Page 2 of Mr. Mistletoe
The man heading toward the concession line isn’t dressed for the holidays or the home team. Instead, he’s in plain jeans and a sweatshirt. I can’t peel my eyes off him.
Long legs. Broad shoulders. Strong jaw. Warm brown eyes that promise a wicked good time.
He moves through the crowd with that quiet, unbothered confidence that signifies athletic superiority. People shift for him without him even noticing.
I’m staring. IknowI’m staring. And I can’t stop.
God, he’s gorgeous.
The line creeps forward. Kyle orders popcorn and a beer without even glancing at me. I, on the other hand, am practically narrating a rom-com trailer in my head starringMr. Broad Shoulders.
And then, because the universe has a sense of humor, I knock into Kyle. His popcorn cascades down the front of his shirt like buttery confetti, landing all over the tile floor.
“Oh my,” I say, heat creeping up my cheeks as people turn to stare.
Kyle glares down at the mess. “Seriously?”
“I’m so sorry.” I dab a napkin at his shirt.
Kyle pulls away. “You’re making it worse.”
I try to lighten the moment with a joke. “Hey, at least now you match the floor.”
Kyle doesn’t think it’s funny. But behind me in line, Mr. Tall Drink of Water chuckles—just loud enough for me to hear. The sound sends a buzz of awareness zinging down my spine.
Even his laugh is sexy.
“Unbelievable,” Kyle says, throwing his hands up. “Your brother said you were clumsy, but I didn’t believe him.”
The words sting. I mumble an apology and crouch to pick up what can’t possibly be salvaged.
Kyle grumbles something about cleaning up, thrusts the greasy bucket into the trash, and storms off toward the bathroom.
The crowd parts to let his bad mood through, and that’s when Tall, Dark, and Handsome steps in.
Chapter Two
Clark
I hatethe look on her face—like she wants to vanish. She’s too stunning to ever disappear in a crowd.
She’s taller than almost everyone else, and her high heels make her even taller. Gotta respect a woman who doesn’t mind being the tallest person in the room.
“Hey,” I say, stepping up when it’s my turn at the counter. “One large nacho, extra cheese. And…” I glance at her. “Popcorn for her.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“My pleasure.” I pay before she can argue.
When the worker slides the second bucket across, I offer it to her. She accepts slowly, like she’s not sure if this is real.
Her head tilts back to look at me. “Wow. You’re tall.”
I laugh. “Takes one to know one.”
Her mouth quirks. “I’m five eleven. And people never let me forget it.”
“Six five,” I reply. “So I get it. Ceiling fans and I aren’t on speaking terms.”
