But I pretend I don’t hear a thing and turn my gaze up to Conner who is looking down at me with agorgeousgrin. He chuckles like we’re sharing an inside joke. We kind of are. “Right. That time in my parents’ boat house. I guess that’s the official moment, huh? God, that was a fucking perfect night.”
I nod, trying to imagine whatever he’s imagining doing tome in that boathouse. My face floods with heat. He leans in. “I love that it still makes you blush.”
And then… Conner Garrison kisses me. Not on my temple or the top of my head or cheek, but on the freaking mouth. And not a peck. A real, adult, honest-to-toe-curling-God kiss.
The kiss is soft but intense. His mouth opens slightly and his tongue teases my lips. It has my heart pounding like an unlatched screen door in a hurricane. Beckett clears his throat awkwardly. Heather huffs out a breath impatiently. “Umm, can you just please take your stuff, Mac? I have a party to plan.”
Conner pulls away and glances past Beckett to Heather. I’m fighting off a giant dizzy spell that’s from the kiss rather than the ample amount of champagne still pumping through my veins. “Yeah. Sure,” Conner says like it’s no big deal.
He untangles himself from me reaches for the box Beckett is holding and hands it to me. It feels heavy like it's filled with not only physical things but emotional baggage as well. I turn and place it on the bench in the entry. Conner reaches for the box Heather is holding and gives her a cool smile. But his voice is light and cheery as he says, "I should be thanking you. In fact, I am. Thank you for taking Beckett out of the picture so I could finally get a real shot at Mac."
Oh my God, is he for real? I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as Beckett’s face gets twisted grotesquely with… jealousy? No. Maybe? Conner keeps talking. “I’ve had a crush on her since I was nine.”
“You’ve known him since you were nine?” Beckett barks.
“I was fifteen. He was nine,” I clarify. “My father played with both Jordan Garrison and Devin Garrison and they were all friends off the ice. Didn’t your dad make any friends when he played?”
Beckett glares at me but doesn’t answer the question.
"Right. Cool. Well, you two better be going to plan that party," Conner remarks and reaches for the door.
“Do you guys want to come?” Heather asks.
Okay, this entire interaction has officially gone off the rails.
“To your party?” I ask, and I’m sure I look like I’m trying to incinerate her with my eyeballs. What kind of narcissistic, clueless monster invites the jilted ex to her party?
“It’s not Heather’s party,” Beckett explains rolling his dark eyes. “She’s on the committee that’s organizing it for the hospital. It’s a New Year’s party for the staff. You’ve gotten the email. Guess you ignored it, like everything else.”
"Beck, buddy, when Mac isn't at work I've been keeping her too busy to read emails. Sorry, not sorry." Conner shrugs that acidic smile on his perfect mouth again. "But yeah, we'll come to your little party. I'm sure she's allowed to bring her significant other, right?"
Beckett opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Heather nods. “Of course.”
I reach behind Conner like I'm wrapping an arm around his waist but I pinch the top of his very firm, very round, butt.Hard. I feel his whole body flex as he absorbs the pain but he doesn't flinch. And he doesn't back down. "We really appreciate the invite, Heather. We'll be there. With bells on."
I am going to murder Conner Garrison.
Chapter 6
Conner
“Jesus, you are more ornery than a wet cat,” I remark, which turns her into more of a hissing, spitting, angry little kitten. I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling because Mac’s super sexy this way.
“I amnotgoing to a party organized by the woman my ex-boyfriend left me for. Why would you even think to say yes?” She sits on a stool at the kitchen island, plants her elbows on the counter, and drops her head in her hands.
I grab an open bottle of red that looks like it’s been sitting on her counter for ages, yank out the cork, and pour some into the wine glass from our mimosas. “Drink this.”
She uncovers her pretty but pained face to look at the glass in my hand. She shakes her head. I lean over the island with my arm extended, pushing it closer to her. "That's the wine I use for cooking."
“Still wine. Drink it.”
“Alcohol doesn’t fix anything.”
“Sometimes you can’t fix everything and it’s a nice distraction,” I reply, and she stares at me with a look on her face that says things she’s too polite to say out loud. “Mac, I’m sorry. I justwasn’t going to let him think he had an ounce of power. He thinks you’re so upset you’re running from him.”
“Spoiler alert. I was. Iam.”
“Why?”