Page 83 of Mistlefoe
“We didn’t put together this massive party to not enjoy ourselves too, right?”
“Kind of? I’m having tons of fun right now—ugh.” There’s nothing I can do but be hauled up to my feet by the power of his hands, although it’s not so bad to land against his chest. I free my hands to wrap my arms around him like velcro and inhale the manly scent of his cologne. “Scratch that, I’m definitely enjoying myselfnow.”
His chest vibrates with chuckles and he runs those big, warm hands of his up and down my back in a quite respectful way. What a bummer.
“You do know that if we’re gone too long people will start talking, right?” he murmurs against my hair.
“Let them talk.”
“I thought you were annoyed by all the gossip about us this week.”
I nod, which rubs my cheek against him. “I was until this very minute.”
“Don’t make me carry you on my shoulder.”
“You wouldn’t.” My words come out in a mumble because one of his hands has found my nape and is giving it a little massage that is short-circuiting my brain.
“I would. You make me feel very neanderthal.”
“Hmm.” That’s good to know, but I’ll have to make use of that information later and for a completely different setting. “Fine, let’s go.” Sighing, I separate from him as slowly as I can.
Conor slides one hand down my arm until twining our fingers, and keeps me on the spot as he observes my sweater. A corner of his lips lifts. “Ironic.”
My sweater is the body of a gingerbread cookie, its arms running down the sleeves and my head acting as its head. I snort. “I know, it was what reminded me that we had forgotten about the cookies.”
“It’s like we were on the brink of disaster everyday withoutrealizing it.” He tugs me out of the office and shuts the lights as we go.
“That’s kind of how the past month has felt,” I counter, swinging his arm. “Except some really amazing stuff has come out of it.”
“Like what?” Conor wags his eyebrows, no doubt hoping to hear his name from my lips.
Instead, what I say is, “Like ten grand and a promotion for me.”
He groans. “I thought love was more important than money.”
“Love, huh?”
I stop us at the end of the hallway right before the sprig of mistletoe we hung in the morning. Just beyond us, the party’s roaring with hundreds ofSPORTYheadquarters employees and their plus ones. As Gramps is the owner of the venue and that allows him free pass, Conor gifted me his plus one ticket so that both of my parents could come. They’re hanging out with Gramps somewhere, either skating or tasting the catering goods together as if today wasn’t the first time they were meeting. As if the relationship between Conor and I wasn’t moving at warp speed because it’s so right. As if Conor and I weren’t perfect for each other, in all our imperfections and our desire for the same promotion.
“Uh… Too soon, right?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks growing pinker the more I stare at him.
“Nope. Right at the Conor and Sierra pace.” I grab a fistful of his sweater and drag him right under the mistletoe. We’re both pulled by the same invisible string that tugs smiles on our faces right before we kiss, my arms around his neck and his circling my waist.
The people nearby break into hoots and hollers like they’ve been doing all night every time a couple finds themselves under the sprigs we tied here and there. I can’t believe I wasever so against it when it found me what I didn’t know I was missing.
Conor breaks apart enough to speak, though he keeps his forehead against mine. “So, you too?”
“Conor.” His name comes out as a whine. “I’m pretty sure I was already halfway there when I thought I hated you.”
“Let the record show I never hated you.”
He lifts me up in the air and swallows my yelp with another kiss, this one open mouthed and so hungry that it makes my face flame up because there are still people cheering us nearby. I pull away with a gasp and Conor has the nerve to grin up at me.
“Never mind me, just marking my territory.”
“Cave troll.” I smack his shoulder but grin. “Let’s go find a different mistletoe to make out under.”
Laughing, Conor slides me down back on my feet and it’s when someone starts wolf whistling that I figure we better get ourselves occupied with something other than each other, or we’re going to start giving a show that will get HR on our case.
