Page 2 of Mistle-Ho

I’m not foolish enough to think I’m the only woman he does this with. The man is a notorious fuckboy with a reputation that would ruin anyone else. Not him. If anything, it’s almost made him more desirable to the female population of coastal Florida.

Maybe it’s because, from a strictly observational standpoint, he’s gorgeous. The quintessential tall, dark, and handsome, but not in a classic way. He has more of a caveman esthetic going on. His extreme height is only amplified by his equally extreme width. His chest would fill more than one barrel, and I swearhis shoulders look like they shouldn’t fit through a doorway. The thick, rich brown wave of his hair nearly reaches those barbarically broad shoulders. A stubborn piece of it insists on always falling over one eye, adding to an unexplainably boyish charm that has probably disarmed more than a few females.

Oh. And he’s the most popular—and highest paid—rugby player in the US. Can’t forget that.

Objectively speaking, I can see why women throw themselves at him. And good for them, I guess. At this point, I’ve got no room to judge anyone for their romantic choices. Mine sure as hell leave a lot to be desired.

“I’m going to get a drink.” I elbow away from Gavin and Leo, dodging the wobbly bodies of my parents’ friends on my way to the kitchen. Reaching the drink station set up down the marble countertop of the island they added when they renovated last year, I barely hesitate before snatching up a plastic poinsettia-print cup and scooping in a healthy dose of my mother’s infamous Christmas punch. Checking the clock so I know when I’ll be safe to make my exit, I chug it down, the familiar burn warming me from the inside out.

Once the cup is empty, I slam it down and go to work unlacing the threadbare scarf looped around my neck, muttering ‘Holy shit it’s hot in here,’ to myself as I detangle the red and white stripes.

“That’s just you.”

Frustration has me ready to yank at the delicate knit of the accessory, so I force myself to stop and breathe, counting backwards from ten before I spin to face the man behind me. I shoot Gavin a scowl that would send most people scurrying. “Funny.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs, eyes staying on mine. “I’m a funny guy.” The smile on his face almost seems to slip beforecoming back full force. “You look good tonight.” He reaches out to finger the scarf cooking into my skin. “Red is your color.”

I cross both arms over my chest, resisting the urge to fan my face as I get warmer and warmer thanks to whatever my mom laces her punch with. “Can I do something for you, Gavin?”

His smile tilts into a smirk. “I guess that depends on what you’re offering.” His tone is low and silky and it sends the warmth I’m wrestling lower.

That’s… Unexpected.

He leans closer, bringing a hint of cedar and surf into the personal bubble I try to protect at all costs.

I’m used to feeling short. Between my brother and my father, I’m accustomed to people towering over me. But this is different. Gavin’s presence feels less like an imposition and more like a barrier. The substantial width of him blocks out a little of the noise and congestion that’s the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to me.

It’s almost… Nice. Probably because of all that punch I just guzzled.

His eyes stay fixed on mine as he continues closing the distance between us. “For now, you can move so I can get something to drink.”

All the warmth sliding under my skin flashes to a flame of embarrassment. I can’t believe I almost fell for his bullshit. Again.

“You’re such a dick.” I shove at his chest, shouldering him back enough I can slip away. “Enjoy your punch. I hope you choke on it.”

2

Don’t Let Babs Punch You

Gavin

“YOU PISSED HER off already?” Leo clicks his tongue, head shaking as he joins me in the kitchen where I stand watching Alexis stomp away. “That might be a record for you.”

“Probably.” I pass him the cup in my hand. I wasn’t really thirsty, I was just looking for an excuse to be where Alexis was. “But to be fair, I think I piss her off by breathing.”

It hasn’t always been that way. Leo’s little sister and I got along when we were younger, but about five years ago, something changed. Our easy, comfortable interactions became tense, scowling exchanges that almost always end with her glaring at me before storming off.

Just like she is now. And damned if I can stop myself from watching her go. That dress Al’s wearing should be illegal. There’s technically nothing revealing about the red plaid garment. It doesn’t cling to her curves or dip low on her substantial tits. Even the skirt of it is a perfectly respectable length.

And yet…

“At least one woman in this world has sense enough not to worship you.” Leo dumps a ladle of the deep red, overly alcoholed punch Babs makes into his cup. “You need to behumbled now and then.” My best friend turns to lean back against the counter, wincing a little as he tips back some of the drink that will be responsible for more than a few rough mornings tomorrow. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I doubt she’ll be here long. She always skips out early.”

I shake my head when he offers me a sip. I learned the hard way to avoid that punch at all costs. “She skips out early because she hates this thing.”

Leo’s sandy brows pinch tightly together, creating a crease between them. “What? No she doesn’t. This is our family’s favorite night of the year.”

I almost laugh, but when his expression doesn’t change, I realize he’s serious, and it sends a pang of sympathy for the woman who just left searing through my gut. “It might be your and your parents’ favorite night, but it’s not your sister’s.”

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