13. CONOR

CHAPTER 13

CONOR

" W ell, this got out of hand," I whisper at my reflection in the rearview mirror where half of my blood has collected.

As agreed, I'm waiting in my pickup and no matter how I sit, I can't seem to cool my face down. Or the rest of my body. And okay, she saw how into her I was, so whatever. It happens. I'm a man who is into women, with a special focus on the complicated ones. The real problem is that I need to make the drive back to work as comfortable as possible, because otherwise she's going to freak out.

And with reason. We're just coworkers after all. That kiss shouldn't even have happened.

I turn the heating off and roll the windows down. Surely the cold will help. Hopefully.

I drop my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. Sierra felt so perfect in my arms, like a lock and key that are an exact match. It doesn't matter that I almost had to pick her up from the floor to kiss her properly—she gives back as good as she gets and shit, she was really into it. Just as much as I was. The sounds she made, the taste of her mouth …

I groan and then choke in my own saliva when I remember what she said about that.

"Conor, you asshole. You're not helping yourself."

I rub my forehead. I better get my shit together real quick because she'll get in my car any second now.

"Think about bad things," I tell myself. "Stepping on a puddle in your socks. A puck to the teeth. Not getting a ten thousand dollar bonus and the promotion…" It almost feels like it's starting to work until Sierra's figure appears in the parking lot.

She's fully decked in winter gear and all I can see is her pink nose above her scarf, her dark eyes fixed on my truck, and a mass of wild—and extremely soft—curls that escape from under her beanie. That's it. And it's enough for my hormones to go hello again .

Quick, I take off my glasses and close my eyes tight because maybe if I don't see her, I can stop fantasizing. But then she opens the passenger door and her scent invades my nose again. I casually prop my elbow on the door and rub my face as she hoists herself into the car.

"Okay, I decided to put on my big girl pants and told the clerk the truth. She took it surprisingly well." Sierra twists on the seat to buckle up. "But as I was talking with her, I had a horrible realization."

"Huh? What."

She was able to think about anything other than the fact that we just ate each other's mouths?

Sierra takes what I feel is too dramatic a pause before speaking. "Wait, why do you have the windows down? It's freezing here."

I mumble something incoherent because I'm not about to explain when clearly I'm the only one who is still hot and bothered. Maybe this kiss wasn't a big deal to her, which—fair. It was just mistletoe, not like I took her on a date with the intent of starting something. Shit, even if I had, it's her prerogative whether she feels anything for me or not.

And who do I think I am? For a moment there my head really took off by itself, huh? Why the hell would Sierra get all shaken by me? I'm the most awkward turtle I know. I sure didn't rock Nikki's world enough for her to stay with me, and Sierra's a far cooler woman. She's hardworking, honest even if it hurts, and decisive. The entire opposite of my ex.

Snorting softly, I crank up the heat until Sierra stops shivering. I don't need the cold anymore. I just cooled my jets without help.

"So, what's the horrible realization?" My voice comes out raspy, as if that part of my anatomy had yet to recover. I clear my throat slightly.

Sierra picks up the conversation without missing a beat. "Well, you know how we keep talking about booth this, booth that?"

"Yeah?"

"Conor, we don't have any booths."

I stop firmly at the stop sign, partially because I have to and also so I can look at her. "Shit."

"Right."

"Uhh, how many do we need?"

After pausing to count with her gloved fingers, she says, "At least six but maybe more. It depends on how many food and beverage stations we need."

"And they'd be pretty big too, so I'm not sure how long each would take to make."

"Yeah, pretty big." But she says this while looking out of the window. "Tell you what, divide and conquer. I'll look for the DJ and you take care of the booths."

"Why do I feel like I got the short end of the stick?"

Sierra sighs. "Fine, whoever finishes first can help the other one. Besides, we'll both have to put equal elbow grease into the props."

"Are we, uh, still working on those at my place?"

Silence.

Great job, sucker, you just made it real awkward .

I'm about to repeat Richard's words that we have to keep everything a surprise but remix them with the new tune of and-there's-no-mistletoe-in-my-cottage-so-no-shenanigans-will-happen, which I'm sure is going to reassure her and not make this silence heavier at all.

"Yep." Sierra pops the p extra hard. "No way we're doing this at my parents's." I feel her laser beams turn to me.

"That's okay, we definitely don't want to inconvenience them."

"How come you're not weirded out that I still live with my parents like everybody else?"

I shrug. "I moved back in with Gramps right after the accident and only bought my property after I started working at SPORTY . Everybody has their circumstances."

"It's a culture thing. My parents will only let me leave the house when I'm happily married to someone they approve of." She chuckles under her breath. "Joke's on them, I don't have enough money to rent out on my own either."

"Eh, being on your own isn't what it's cracked up to be." And since that makes me sound a tad too pitiful, I add, "You have to clean and cook all by yourself, and even have to chop your own wood, you know?"

"Oh, I've already been doing that since I was a kid, both of my parents work like horses. It's why that promotion would really make a difference for me… I'd go from doing chores in one house for three people, to one apartment for one."

We're pulling into SPORTY's parking lot and I wait until I park the truck at an available spot before opening my mouth. " Yeah, sorry. I'm not giving up on the promotion. I have my own plans for the extra pay."

She lets out that throaty laugh of hers. "Fine, I thought I'd at least try."

I turn off the car and welcome the freezing cold air outside, inhaling it into my lungs. It still doesn't smell like ice, though, so we'll have to wait some more for the first snow.

Sierra's already walking ahead of me through the parking lot and I catch up quickly with my longer strides. "So…" I trail off for a moment. "Are we starting this weekend, then?"

