Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I scowl. “Niceness will get you nowhere.”
He grabs a mini candy cane from a silver bowl by the door. “Here you go. Something you like. Plus, it’ll shut you up.”
Dammit. Candy canes are my kryptonite. “Fine,” I say, but grudgingly.
“Good man.” Miles pats my shoulder again. “Now, we need to go say hi to our women. Don’t start any fights or throttle any trees while we’re gone.”
“Check out the auction list,” Tyler suggests. “We’ll catch up with you soon.”
I wave them off, satisfied with a candy cane for company for now. I toss the crinkly wrapper in a discreet trash can and scan the room. If possible, it’s even more glittery than the lobby, and nutcrackers are everywhere, even on the edge of the stage.
The one thing I don’t mind about the holidays is the food. I’ve got zero problems with treats or sweets, and I’m pretty sure there are some of those snowball cookies calling my name from a long table draped with a white, mistletoe-patterned tablecloth.
I stroll along the spread of sweet and savory hors d’oeuvres, from chocolate orange ganache cookies to bruschetta with arugula and sundried tomatoes. I ignore the toast points with brie and cranberries, zeroing in on the raspberry thumbprint cookies right next to the punch bowl.
At the end of the table, where I can’t miss them, despite my focus on food, are folded cardboard table tents for the auction items.
A holiday lights tour, chauffeured in a horse-drawn carriage. Pass. No way the horses would like that.
Mistletoe installation service to ensure no spot in your home is without holiday romance. Please. I’d rather take a puck to the eye.
Signed memorabilia from the Sea Dogs, including pucks and jerseys from yours truly, the team’s most badass defenseman. That’s a great gift for anyone, but I can’t bid on that and deny a fan.
A VIP suite for a women’s pro hockey game. Now, that’s cool and maybe worth bidding on. They play their hearts out in every game.
I squint at the next table tent.
Find your mistletoe love.
I snort, but since it’s next to the punch bowl, I read the description.
Looking for the perfect gift this holiday season? Treat yourself—or someone special—to an exclusive matchmaking package from Cupid’s Confidante. With a proven history of creating real connections, Cupid’s Confidante will help you find the one who’ll make your holiday sparkle. Because nothing pairs better than romance and holiday cheer!
I roll my eyes so far back that I could see the door behind me if my skull wasn’t in the way. “That is the most pointless thing I’ve ever seen,” I mutter around the candy cane in my mouth. “Who’d bid on fucking romance?”
A throat clears. A pretty voice, like bells, says, “I would.”
I freeze. Those two words hang in the air like a puck mid-slap shot. I didn’t even know anyone was there, let alone someone with a voice so dangerously familiar.
I look up, and yep, it’s Isla Marlowe, Jason’s sister. Waves of lush chestnut hair. Bright blue eyes. Glossy lips. A red sweater with a snowflake right across her chest. She’s the absolute last person I expected to see here. She’s also the person I’ve had an irritating, annoying, infuriating crush on for longer than I want to admit. I used to listen to her dating podcast religiously while I worked out. Then a year ago, I realized I was addicted to the sound of her voice, not just the advice she doled out to callers, and forced myself to stop listening.
Facing her now, I want to say hey. Something casual, maybe even cocky. But I’ve forgotten about the candy cane. When I open my mouth, it launches with a spectacular twang and plops dead-center in the punch bowl.
There’s a long moment of silent horror as we stare at the candy, bobbing like a shepherd’s crook in a red sea of Christmas punch.
My reflexes kick in, and lightning fast, I grab the ladle, scoop the candy cane out, and look for someplace to put it. If no one noticed, then no harm, no foul, right?
I look for a place to stash the evidence, but Isla reaches across the table and wraps a slim hand around my forearm. “Rowan! You can’t just do that.”
“Um, five-second rule. Pretty sure we were still in the window.”
“It was in your mouth! The punch is already ruined.”
I don’t think, I just say, “My mouth doesn’t ruin anything, sweetheart.”
Her gaze drops to my lips for a second, then she snaps her focus back to my eyes. For a beat, the silence stretches between us. Not sure what she’s thinking. But what I’m thinking?
It’s a problem.
Because you can’t do a damn thing about a crush on your best friend’s sister.
2
THE PUNCH PLAN
ISLA
On the one hand, I can’t believe Jason’s best friend would say something so rude about a fantastic matchmaking package.