22. SIERRA

CHAPTER 22

SIERRA

I must be running a fever and this is all a hallucination. That would explain everything from the chills running through my body, to the heat all over my skin that makes my clothes feel too scratchy, to what just happened.

Did Conor Mahoney just allude to feeling something for me?

I'm not delusional enough to convince myself he'd say something like that to any other coworker. It was too pointed. Too sweet. Too much like something straight from my deepest fantasies. That's the part that trips me up and makes me wonder if this is all a figment of my imagination.

As I sit back on the bench, staring at his bent down head as he loosens my skates, I pinch my cheek hard just to make sure. Wincing, the pain confirms I'm very much awake.

A grumble sounds nearby, and it's from Gramps. He walks over to us, shaking his head, but instead of coming to the bench, he keeps going until he hits the ice with way steadier legs than mine. "Have to do everything around here. Too distracted."

His grandson's ears are as red as can be. I have to sit over my hands so I don't run them through his hair and tilt his head back so I can kiss him. I have something important to say to him before that.

"I got it from here," I say as Conor's about to put on my boots for me.

"Okay." He sits back on his haunches and his eyes avoid mine. "Guess I'll go change, too. Meet you out in the corridor."

"Ah, yes." I watch him rise with the agility of a gymnast and he walks away even faster, carrying the skates I borrowed in his hand. The back of his neck is burning too, and I have to press a hand against my mouth so I don't squeal or laugh or something embarrassing like that.

He's so damn cute, I could die.

Quickly, I put on my boots again and run out of the arena, somehow expecting him to be ready and waiting for me at an inhuman speed. I pause just beyond the last row of seats and take several deep breaths. Conor just put himself out there and I'm about to do the same, big time.

I've never done this. I've never met a guy that made me want to take an Olympic swan dive into his arms. No one has ever made me feel this safe, while at the same time making me burn up with just a glance. I didn't even think it was possible, especially for someone like me. And that's why I have to make sure that Conor knows what he's buying into, because my name is not quite on the nice list.

Conor appears through the doorway that leads to the offices, one hand in the pocket of his training pants, the other one rubbing his beard, eyes cast down like he's deep in thought. And if I go by his hunched over shoulders, I can't imagine they're the happiest thoughts right now.

I wring my hands, nerves fluttering as he approaches. I open my mouth but he speaks faster.

"Shall we start taping? "

I close my mouth so fast that my teeth make a sound. Then I remember leaving my backpack with the supplies behind. "Right. Let me get my backpack."

I rush back to the stands and find it on the original seat I took while I watched the class. As I pick it up, I observe Gramps dumping pucks into a basket and his shoulders shake, like he's either crying or laughing.

Laughing, I confirm as he turns to take the basket over to the bench. I don't need two guesses to know whose expense it's at.

I skip back out to the corridor, where Conor's using a measuring tape to check the span of a booth from the corner nearest to the entrance. "Got the tape?" he asks, his back to me.

"Yes, sir." I unzip my backpack and grab the first roll of masking tape I can find. "Let's do this."

He keeps the measuring tape in place as I crouch down to mark the spot. Conor removes his hand right before mine brushes it and I freeze. But he's already standing back up to run the measuring tape out, tracing the perimeter of the space the booth will take up in the hallway. He lifts his eyes to mine when he finally notices I'm not moving.

"Sierra?"

My ears roar and I can't hear what he says after my name. Slowly, I get back up and walk over to where he stands, unfurling the masking tape as I go. My mind races back through what's happened, like a film montage in rewind, until I reach the exact moment when his mood shifted.

It was when he kind of admitted that he might be into me, and I panicked a bit before Gramps interrupted.

Did Conor take that as a rejection?

It's okay. I can fix this. I guess I won't have to wait until January to hash this out. I just need to find the right words to do this correctly .

We work in silence for a while and successfully tape up the blueprint of the first booth. He's the one who breaks through the quiet. "Wait, which booth is this one going to be? Maybe we should note that down too so we don't have to think on the day of."

"Good idea." I tear a strip of masking tape and put it on the wall where it'll be most visible. I shrug my backpack off to search for a pen or marker. "Since this is the welcome booth, what do we want people's first impression to be?"

"Alcohol?" I see him lift a shoulder from the corner of my eye, and he's still looking at the floor like it's the most interesting thing.

"We could even cordon it off to keep the rest of the hallway off limits, and direct everyone from booze to getting fitted for skates, then to hitting the ice to find their group for the activities," I say in a firm tone of voice, pretending that I'm actually paying attention to the work we're doing, and not like my every cell is tuned up to him.

"Good idea." He slides over to stretch the tape from wall to wall. "Do we cordon off here?"

"Looks about right." I finally find a marker at the bottom of my backpack and uncap it to scribble over the tape. "Would that be safe, though? People skating right after hitting the booze booth?"

"It's okay, we're capping the amount of drinks per person for each round. Besides, they'll have to do the full course of games to reach the booze booth again."

