Page 82 of The Pocket Pair

“On a balcony,” Chevy says drily, turning back to me and shaking his head slightly.

“Look up, doofus.” Pat slams the door as Chevy and I both do as Pat asked, almost instinctively.

A big leafy thing is dangling above our heads. Mistletoe? I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever seen the real stuff, but I’m guessing that’s what this is. Or, rather, what it’s supposed to be.

My gaze follows the string holding it up. Not a string—a fishing wire. Attached to a fishing pole, which is in the hands of someone I can’t see, standing on the roof, just out of sight.

“Really?!” I practically shout. “A fishing rod with mistletoe?”

“That’s not even mistletoe,” Chevy says. “I think that’s a small bush. I see the roots.”

Now that he mentions it … I think he’s right. The fishing line dips a little, and a sprinkling of dirt falls over our shoulders.

“It’s mistletoe in spirit,” a gruff voice from above calls.

“James?!” Chevy and I call in sync.

“Winnie made me. Now get on with it. My arms are tired.”

James clears his throat dramatically above, and when I peer back over Chevy’s arm, I see the faces in the window. Still watching, though now, a little more restlessly. They’re starting to look antsy now, like the line of Black Friday shoppers when the doors don’t open right on time.

Chevy maintains his stance, blocking me from view of the people still pressed up against the window. I appreciate the gesture because I feel very much like we’re on a tiny stage with the whole world watching.

“Maybe if we ignore them, they’ll go away?” I offer hopefully.

“They’ll go away if you give the people what they want,” James says.

“We shouldn’t be surprised by this,” Chevy murmurs, low enough that James can’t hear. “This is so very Sheet Cake.”

“A bunch of Peeping Sheeters,” I say, and he laughs.

The balcony door opens again, but I don’t look this time, keeping my gaze steadily on Chevy’s expression, which I’m finding hard to read.

“The people have spoken, and the people demand a kiss,” Pat calls.

Chevy blows a raspberry that turns into a laugh. “Subtle, man.”

It is no more subtle when the entire party starts chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” I have to wonder if Winnie is somewhere with noise-canceling headphones on, rocking and telling herself it will all be over soon. She might have set this up, but I doubt she’ll want to watch.

The truth is, I want to kiss Chevy badly enough that I don’t even care if people are watching. Or that they’re pushing this. Sure, I want Chevy to want to kiss me. But I’ll take whatever I can get.

Chevy raises his voice. “Simmer down, y’all. Why don’t you mind your own business!”

They do not hear him or do not care. I’m not sure which, but the chanting continues. The tiny shred of hope that maybe this stupid push from our friends would make Chevy cross this line starts to flicker and fade as we just stand here. Not kissing.

I’m about to give up all hope and collapse in a puddle of self-loathing when Chevy’s expression shifts from resignation to something more like determination. And then, suddenly, he’s coming in hot.

One of his hands slides around my waist to press against my lower back while the other tangles in my hair. He cups my head gently as he tilts me back toward the railing. He dips me, and I only have time to register the wild way my nerves are thrashing and my pulse is whooshing when Chevy tilts his face toward mine.

I close my eyes, but his mouth never reaches mine. Instead, his lips find my cheek as he whispers fiercely.

“Tiny, if I kiss you for real, it’s not gonna be because our friends pushed us into it. Or because we happen to be standing under a fishing rod holding a small shrub posing as mistletoe.”

He pauses, and my breath shudders. An electric hum snakes its way down my spine until I feel lit all the way in my toes.

“To all of them, it probably looks like we’re making out. Are you good with that? Because, if so, they’ll probably shut up.”

“Yes?” The murmured question is about all I can get out right now.

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