She chuckles. "When you put it that way..."
"We've got this. The game is going to be huge. The fundraisers are bringing in money. The adoption applications are flooding in. Everything's going to work out."
"You sound very sure."
"That's because I am."
The door opens again and I glance over, my heart doing that little flutter thing when I see Ace walk in.
Our eyes meet across the bar for a brief second and he smiles, this small, private smile that's just for me. And I feel it everywhere.
But before either of us can move, Becker materializes at Ace's side like a ghost. "Perfect timing. Settle an argument."
"Oh God, what now?" Ace says, but he's already being pulled into the group.
I watch, amused, as he gets absorbed into whatever debate is currently raging.
Ace is trying to extract himself, I can tell. He keeps glancing my way, making these subtle gestures that his teammates are completely ignoring.
Finally, he says something—I can't hear what—and suddenly everyone's arguing even louder, completely distracted.
He catches my eye and jerks his head slightly toward the narrow hallway that leads to the employee area.
I wait a beat, making sure no one's paying attention—they're not, too busy yelling something about Bruce Willis—and then casually drift toward the hallway like I have very important business back there.
Myvery important businessis waiting in the shadows, leaning against the wall.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice low.
"Hey yourself."
He's got this little smirk playing at his lips, and his eyes are dark in the dim light, and I want to climb him like a tree.
"You summoned me?" I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
"I did." His smirk widens. "You owe me something."
I raise an eyebrow. "Owe you? That's bold."
"Mistletoe rules." He reaches up and I follow the movement, watching as he produces a sprig of mistletoe from behind his back, dangling it above our heads. "It's tradition."
I smack him on the chest, not hard, just enough to make a point. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"Debatable."
"Then debate this." He leans in and kisses me, and whatever smart-ass response I had prepared evaporates like it never existed.
The kiss starts soft but turns heated fast, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I go willingly, because I'm weak, and he's hot, and I have zero self-control when it comes to this man.
My hand slides down between us, finding the front of his jeans, palming him through the denim. He's already half-hard and getting harder by the second, and I squeeze gently just to hear the sound he makes—this choked-off groan that goes straight to my dick.
"Devon," he breathes against my mouth. "We're in public."
"Barely public. This is basically private," I whisper.
I'm about to kiss him again when Becker's voice cuts through the moment like a knife.
