Page 64 of Mistlefoe
“It’s okay, we’re capping the amount of drinks per person for each round. Besides, they’ll have to do the full course of games to reach the booze booth again.”
“See? We’re a great team.” I offer him a smile that morphs into a bit of a grimace when he just blinks at me without any further reaction. I cap my marker back up and let the strap of my backpack slide down my arm, until I just toss it on the floor. “Hey, Conor?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah?”
“Remember when weweren’ta team at all?”
“What?”
I uncap the marker and cap it again. “I still do. I was super rude to you and it wasn’t even once or twice. It was two solid years of acting like total a jerk around you up until virtually yesterday.”
He runs a hand through his hair, watching warily as I take a step closer to him. I fiddle with the marker in my hand, biting my lip until I can speak again.
“I’ve been meaning to apologize properly but…” I force myself to lift my chin and meet his eyes, even though what I really want to do is pull my beanie down until it hides my entire face—or my whole body, if it could. “The thing is, I had a plan in my head to first, tell you how truly sorry and ashamed I am at my own behavior. And then, take my time to show you that I’m worth keeping around with concrete actions.”
Conor’s eyes widen slightly, like he recognizes the words as his own. “Wait, what?”
I don’t think I need the marker as a clutch anymore, so I stuff it in the pocket of my coat and take a bold step closer to him. It brings me so close I have to tilt my head all the way back.
“I wanted to make sure that this, all the sparks between us, weren’t just because we once kissed under the mistletoe. That they’re there beyond the Christmas season.”
“Sierra, I—” His hands slowly rise to clasp my arms, and then he pulls me flush against him. Conor’s forehead rests on mine as he whispers, “I guarantee what I’m feeling for you isn’t just Christmas magic.”
“Oh, good. Then I won’t have to hang this over you two.”
We both turn.
Gramps is just a few paces from us, close to the main entrance, and in his hands he holds a bunch of mistletoewrapped in ribbon. He gives a big sniff. “And I’m really glad, because this thing gives me allergies.”
My jaw drops.
“Gramps!” Conor’s hands abandon me to cover his red face. His voice comes out muffled. “Are you going to keep interrupting?”
“Sorry, sorry. You’re just stressing me out with how damn slow you’re moving. You had so many chances to kiss the girl out there on the ice, you fool.”
Conor drops his hands to glare at his grandfather. “And I’m glad I didn’t, because I’m not going to kiss Sierra in front of you.”
“Bah.” Gramps waves a hand. “Do you think I don’t know how it goes? I produced your father, in case you—” He’s interrupted by a thunderous sneeze. Gramps shakes his head hard and runs the back of his sleeve across his nose. “You two carry on, I’m going to go toss this wretched thing.”
With that, he turns around and leaves out the front door.
I feel Conor’s fingers lace between mine and he tugs at me. “Come with me, before he returns to keep inflicting severe embarrassment on me.”
Chuckling, I follow him across the corridor and into the office area. Conor pulls me into the main office and leans his back against the door, locking it behind him with his free hand just in case.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I take him in, his shoulders wide enough to almost span the width of the door, the lock of brown hair falling over his forehead, those whiskey colored eyes boring into mine.
I pull my hand from him, but only so I can step closer until my legs are between his and our bodies flush. I splay the palms of my hands on his chest and that activates something in him, the part that makes him cinch his hands around my waist.
Conor leans down and my eyes flutter closed, lips partingto welcome his. But instead of kissing me, he whispers, “Sierra, I’m a bit freaked out right now.”
“What?” My eyes snap open. “Why?”
His teeth rake over his lower lip. “Because I’m falling for you so fast and so hard, I’m scared I’ll crash into pieces.”
“You won’t.” I run my hands up his chest, to his neck and jaw, mapping the sheer size of him, his heat, the softness of his skin, willing it to imprint itself into my muscle memory. I pull him down until our lips brush, and I feather my words against his. “Not when I’m on a free fall too.”
Conor holds the back of my head as his lips close around mine, molding perfectly as if our mouths were made for each other. My chest vibrates with a satisfied little sigh like it does every night when I crawl into bed after a long day. But this is different, because being in Conor Mahoney’s arms feels like I’m waking up to life.
