Page 6 of Mistletoe Love Match
Doughnuts?
What was she talking about?
He frowned. “I don’t eat doughnuts, Mrs. Dagby. I only eat clean—apples, quinoa, kale—”
“—and doughnuts. You made an exception because it’s Christmas Eve,” Calliope chimed as she tore off a sheet of toilet paper and wiped his mouth like he was a toddler who’d just smashed his face into a bowl of spaghetti.
And then it hit him. He wasn’t covered in doughnut glaze. He had Calliope on his lips.
“You had four doughnuts, right, Alec? That’s why your lips are so shiny,” she continued with a devilish smirk. “You crammed them into your mouth like you’d never tasted anything so delicious in your entire life.”
Now she was messing with him.
But two could play that game.
“The doughnuts were delicious. I’ll give you that. I’m not sure I’d call them the best I’ve ever had. They were . . . adequate.”
Boom!
That wiped the sexy little smirk off her face.
Was he lying?
Yeah, he was. He fucking loved how she tasted, but Alec sure as hell couldn’t let her know that.
“Adequate?” Calliope repeated. She shifted her stance, and the movement swished her panties against the floor. He’d forgotten they had decorative gold rings on each side. The bits of metal scraped the ceramic tiles, and the damned cocoon of a hallway amplified the sound.
Panic jolted through him, and terror flashed in Calliope’s eyes. Before either could utter a reply, Louise’s gaze dropped to the ground.
“What’s that green fabric around your ankle, Calliope?”
Dammit!
He’d been so preoccupied going toe-to-toe with the maddeningly beautiful pantyless woman that he’d forgotten about running interference on the underwear situation.
Louise and Ralph stared at the emerald G-string.
“Is that a pair of underwear?” Louise pressed.
“Oh, those,” Calliope eked out like it was commonplace for one’s undergarments to spontaneously appear at one’s feet. “They must have fallen out of my . . . pocket. Yes, my pocket. They’re a Christmas present for . . .” She trailed off, but he had a brilliant idea and was right there to save the day.
“They’re for your granny Finola. You got your granny non-granny panties for Christmas—in a festive color, no less,” he supplied, and dammit, the whole granny-panty response had sounded a lot better in his head. But there was no going back now.
Calliope plastered on a grin that would put a beauty queen to shame. “Yep, sexy Christmas-tree-colored knickers for my granny. My granny loves ’em,” she added, then in a perplexing cheerleader-like movement, she kicked her panty leg. The underwear sailed through the air. They soared in a graceful arc and landed on . . . his face.
This could not get any worse.
He peeled the silk from his cheek and handed them to his partner in supply-closet crime. “You should have them gift-wrapped or find a festive bag and dress it up with a bow.”
Find a festive bag and dress it up with a bow?
Was he having an aneurysm?
He shifted his stance and noticed something strange—well, not quite as bizarre as having a pair of panties fly through the air and smack you in the face, but odd, nonetheless. “It’s awfully quiet in here,” he remarked.
“I don’t hear anything coming from the classrooms,” Calliope noted. “Are you closing early?”
“We are,” Ralph answered. “The snow has picked up, and we wanted our staff and volunteers to get home safely before the roads got too icy. Most everyone has cleared out. We just have to sign off on a delivery that should be here any minute, then we’re heading over to my sister’s house to celebrate Christmas Eve.”
