Page 34 of Mistlefoe
“I’m the one who let the previous guy down.” I fold my arms. This is the second place we’ve visited already and they’ve both had the same issue.
“Fine.” He casts a grumpy look around. “Is there really no way we can make this place work? It’s slightly bigger than the other one.”
“Let me show you all the ways it won’t work.” I glide around him towards the stage. “See this? I’m not even sure a whole band would fit in here.”
“Oh, shit.” Conor’s eyes widened. “We haven’t thoughtabout sound. Hold up.” He plucks his phone out and taps furiously at it as he walks this way.
My own phone buzzes in my pocket and I ignore it, thinking it’s another text from Rachel that I definitely wouldn’t want him to see.
“I just emailed us both with a reminder to figure out music for the event,” Conor says and stands beside me, tucking his phone back in his pocket.
“Cool. So, anyway.” I clear my throat, trying not to get distracted by the scent that clings to him. It’s nothing super fancy, just freshly showered man, and apparently that’s enough to make me send weird texts to my friend. Back to work, I say, “We’d need about that much space for food and drink. Then about the span of those three tables for the ax throwing booth, which would literally leave us with enough space for only one more booth and a small standing area, but no ball pit or other activities. Pretty boring fair. And pray tell, sir, where would we stuff a thousand people in this place?”
“Okay, okay. It doesn’t work.” He huffs and puts his hands on his hips like some old man. Which immediately makes me think of his Gramps and all the embarrassing things he spewed out about his grandson. “Now what?”
I shrug. “I guess we go to the next place.”
Conor throws his head back with another one of those groans that sound R-rated. We both grow still. Me, while I observe the tension of his neck tendons. Him, looking up.
Wait, why?
I lift my eyes too. “Oh, no.”
“It wasn’t me,” Conor says, as though there was a smidge of suspicion in my mind that he was somehow behind the mistletoe hanging above us.
He is solely responsible for the way my pulse takes off like a rocket, though.
“Um…”
“We don’t have to kiss.” Conor tilts his head back down so our eyes meet. “There’s literally no one else to know.”
Wait, so he’s trying to get out of kissing me? Does he not want to? Am I the only one who finds him attractive now?
I don’t know how it didn’t occur to me until this literal moment that he may not feel the same way. Like, I’m cute and I know it. Medium height, medium build, pretty face, even better hair. I have no problem getting guys’s attention. The challenge is in keeping it, because I’m more intense and driven than they tend to prefer—as said by my college ex and a couple other guys I dated later.
And I guess that’s why. I’ve only ever shown Conor my bad side. I have no right being shocked if he doesn’t find me attractive.
That rankles.
I fold my arms in what I hope looks like a disinterested way and say, “Well, I don’t know about you but I’d rather have no bad luck.”
“Hmm.” Conor rubs his beard and I wait. “That would definitely suck.”
Oh.
My heart starts hammering against my ribcage. “Yeah, I think we’ve both had enough bad luck to last us a lifetime.”
“Right. Okay. So.” He turns enough to face me even though we’re still two paces apart. “Tell me how you want to do this.”
“Huh?” I blink hard, not registering a single word he’s said because he’s taking another step forward and oh my goodness, he’stall. I don’t think I’ll be able to reach him even when I put my arms around his neck.
Wait. A. Moment. Am I about to put my arms around Conor Mahoney’s neck? The guy I’ve hated on for two years?
Moreover, am I really going to put my mouth on his?
I double check and sure enough, there’s still mistletoe hanging right above us. A whole ass bushel too, in case anyone tries to miss it.
“I mean…” His voice lowers and I steel my body against the shiver it threatens to produce. “I have no idea what you like. Soft or hard?”
