Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The sign over the bar proclaims Hot Cocoa Tasting, and when Rachel sees it, she spins around with a beaming smile and a hand over her heart. “You so get me.” Another tally in the “win” column.
We amble closer to where the bar is offering spiked cocoa with names like Lick My Lips, Melt in My Mouth, and With Extra Cream.
“This is giving me all sorts of ideas,” I say.
“Oh, you already had those ideas,” she says.
“That is true.”
And one of those ideas involves mistletoe. Just wait till she sees.
Thirty minutes later, I’m camped out on the chichi black-and-white-striped couch in the corner, enjoying a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate spiked with Irish Cream, and time with Rachel. As she sets down her mug of Lick My Lips, she tells me about the store and how well it’s going this holiday season.
Such a welcome change from how she felt a few months ago.
Another welcome change? The Renegades’ record is no longer solid. It’s stellar, and knock on wood, we’re likely to snag a playoff spot.
“I think you’re my good-luck charm,” I tell her. “We haven’t lost at home since I made you mine.”
“Then I’d better keep coming to your games,” she says.
“And coming,” I say.
But before I get too caught up in innuendo, I want to show the world—or really, the world of Date Night—how to have an awesome holi-date.
I take out my phone, then tell her to turn to the bar. Yeah, I like to impress my girl.
Rachel
The bartender in the Santa hat calls out from behind the bar, “Time for a mistletoe moment for charity. If you want to raise money for rescue animals, be sure to look up and see if there’s a mistletoe near you, and if there is, feel free to have a kiss for the pets.”
A mischievous smile curves her lips as the bartender turns toward us, then lifts a red bucket on the counter. On the side of the bucket, words in white say: Singles for Kisses.
Carter’s gaze drifts up. There’s a sprig of mistletoe above us.
My breath catches.
How did I miss it? The mistletoe? Maybe because I was so caught up in talking to him. Not that I need an excuse to kiss my guy, but I will take it. Oh yes, I will.
With the phone recording, Carter says to the camera, “Now listen, I’ve maybe, possibly, kissed her a few times, but this is a reminder to all of you. At Christmas time, mistletoe is your best friend. It’s a better lubricant than alcohol. So use it.”
The other patrons chant: “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”
He doesn’t need their incentive, but I can tell he loves it because I do. I love his declarations. He makes them over and over for me. In private, yes, but in public, too, at games and in moments like this. Letting the world know I’m taken.
By him. Only by him.
He leans closer, taking his time. My heart speeds up. My skin tingles. I’ve kissed him a million times, and every time I want more.
He reaches me, brushes his lips to mine. His are lush, full, and I want to taste them deeply. But this is a kiss for the camera. It’s chaste. Borderline sweet. A whisper of a kiss, and still, I don’t want it to end. Even as the crowd claps and cheers, their voices barely register.
I’m too swept up in this kiss and what it might lead to later.
When Carter breaks it, he turns off the camera. “You know, Rachel, I’d like to know if you’ve been naughty or nice this season.”
“Which one do you want me to be?” I ask, breathless, turned on, and so ready.
“A good boyfriend would show you rather than tell you,” he says with a glint in his eyes.
We’re out of there faster than Santa’s sleigh.
Carter
In no time, we’re in her home, hastily shutting the door. I tug off that knit cap, then hold her face. “That hat is almost better than lingerie,” I admit in a husky voice.
“But you haven’t seen what lingerie I’m wearing tonight,” she says coyly.
“Doesn’t matter. You have been turning me on ever since we met at the bar,” I say. I press my body against hers so she can feel the truth of my words and my desire. I love showing her how much I want her. I never want her to doubt my desire or my love. Both are boundless.
When I drop my lips onto hers, I kiss her in a way I wouldn’t on camera. It’s hot and deep. It thrums through me everywhere, buzzing under my skin, racing through my veins, settling deep into my bones. But most of all, I feel it in the beating of my heart. Strong, passionate. And all for her. Every night.
We kiss for several minutes in a consuming, hungry way, with hands and bodies, sighs and groans.