Page 47 of Mistlefoe
“My left pinky’s more festive.” One corner of Conor’s lips rises and then he elbows me gently. “Tag, you’re it.”
I gasp at how my entire body flares to life just with that friendly touch, and pass it off as something else as I say, “Conor Mahoney, are you scared?”
“Oh, yeah. Big men feel fear, too.”
I cock an eyebrow. “But you look strong enough to face a bear.”
“I’d rather protect you from a bear than face Camila Puig.”
Cálmate, I scream to my heart.
“Well, the good news is that you won’t be alone,” I say, pointing at myself. “Which also means I’ll kill you if you abandon me to her.”
“Hmm.” Conor narrowing his eyes at me as he rubs his beard is doing things to me. “How about this, I just stand beside you looking pretty and you do the talking.”
“So I do all the work?”
“And I give moral support.”
“On one condition.” I pause strategically and it reels him in, going by how he leans forward ever so slightly. “You deal with the carpenters for the booths on your own. I’m really not looking forward to that one.”
“Deal.” He stretches his hand out.
I wonder if I’m too eager because Conor startles at how quickly I grab it. Just as fast, I try to pull it away and he stops me.
“Hey, has no one told you that a business handshake has a specific duration?”
“Huh?” He could be saying the earth is flat and it wouldn’t register in my mind right now.
“You always remove your hand too fast.” Conor keeps my hand trapped in his without even pumping it. They’re just frozen together midair. “It kinda makes the other party wonder if you’re nervous or hiding something.”
Yes and yes. And I’m obviously not about to admit it so if I can throw him off the scent, I’ll happily let my hand live in his for as long as it takes.
“Fine, handshake master. How long is an acceptable handshake length?” I ask with sarcasm I don’t feel at all.
He hums from deep in his throat and I find myself breaking into goosebumps all over. I don’t know what is it about this guy’s throaty sounds that immediately get me going.
“I’d say about twice as long as your usual.”
“At this point, I’d say it’s been about ten times that and it’s starting to get awkward,” I mumble, because I’m this close to using the link between us to pull him down for a kiss that would scandalize the security guys checking the cameras.
“I will release you now, since I believe my point has been made.”
I steel myself against the delicious friction between the calluses of his hand against my skin, and let my hand fall limp at my side. “Thanks for the lesson, I guess.”
“Sure, any time.”
Does he mean it? I hope so. I’m sure there are so many other lessons he could teach me.
The elevator dings again and I realize this was simultaneously the slowest and fastest ride of my life. I almost wish for an electric outage just so I can accidentally get stuck with Conor for longer.
Alas, we march to the security desk where we sign up for an impromptu visit to the factory and receive yellow safety vests in return. We momentarily leave the warmth of the main building and take a very snippy walk outside to the converted hangar that is nowSPORTY’s main factory.
“Oh my word, it’s too freaking cold for there to be no snow.”
“It’s going to snow soon,” Conor says from behind me with the calm of someone who is comfortable with this horrid weather.
“What? How do you know?”
