Page 19 of Mr. Right Under the Mistletoe

Nick

Damn if Sydney Porter wasn’t the prettiest, sexiest, most amazing woman on the planet.

Too bad we worked together now. What could I do about that? I understood where Sydney was coming from—I was charming and all, but she wanted her career, too. She’d worked hard to get to where she was and didn’t want to blow that on a relationship.

Even if what we had was different, special.

I was gonna have to work this out—and fast—because Christmas was right around the corner and then we’d be back at the office and on the field and my time would be up.

I rolled my shoulders back, just like I did before a big game, took a few deep breaths. I could work this out, I just needed a minute to think.

“Nick, you ready to go?” my mom called up the stairs. It was almost time for the annual Ugly Sweater party at the Randall’s house down the street.

“Just a sec, Mom,” I said, sticking my head around the doorframe, then shutting the door behind me. I stared at the bathroom door, willing Sydney to come out. Nothing; quieter than a silent night.

“Syd? You ready?” I rapped lightly on the door.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Does the sweater not fit?”

“Oh, it fits.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Sydney opened the door and stepped out and my face broke into a wide grin.

“You look hot, what are you talking about?” I did a quick spin around her, nodding my approval. The sweater clung to her in all the right places and her ass looked great in her dark-rinse tight jeans.

“Meowy Christmas? Really?” She shot a disgusted look at the green sweater featuring a huge black and white cat wearing a Santa hat.

“What? I think that’s awesome. Mine’s not any better,” I said, pointing at the brown dog holding a microphone and singing “Feliz Navidog.”

She shook her head, her dark hair falling across her left eye. “You’re absolutely right. They’re both disasters.”

“Selfie time!” I cried, whipping out my cell.

“Wait—what? We said no pictures!” she cried, pushing the phone away.

“I said I wouldn’t post photos, I didn’t say I wouldn’t take them. Come on—this is a great photo op!”

“Fine,” she sighed, plastering a smile on her face and striking a pose. “You are so going to owe me after this, Nick.”

I snapped several pics, our faces pressed so close together I caught the scent of her rose perfume, the smell of her vanilla lip gloss. I resisted kissing it right off her lips since my mother was waiting on us.

“It’ll be fun, swear,” I said, snaking an arm around her waist, appreciating the feel of her soft curves against me.

“It better be because I’m not wearing something this festive for nothing.”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit, Syd?” I teased, nudging her in the ribs.

“The North Pole,” she deadpanned as we walked down the stairs.

“Don’t you two look great,” my mom said, smiling. “Your father already drove Gran over. She was very concerned about missing all the good canapes. I said we’d walk over.”

Sydney and I followed my mom out of the house into the chilly night air, our breath puffs of white against the jet-black sky. My mom locked the door, then we headed down the street to the Randall’s house. They lived four doors down from us, so we’d be there in two minutes, which was great because it was unseasonably cold.

“The Lighthouse Tour is going to be brisk,” my mom said, pulling her coat tight against her body to block out the wind. “I think I might pass on it if it’s this cold tomorrow night.”

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