Page 1 of Mr. Mistletoe
Chapter One
Jess
Kyle’s a ten.
But he can’t take his eyes off his phone, so he’s a five.
At first glance, I could see why my brother set Kyle and me up on a blind date. Matt knows I like tall men. And Kyle is tall. He’s also handsome in a clean-cut traditional way, with a good job. He’s thirty-five and single.
But none of this matters, because his personality is currently MIA.
I’m giving him until halftime, then I’m calling an Uber.
As for Matt? He’s permanently off my Christmas card list.
A loud cheer explodes through the arena as the home team scores again. I jolt in my seat, pretending to care, but the truth is, I’d rather be at a museum, or a concert, or literally anywhere with fewer foam fingers. This basketball game was Kyle’s idea, and I’m beyond annoyed that he dragged me here just to ignore me.
I could use a drink. And a giant pretzel. Maybe an entire bottle of wine. As far as I’m concerned, the only good reason togo to a professional basketball game is the junk food and the people-watching.
“Kyle?”
He doesn’t look up from his phone, so I poke him in the shoulder.
A frown dents his forehead, like I just interrupted world peace negotiations. “Yeah?”
“You want a drink?”
“Huh?” He blinks, finally shoving his phone in his pocket. “Yeah. I could go for a beer. And some popcorn.”
He’s actually standing now, and I glimpse the tiniest sliver of hope for this date. Maybe it’s not doomed. Maybe he’ll notice my outfit. Maybe he’ll say something like,Wow, you look amazing in those jeans with hand-sewn gold and purple bees.
Spoiler: he doesn’t.
We walk to the concession stand, and Kyle makes an attempt at conversation. It’s about as lively as a dial tone. Two minutes in, he gives up and whips his phone out again like it’s an oxygen tank.
I’ve been on some bad dates. There was the guy who brought his mother. The guy who live-streamed our date “for the content.” And then there was the guy who plucked a hair out of my head and used it as floss. But this? This is up there with the worst of the worst.
I might give up dating forever. Mr. Right is either lost, trapped under something heavy, or simply not in my zip code.
All around us, happy couples and cute families glow with holiday spirit. It’s like being trapped in a live-action greeting card. At least people-watching gives me something to do while I wait in the slowest concession line known to humankind.
“Oh, look!” I tap Kyle’s shoulder. “It’s the King Bee. Let’s get a picture.”
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “Why?”
“Because it’s our first date,” I deadpan. “We need something to show our grandchildren.”
He doesn’t even flinch at the sarcasm. I could probably confess to a double life as an international jewel thief, and he wouldn’t hear me.
The line inches forward. Time crawls. My will to live slowly exits through the arena doors.
I spot an adorable family in matching holiday sweaters and a little girl dressed like a bee. I smile despite myself. Then my gaze drifts back to the Stingers mascot. I could get a great picture for my custom apparel business—me in my bee jeans with the King Bee. Good engagement bait.
I’m mentally workshopping captions—something cute and punny likebuzzing into the holidays—when I see him.
Oh my.
He is one tall drink of water. Correction: He is afull-on pitcher of lemonade on a hot summer day.
