Page 28 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“Fine. I’m notalwaysan asshole,” he conceded. There were people who liked him. His clients. His bosses—at least they had until he’d brought shame to the firm. His family. Probably.
She gave a noncommittal grunt and surprised him by taking the chair opposite him.
He poked the food in front of him with a fork.
“Eat and talk, Shufflebottom. I have things to do today.”
The final few pieces of last night’s blurry puzzle fell into place. He rubbed a hand over his throbbing head. “You think I’m Ryan Shufflebottom.”
“For the love of God, man. We’re not doing this dance again,” she groaned.
“I’m RyanSosa. Ryan Shufflebottom is my dumbass cousin. And if you thinkI’man asshole, you should meet him.”
The eggs flew off her fork and landed with a splat on her plate. If those blue eyes got any wider, he might fall into them.
“You’re freaking kidding me,” she said.
He shook his head then stopped when the motion made him dizzy. “His mom and my dad are brother and sister.”
“And you’re both named Ryan?”
He grimaced. “It’s a big, competitive family. We’ve got two Ryans, three Katelyns—different spellings—and four Georges. You should see the family reunions. We’ve got nametags with family trees.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So you really weren’t my first kiss?” He thought it was rather rude that she looked thrilled over that fact.
“I’ve never been to Blue Moon before last night. And if I kissed you, you’d know it,” he added.
She leaned back in her chair, her knee accidentally nudging his under the minuscule excuse for a table. “Thank freaking God,” she breathed.
Definitely offended now, he reached for her coffee again. “Excuse me. I’m anexcellentkisser.” He pushed back against her leg.
“Yeah. Sure,” she scoffed, clearly not believing him. But she didn’t move her knee.
“I am highly skilled at delivering all levels of pleasure.” he said around a bite of toast.
“Your mouth is in a perma-scowl, which isn’t remotely kissable. There’s nothing sweet and romantic about you. You’re too growly and grumpy.”
“Growly and grumpy is part of my charm,” he insisted. “Besides, romance is overrated.”
“Is that your personal mantra or just your central belief system?” she asked smugly.
He pointed his fork at her. “You’re one of those Christmas movie fans, aren’t you? Everything’s so sweet and romantic and boring and predictable.”
That was exactly what Dr. Sammy Ames was looking for. A small-town good guy who threw flour during completely unrealistic cookie baking fights. Growly and grumpy would never be the star of one of those stories. Besides, Ryan was too practical to throw flour. It took forever to clean up.
“You’re a corporate accountant. I bet you worship boring and predictable,” she shot back.
She had a point, and that annoyed him.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked around a bite of toast.
“Right, becauseI’mthe one with the problem.” She looked more amused than annoyed.
“You’re one of those hopeless romantics,” he told her with disdain.
She laughed in his face. “That’s theworstthing you can say about me?”
“It’s the worst thing I can say about anyone.”Okay, that wasn’t true, but he knew arguments were built and won on vehemence, not facts.“What’s wrong with being pragmatic, practical? Why is a sense of responsibility not sexy? Why should we as adults make one of the five most important choices in life based on stupid butterflies that—let’s be real—are just gas in the digestive system.”
