Page 42 of All I Wank for Christmas

“Thanks for the sex?” I ask, chuckling. “That’s so cliché in movies, huh?”

She bites her lips and wipes sweat from her collarbone. “Thanks for the night, Jasper. It was definitely an adventure. I can honestly say I’ve never had a night like that.”

“It was an adventure to meet you.”

She looks at the sky like she’s trying to find the sun behind the thick clouds to tell time. “I hate saying goodbye, but I really have to get Mom’s medicine in her.”

I grab her hand and turn it over to place a kiss on the palm. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s because I think this is the only part of her body that I haven’t kissed tonight. “Merry Christmas.”

Chapter 16

Holly

Idon’tknowwhatI expected. At the end of the day, I’m just a sex worker. He’s the next Santa, for fuck’s sake. Did I think he was going to Richard Gere me and show up with a limo to climb a fire escape with a rose in his teeth?

“Holly! Client for you,” Linda One yells at the top of her voice. I sigh and drop the cleaning rag into the laundry bin. We really need to get an intercom system or something.

I round the corner with hope in my chest that it’s Jasper, only to be disappointed when I see an older man with salt and pepper hair and worn brown work pants at the front desk. The man smiles, and one of his canines is missing.

Fuck my life.

It was bad that I’d jerk off these guys before, but I can’t stand it now. It’s not them or the fact that the job can get messy. It’s me.

It’sJasper.It’s fucking Jasper that walked into my life and made me feel, for one entire night, that I could really get away from my life. That I could be something special or do something I was meant to do.

None of these guys are him. None of the men I’ve scrolled through on Tinder in the last week are Jasper. Will it be like this forever? Will I always search my waiting room for him when Linda One calls me to meet a client, hoping Santa’s son has come back for another hand job?

Where the fuck is he?

We had something. I know we did. I felt it, and it wasn’t just sexual. Our banter was fire. There were feelings between us we didn’t put into words. I know I didn’t make any of it up in my head, even though I woke up on Christmas morning after he dropped me off and thought it was all a dream.

Was it?

Was this a badDallasseason finale with everything being a nog-induced sex dream brought on by my jerk-off session with Jasper and watching too much Dean Winchester?

I went up to my roof on the day after Christmas. When Mom asked what I was doing with the old wooden ladder from the garage, I told her I suspected squirrels in the attic again and needed to look near the chimney to see if there was an entrance. I was searching the chimney alright, but I was looking for hoof prints. I searched for sleigh drag marks across the roof. I sifted through the snow for left behind glitter or tinsel. I wanted something to prove that Jasper and a legion of flying reindeer were real and on the roof the night before.

Too bad it snowed again before I could get up there.

But there was one thing I couldn’t explain – a small red mark just above my left breast that lasted a few hours. I can’t bite myself there, and none of my clients have been near that spot. No rabid dog has come into my room, and I haven’t been near any serial biters. Only one thing could have left that mark, and I held onto that red spot all of Christmas. I even took a picture of it before it faded because it confirms that I haven’t lost my marbles.

I found the magnet under my pillow yesterday. I must have stuck it there before I took a two-hour nap after Jasper dropped me off. He’s real. There’s no way I would have driven to the Michigan and Ohio border on Christmas to buy a gas station magnet. I shoved it in my purse to look at it when I’m at work or running errands. I’ll always keep it with me.

Somehow, a gas station magnet is the most valuable thing I own.

“Holly,” Linda One says, snapping her manicured nails in front of my face. “This is a client.” She gestures to the man like he’s an honored guest. “Speak to him.”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head like I can shake off thoughts of Jasper. Fat fucking chance. “Are you ready to go back? Full service?”

“Yep. Full release,” the man drawls. He knows the drill if he’s asking for full release. This isn’t his first rodeo, and he licks his lips at my breasts, inspecting them closer like he needs glasses.

“Come on back, sir,” I deadpan.

I turn and stiffly wave over my shoulder for the man to follow me. My voice has zero enthusiasm in it, and I haven’t been able to appear excited about my job. My tips have gone down this week, and I go home every night and cry. Not because my job is awful. I cry because I want Jasper to come back. I cry for the accounting degree I don’t use. I cry because I’ve applied to jobs every day this week, and the rejections are starting to roll in.

I cry because the police are starting to come in with their punch cards, and it’s getting hard to explain to Linda One why almost every cop in the county has a full punch card.

Something has to break before I do.

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