn’t the parlor,” Sheriff DeWitt says. Deacon freezes with his belt buckle half undone, and a frown lines his face.

“I know that. Get out your parlor punch cards.” I grab the hole puncher that’s in Deacon’s pen cup and click it a few times. “I’ll initial above the top in case Linda One asks about it.”

Roy’s the first to let it sink in. He digs into the back of his pants, pulls out his wallet, and flips through it until he finds his punch card to The Happy Stroke Club. His hands shake when he hands it to me.

“Only three punches, Roy. I’ve seen you three times. You don’t see any other therapist?”

“Only you, Holly. You have the magic touch. You’re everyone’s favorite girl.”

“Isn’t that sweet? That makes my heart sparkle like glitter.” I smile and click his punch card seven more times and set the card on Deacon’s desk so I can initial above each hole punch. I hand it back to him with a smile. “Here you go, honey.”

“Thanks.” He puts the punch card back in his wallet with a blush on his cheeks.

Sheriff DeWitt steps forward. “Well, this is the fourth card I’ve had. Just started a new one.”

“Don’t I know it, you dirty boy,” I say, winking. “You see me quite a bit.”

“Well, it gets me out of the house now that the arthritis is starting up. Bowling league isn’t as much fun.”

I take his card and punch the nine necessary spots to get him to ten and initial above the punches. Thankfully, Linda One doesn’t keep great records and has no way to prove these guys aren’t visiting this much. It’s not like we want extensive customer files in case law enforcement outside of our small town wants to turn its eye on us. She definitely won’t question Sheriff DeWitt. Even if he wasn’t in law enforcement, I’m pretty sure the vast majority of our customers use fake names. I look at Roy out of the corner of my eye. He definitely doesn’t look like a Roy. Is anyone under forty named Roy these days? Maybe I should have gone out on a date with him just to learn his real name.

I hand Sheriff Dewitt’s card back to him, and he gives a little bow in thanks. He’s never disrespectful when he comes to see me.

I look at Deacon as he thumbs through his own wallet. When he finds the punch card he needs, he pulls another two out with it. “Lyle and Coop gave me theirs to hold on to for them the last time we went. Punch theirs too.”

I grind my teeth but maintain the smile. “Of course,” I say, not moving my lips or blinking. I make a mental note to not tug Deacon as well as usual next time. No small talk or grins. Less lube. Fucker.

I punch all the cards as the men watch in silence, the only sounds in the room are the crackle of the scanner as a fire call for the fire department comes through and the sound of the hole punch. My hand is already tired from the hole punch, and I haven’t even had to redeem the punch card sessions.

I slide the cards across the desk to Deacon, not wanting to risk our fingers touching if I hand them to him. He picks them up, squints, and counts the holes, mouthing as he counts to make sure I didn’t stiff him or his buddies.

“Alright, Deacon, go let Santa out,” Sheriff DeWitt says. He turns back to me and points his finger at me. “But he’s got a court appearance for disorderly conduct at some point and will have to pay a fine. If he doesn’t show or respond, I’m holding you accountable. Punch cards aren’t going to pay the fine.”

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