Page 33 of His Secret Santa

What the hell are you doing?

Holden’s actions dumbfounded him on many levels as he drove past Lincoln Pratt’s house for the third time. Partygoers littered the front lawn and music blared from inside the house. Had he been stupid enough to join the festivities, it would be akin to a lamb walking itself to slaughter. Fortunately, Holden retained enough smarts to keep his distance.

Why he was here at all was a mystery. Did he hope to catch a glimpse of the quarterback? If so—why? Lincoln had made it painfully—heartbreakingly—transparent that he didn’t want Holden at his party. So, why was it so fucking hard to drive away and not look back… literally and figuratively?

Holden had no answers and didn’t understand why, when he pulled up to the stop sign at the end of Lincoln’s street, he continued to turn left and circle the block for another drive-by. Each time, he’d intended to turn right and go home. But it was like the car had a will of its own, consistently bringing him back to his crush.

Former crush. After the encounter in the parking lot yesterday afternoon, Holden no longer clung to fantasies about the quarterback; he was a douche bag like all the others.

So, why the hell are you hanging around his house like a lovesick fool?

Or stalker.

Stalker was starting to feel more accurate.

On his fourth drive-around, Holden parked across the street, his car camouflaged among the other vehicles in the darkness. He sat in the quiet car, listening to the tick of the engine, the warmth of the heater fading as the winter cold crept in. Holden gripped the steering wheel and stared out the driver’s side window at the party. A knot formed in his throat, and he laid his head back and closed his eyes—and for a moment, imagined that Lincoln really had invited him… really wanted him there… for all the right reasons.

I thought you were done fantasizing about the “douche bag”.

Why wasn’t he? What was keeping the guy in his head?

Maybe it just took some time for his heart and mind to let go. Maybe visiting the club again would cleanse the quarterback from his system, and he would walk out of there with a refreshed heart and the will to move on.

But what will you do until then? Keep thinking about him?

Holden didn’t want to think about him—not even for a few more days. But he didn’t know how to stop. Why couldn’t his fantasies have been strictly sexual? With no emotions attached, it was easier to walk away. Or so he assumed. Maybe not. His encounter with the stripper was all sexual and even he had lived in his head for the last two years. His “living space” wasn’t as spacious as that of the quarterback, but he was still there.

You’re pathetic, Holden chided himself. You’re so desperate for someone to want you, that you even let the stripper move in, believing you two had a connection beyond sex.

Did he really believe that? Could he seriously be that stupid?

Please, come back and see me again.

Was it stupid to believe?

Holden felt torn in two directions: the quarterback and the stripper. At least one of them had never been an option. And it wasn’t likely the other one was an option, either. So, what was tearing him? He’d created these “possibilities” in his head. They weren’t real.

“Go home,” he whispered without opening his eyes. “At least, the stripper wants to see you—even if it’s just for sex. Lincoln doesn’t want you at all. Get out of here and don’t come back.”

Holden opened his eyes and straightened in the driver’s seat. His vision swam a bit and he again chided himself for it. He isn’t worth the tears—

A hand smacked his window and Holden jumped as his heart leaped into his throat. His pulse kicked up another couple of octaves when he saw McKenna standing next to his car.

Drive away!

The cheerleader opened his door before he could shift his stalled brain into gear—much less the car. “Hey! You made it.” She laughed lightly. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I’m not…” Holden started, determined not to get out of the car. But she grabbed his arm and tugged him from behind the wheel while the words were still on his tongue.

“Come join the party!” She slung an arm around his shoulder, her face close to his. The smell of alcohol wafted strong against his cheek.

“No, I-I don’t think so.” He tried to withdraw but she held on tight.

Across the street in the yard, Tonya and Troy spotted them and headed their way.

No… no…. I don’t want to go in!

“It’ll be fun,” McKenna insisted.