Page 120 of Moonlight & Mayhem

“I coughed,” Red countered.

“That wasn't a cough,” Chris challenged.

“Seasonal allergies, then,” Red insisted. Chris narrowed her eyes, and Red grinned at her. “You know, for someone named Christmas, you're really shitty at the whole Christmas thing.”

“My mother had a sense of humor,” Chris grumbled.

“Apparently,” Red breathed. Chris reached up and yanked the mistletoe from the doorway. “Hey!”

“This is an MC clubhouse, not the North Pole,” Chris chided.

Blue walked past carrying a box filled with red ornaments. “Tempest said we could decorate.”

“Decorating is one thing.” Chris held up the mistletoe. “This is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Red laughed. “Pretty sure that's not how mistletoe works.”

“It is now.” Chris tossed it into the trash. “There.” Problem solved. She turned and nearly walked straight into a wall of leather and muscle. Chrome. Of course. Because apparently the universe hated her.

Silverfang's Enforcer stood less than a foot away, with arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing dark jeans, black boots, his Silverfang kutte, and a scowl. His dark hair was a little too long, and he wore that fucking smirk that always did wicked things to her girl parts.

Chris looked at him. “What?” she asked.

Chrome's gaze moved toward the trash can, and then back to her. “Nothing.”

“You're smiling,” she pointed out.

“I smile a lot,” he lied. She hadn’t seen him smile in a damn long time—since they had gotten back from Black Hallow.

“Not like that, you don’t,” she insisted.

“How am I smiling?” he asked.

“Like you're about to piss me off,” she said. His smirk widened, and she knew that she was in trouble.

“That might just be my face,” he insisted.

“Then you should work on it,” she spat. Chris stepped around him, and Chrome caught her elbow just enough to stop her. Her wolf reacted immediately with an annoying, inconvenient awareness that she always had when he was around.

Chris looked down at his hand, and Chrome released her. Smart man. “What?” she asked. He reached past her, into the trash, and Chris stared as he pulled out the mistletoe. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”

Chrome held it up. “You dropped this.”

“I threw it away,” she said.

“Seemed wasteful,” he whispered.

“Put it back in the fucking trash,” she ordered.

“No,” Chrome said.

“Chrome,” she said his name in warning, and all the big ape could do was stand there smirking at her.

His eyebrows lifted. “Christmas.” She hated it when he said her name like that. Most people called her Chris. But Chrome called her Christmas. Every. Fucking. Time. And somehow, he managed to make two syllables sound like a challenge.

She pointed toward the trash. “Put it back.”

Chrome looked at the mistletoe and then at the doorway, and back at her. “No.”