Page 34 of Mistletoe Misconduct

A deep groan passes his lips. Kai thrusts into me, and I can’t help the airy giggle that slips free. “You’re trying to kill me, angel,” he grunts.

“Nope,” I tell him, my eyes flicking to the clock above the stove. “But your coach might if we’re late.” I pull out of his grasp and swat his firm, round ass as I saunter past him. “Come on, Santa, let’s get a move on,” I joke.

I hear him grumble behind me, and I know he’s following me when I make it down the first set of stairs outside and hear the door shut and lock above me.

Chapter twenty-three

Kai

Lea’s pink cheeks and wide smile lit up all night as we sat in a large conference room, handing out donated gifts to the kids here for the hospital.

My heart aches to know that many of them are here without their parents for the holidays. This hospital is a well-known children’s cancer center, and wanting their kids to have the best shot at recovery, there are things these parents have had to compromise on as a result.

Growing up with a mom who could never hold down a job because of her mental illness, and what I thought was an absentee father who skipped out on his family, I know just a taste of what some of these kids must be feeling.

I learned that there’s at least a handful whose parents tried to stay as long as they could. Without a job and the new year bringing with it a fresh start to their insurance deductibles, it just wasn’t possible to be here, especially not in New York, where it’s disgustingly expensive this time of year.

Lea claps her hands excitedly after she puts the book down that she’d been reading to the kids, and when I look out across the room, I can tell they’re all as enraptured with her as I am.

Lea is stunning. No matter what she’s wearing or how messy her hair is, she’s got this way of lighting up a whole damn room, and I have no idea how I’ve gone this long without fully appreciating that.

The kids continue to clap as Lea grasps my hand in hers, squeezing gently. Her bright-white teeth gleam under the harsh fluorescence, that one slightly crooked canine of hers standing out among her other, perfectly straight teeth.

My heart hammers in my chest, and my pulse climbs as realization starts to hit me. Before I can even think ofthe words, Jaclyn, the nurse manager who coordinated this evening, approaches us with a large smile.

“Hey, guys, thanks again for doing this! The kids really seemed to enjoy themselves,” she says happily.

“No problem at all,” I say, looking over to Lea. “It was actually pretty fun.”

“I had a great time,” Lea tells her.

Jaclyn presses her lips together, squinting one eye and shrugging her shoulders in a mixture of guilt and nerves. “Would you guys mind making just a couple more stops before you head out for the night? A few of the really sick kids weren’t able to make it out here due to precautions their providers have had to set in place because of their immunocompromised status, but we don’t want them to miss out entirely,” she explains.

“Oh my gosh, of course not!” Lea tells her, standing abruptly and dragging me with her as she grasps my hand in hers.

Jaclyn blows out a sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “Really?” she asks, hope lacing her words. “You two are incredible,” she tells us. But she’s wrong.Leais incredible, and I’m just trying to catch up so I can be worthy of her one day.

Chapter twenty-four

Lea

Even with a blue-and-white surgical mask on, I can still tell Kai has a wide grin on his handsome face as he sits beside a little girl named Khushi.

She’s a witty little spitfire, and it’s clear that she has no interest in letting cancer get her down.

Her parents sit on the opposite side of her bed, their heads resting against each other; the bags under their eyes and tired smiles tug at my heartstrings. I can’t even begin to imagine how much this family has gone through, but I can only hope for better days ahead.

A knock raps against the door, drawing our attention to where Jaclyn is popping her head into the room. “Hey, I think it’s timefor Santa and Mrs. Claus to head out so they can make it to all the other children around the world,” she says.

Khushi leans back in her bed, crossing her arms across her chest. She rolls her eyes dramatically as she says, “I’mten,Miss Jacky. I know Santa doesn’t exist.”

The room fills with laughter, and when it quiets down, Kai’s eyes are filled with unshed tears.

Khushi reaches out for Kai’s hand, holding it beside her, and for the first time since we met her nearly an hour ago, a twinge of sadness is evident in her glassy eyes. “In my culture, we have a saying, ‘eopjilleojin murida’, which means don’t cry over slurped water,” she says, turning to look at her parents. “Right?” she asks them to clarify.

They chuckle, and her dad leans forward, resting his forearms on the thin mattress. “Don’t cry overspilledwater,” he emphasizes. “It’s just like the American saying ‘don’t cry over spilled milk,’ meaning there’s no use in crying over what’s already happened.”

Khushi nods exaggeratedly. “Mhmm, so don’t cry for me because I might be sick now, but I won’t be forever.” Confidence exudes from her tiny body.

---