Home > Mistletoe Kisses(8)

Mistletoe Kisses(8)
Author: Anna B. Doe

“Nope.” With a peck of a kiss, I push off him to stand so he can finish getting dressed. “I needed to meet with the trainers and decided to swing by to see you since I was nearby.”

I don’t even bother to hide the fact that my attention stays on him as he pulls a shirt on, but at least I manage to smother down the sound of disappointment when he does.

What? Don’t judge me. Honestly, it should be illegal for him to wear clothes.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Jake


I should probably feel guilty for breaking the cardinal rule of Never sleep with a teammate’s sister, but the moment I laid eyes on Jordan at Rookies, the sports bar the team frequents, I was a goner. In my defense, I didn’t know then that she was Ryan and Jase’s sister.

Hell, that night I thought it was Jase’s twin brother—you know, the one who doesn’t exist but who he led us to believe did—we were meeting.

Good times.

But as I watch my girlfriend crouch down to strategize and come up with the best plan of attack for the snowball fight that’s about to commence with my six-year-old sister Carlee, I can’t find a single part of me that feels at all bad about it.

I want to say choosing to love her was the smartest decision I ever made, but there was no choice in the matter. She was meant to be mine so I made it so.

“Why do I get the impression we shouldn’t have agreed to boys versus girls?” Tucker chances a glance over at where the five girls—and Sammy (the honorary member of the girl gang) to even out the numbers—are huddled together.

“Seriously, bruh…” Vince, the only guy here besides Sammy who isn’t on the hockey team, works to pack another snowball for our arsenal, keeping an eye on Skye and his sister Rocky as he does.

“You would think you’d be used to losing to my sister by now,” Sean, the youngest Donnelly, remarks.

“Ooo, burned by a six-year-old, Tuck.” Jase holds up a gloved hand for his younger brother to high-five. Sean does, jumping up and hitting his palm with a flourish.

As a group of guys in which the majority of us are used to studying plays in a playbook, I want to say we come up with a brilliant one to ensure our team’s victory in this. Sadly, we don’t. Not even our faithful captain can come up with a plan.

When the battle cry rings out it's pandemonium, snowballs fly, some hitting their intended target, most not even close.

Navy, my girlfriend’s black Labrador, enters the fray halfway through, jumping to swipe as many snowballs as he can from the air.

“Navy! You’re a boy—you’re supposed to be helping us,” Ryan shouts as the canine protects Maddey from a face full of snow.

“TRAITOR!” Jase bellows. “No more Milk-Bones for you.”

Musical giggling sounds and more than one set of eyes roll at his baseless threat. Jordan spoils the dog enough for three people, and that’s not counting what the dog gets from the kindergarten set with us.

We play until we’re breathless, the yards in front of both my and the Donnellys’ home nearly unrecognizable, the smooth snow-covered expanse now riddled with the evidence of battle.

Crouched behind Jordan’s white Corvette parked in the driveway, I’m thankful the snow is that perfect combination of fluffy and solid to make packing one last snowball easy. Left then right, I cup my hands until I have the perfect baseball-sized sphere.

The years I’ve spent in the crease make holding this half-squat position easy as I push up a little to peer over the car’s hood. Just behind the inflatable minion wearing a Santa hat, I see the blue pom of my girlfriend’s hat.

With all the stealth I can muster, I make sure to step in places where the snow has already been packed down from other footsteps, and I head in her direction.

The hot pink blob hiding next to Jordan should make me rethink my attack, but my sister will just have to be collateral damage. Besides, Carlee loves me; she’ll be quick to forgive.

A small gasp leaves Jordan’s lips as I hook an arm around her middle, spinning her to face me. They purse into a tempting O that brings to mind how perfectly they feel wrapped around my dick.

When I crash my snowball down on her head, her hazel eyes flare, golden fire flying my way as the frozen water rains down around her shoulders.

My own laughter swirls around us, and I loop my other arm over the curve of her hip until she’s cradled against me as close as our puffy snowsuits allow. I may end up paying for getting the best of her, especially given her affinity for revenge plots, but I can’t find it in me to regret it when she looks so damn cute.

Snowflakes cling to the ends of her mascara-coated lashes, and the tip of her nose has turned pink from the cold. I place a gentle kiss on it.

Her teeth pull the corner of her bottom lip between them, the sight of white digging into the plump pink flesh driving me as wild now as it did that first day I realized we were about to become neighbors.

However, unlike like that day, I’m free to claim them and give in to the urge to do so.

Watermelon-flavored pillowy-soft lips meet mine and yield to my ardent assault, the automatic hum of approval that always greets my kisses singing in the back of her throat and through my bloodstream.

Everything else fades away—the cold, the shouts of our friends, the occasional bark from Navy. Even the kissy noises Carlee makes are nothing but static.

I stroke my tongue along hers, the sweet taste of chocolate lingering from the marshmallow-laden drink she had before we decided to play outside.

Stroke for stroke.

Teeth nip for teeth nip.

I grind my hips into her stomach, both grateful and cursing the thick insultation of my snow gear when—

Sonofabitch! That’s fucking cold.

I jump back, stumbling and hopping around like I have ants in my pants, or…you know, snow, because I must have missed the snowball in Jordan’s hand when I pulled her to me. When I was getting lost in our kiss, my sadistic girlfriend acted like a sleeper agent and got me when I was least expecting it.

I wiggle around, shaking my ass like I’m doing some demented version of the chicken dance to rid my body of the last of the freezing stuff clinging to it. At least she went down the back of my pants and not the front. I may live my life out on the ice, but I don’t need to be getting frostbite on my junk.

My gaze falls on Jordan, one arm banded across her middle, the other draped around Carlee, the two of them falling to the snow in a fit of giggles. Fuck me. There’s no way for me to be mad when something as simple as a juvenile prank can make her that happy.

Still…

She’s lucky she’s so damn cute.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Jordan


Pocketing my phone, I find a pair of Uggs and slip them on before padding my way downstairs. The chorus of Christmas carols and rambunctious laughter greets me, alerting me to the reason behind Jake’s text.

Navy is in doggie heaven—not in the All Dogs Go to Heaven sense, thankfully, but in the snuggled between two six-year-olds who keep sneaking him the popcorn they should be stringing for garland sort of way.

Stopping at the edge of the living room, I wait until Mom meets my gaze then I gesture with a chin jerk so she knows I’m heading next door to the Donovans’.

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