"We should." Sierra nods. "Which means we have to get the equipment from Camila Puig ASAP."

We both cringe.

Listen, I'm all for powerful women. Heaven knows how attracted I am to the one walking beside me in this frozen parking lot. However, Camila is a step over that. She's fear in stilettos—as in she induces fear and could stab you with her stilettos for saying the wrong thing in her presence. I have no doubt that she'll be CEO in a couple of years, and make SPORTY the top athletic brand in the whole galaxy in just as long.

My plan of a long and happy career is to not incur her wrath.

"Tag, you're it," I say.

"No way. We're both doing that one toge—" But she finishes the word in a yelp.

My body reacts before I even realize what's happening. Or I guess I saw the signs during the walk and my amygdala's taking care of the rest.

I pivot on my heels and stretch out my arm. Sierra lands on it instead of the hard asphalt, as she would have if she'd been all alone when she slipped. I wrap my other arm around her to fully stop her momentum. Her face's scrunched up, waiting for a painful impact and when it doesn't come, she cracks one eye open to find my face right above hers.

"You okay?" I ask.

Her other eye pops open too. She blinks hard. "Um. Thank you. Yes."

I hold her tighter against me to avoid any chance of slipping again and haul her back to her feet. "Careful, it's slippery," I say with a chuckle.

She smacks my chest.

Still grinning, I pull away and this actually puts us in the same position as when we were about to kiss under the mistletoe. Maybe Sierra's realized the same because her eyes catch on my mouth and my muscles tense. But then she's stepping back and checking the ground.

"Well, hopefully I make it to the building in one piece now." Another laugh, this time an awkward one.

"Right. Yeah."

I hang back a pace or two to watch out for her, and also because I don't want her to see that my face is flaming up again. Is this going to be my life now? One kiss from the woman and now every time she's near, my face is going to give me away?

"Hey, I have something to do. You go ahead," I mumble once we're in the lobby.

She casts a glance over her shoulder and nods. "Sure, take your time."

I do. I take as much time as I need to behave. It includes washing my face with freezing cold water three times and taking a walk around the whole building. By the time I make it to the marketing team, I'm no longer at risk of being pulled into the infirmary.

Richard calls out from his office. "Ah, Conor. We were waiting for you."

We? And then I notice Sierra standing beside him, and they're the only ones in the office right now. She motions at me to hurry with her hand, which makes me think this must be about the event. I jog the rest of the way and stop before our boss' desk.

"Sierra here was telling me that you guys still haven't found a decent venue, which works out with the news I have."

She and I exchange a glance and I say, "Oh?"

"I explained the situation to Martin and we definitely can't set up your grandfather's rink as a vendor in our system because it's a conflict of interest."

I can feel Sierra still looking at me but I don't know how to react to this.

Richard keeps talking. "However, we found a loophole."

My heart kicks a little, just like it does when I'm starting a morning run. Or like it did when Sierra pulled me down to kiss her.

"Yeah?" I stuff my hands in my joggers, aiming for casual disinterest and probably fooling no one.

"We can use the community contribution payment category, and it'd be well justified. I did a little research and Conrad's Rink has been a landmark of this town's history, even produced our very first professional hockey player here present."

"Former," I mutter.

"Anyway, Martin thinks it makes it extra special around the holiday, so congratulations lady and gentleman, you have found yourselves a venue."

"Great, I'll just use my lunch break now to talk with the owner." I try my hardest not to smile but fail.

"You do that. And get a fair price out of him too."

I'm not sure if he means fair to my grandfather or to the company. Although I guess the definition of fair would be both ways.

That doesn't matter. I do my best not to vibrate with excitement as I trace my steps back to the elevator. Even if it's a one-time thing, I'm sure this will make Gramps rethink closing down the place.

*

"No."

My eyes bulge. Gramps stands by his desk and I do the same opposite to him, which is probably a good thing because he looks like he may wring my neck otherwise.

"What do you mean no ?"

"It's the easiest word in the planet, kid. That particular letter combination means it's not gonna happen."

"Gramps." I lean over his desk and rest my hands against it. "A large sum of money will fall right on this desk. It will help us work through a good chunk of the overdue bills. It'd be a great start to a new revenue stream of private events, which in turn will help us hire more temps so you don't have to do everything by yourself. We might even"—I take a deep breath—"replace the geriatric Zamboni that makes a whirring sound when it runs."

"That Zamboni belongs in a junkyard, just like me. I want to retire."

"But—"

"No, you try working for sixty four years and have a young buck come tell you that you can't retire."

"I'm not saying you can't retire, Gramps. I'm just saying the place doesn't have to close down when you do."

"I want to close it down!" I reel back because Gramps never yells, and yet that's exactly what's happening. "I'd raze it to the ground if I could and then pour kerosene on every damn pile of debris and burn it to ashes."

My mouth opens. "What?"

Huffing, he lowers himself slowly until he plops the rest of the way on his chair. "This is where I taught you everything about hockey and made you dream big, and it's no replacement for the dream I put in your head. It's best if it disappears altogether."

"So this is my fault." I bark the words and it makes him look up. "You closing this place and ruining a bunch of little kids's dreams because I lost mine is sure to make me feel better, huh?"

And there it is, the ugliness that had been brewing between us that neither wanted to face.

I pick myself back up and shake my head. "I don't care if this makes me a coward, but I'm going to remove myself from this conversation before I say something a lot damn spicier than that. Call me when you change your mind."

Gramps doesn't stop me on my way out. And he also doesn't call me back.