"See? We're a great team." I offer him a smile that morphs into a bit of a grimace when he just blinks at me without any further reaction. I cap my marker back up and let the strap of my backpack slide down my arm, until I just toss it on the floor. "Hey, Conor?"

He clears his throat. "Yeah?"

"Remember when we weren't a team at all? "

"What?"

I uncap the marker and cap it again. "I still do. I was super rude to you and it wasn't even once or twice. It was two solid years of acting like total a jerk around you up until virtually yesterday."

He runs a hand through his hair, watching warily as I take a step closer to him. I fiddle with the marker in my hand, biting my lip until I can speak again.

"I've been meaning to apologize properly but…" I force myself to lift my chin and meet his eyes, even though what I really want to do is pull my beanie down until it hides my entire face—or my whole body, if it could. "The thing is, I had a plan in my head to first, tell you how truly sorry and ashamed I am at my own behavior. And then, take my time to show you that I'm worth keeping around with concrete actions."

Conor's eyes widen slightly, like he recognizes the words as his own. "Wait, what?"

I don't think I need the marker as a clutch anymore, so I stuff it in the pocket of my coat and take a bold step closer to him. It brings me so close I have to tilt my head all the way back.

"I wanted to make sure that this, all the sparks between us, weren't just because we once kissed under the mistletoe. That they're there beyond the Christmas season."

"Sierra, I—" His hands slowly rise to clasp my arms, and then he pulls me flush against him. Conor's forehead rests on mine as he whispers, "I guarantee what I'm feeling for you isn't just Christmas magic."

"Oh, good. Then I won't have to hang this over you two."

We both turn.

Gramps is just a few paces from us, close to the main entrance, and in his hands he holds a bunch of mistletoe wrapped in ribbon. He gives a big sniff. "And I'm really glad, because this thing gives me allergies."

My jaw drops.

"Gramps!" Conor's hands abandon me to cover his red face. His voice comes out muffled. "Are you going to keep interrupting?"

"Sorry, sorry. You're just stressing me out with how damn slow you're moving. You had so many chances to kiss the girl out there on the ice, you fool."

Conor drops his hands to glare at his grandfather. "And I'm glad I didn't, because I'm not going to kiss Sierra in front of you."

"Bah." Gramps waves a hand. "Do you think I don't know how it goes? I produced your father, in case you—" He's interrupted by a thunderous sneeze. Gramps shakes his head hard and runs the back of his sleeve across his nose. "You two carry on, I'm going to go toss this wretched thing."

With that, he turns around and leaves out the front door.

I feel Conor's fingers lace between mine and he tugs at me. "Come with me, before he returns to keep inflicting severe embarrassment on me."

Chuckling, I follow him across the corridor and into the office area. Conor pulls me into the main office and leans his back against the door, locking it behind him with his free hand just in case.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I take him in, his shoulders wide enough to almost span the width of the door, the lock of brown hair falling over his forehead, those whiskey colored eyes boring into mine.

I pull my hand from him, but only so I can step closer until my legs are between his and our bodies flush. I splay the palms of my hands on his chest and that activates something in him, the part that makes him cinch his hands around my waist.

Conor leans down and my eyes flutter closed, lips parting to welcome his. But instead of kissing me, he whispers, "Sierra, I'm a bit freaked out right now."

"What?" My eyes snap open. "Why?"

His teeth rake over his lower lip. "Because I'm falling for you so fast and so hard, I'm scared I'll crash into pieces."

"You won't." I run my hands up his chest, to his neck and jaw, mapping the sheer size of him, his heat, the softness of his skin, willing it to imprint itself into my muscle memory. I pull him down until our lips brush, and I feather my words against his. "Not when I'm on a free fall too."

Conor holds the back of my head as his lips close around mine, molding perfectly as if our mouths were made for each other. My chest vibrates with a satisfied little sigh like it does every night when I crawl into bed after a long day. But this is different, because being in Conor Mahoney's arms feels like I'm waking up to life.

I rise on my tippy toes, trying to get as close as I can but it's not enough. Nothing feels enough. I rake my fingers through his hair, trying to pull him closer. Conor takes the hint and works his jaw a little harder, his tongue caressing my lips to coax them open. It feels like a lick of fire down my body and I gasp for oxygen, stoking the heat even more when it gains him deeper access to my mouth.

His tongue finds mine and Conor lets out one of those moans that turn my legs into jelly. Luckily, his arm is around my waist to catch me before I physically fall.

The figurative one has already happened. I've fallen for him—which I don't question, he's absolutely adorable.

But why did he even fall for me?

"Conor." His name comes out like a groan against his mouth. I'm panting as I pull away slightly more. "Why do you like me?"

"What?" His chest rises and falls against mine, and it takes him another moment to be able to open his eyes .

"All I've done is show you the worst of me these past two years." My eyes stay glued to his wet, swollen lips as I lean away from him. But his arm doesn't let me go far.

Conor pinches my chin between his fingers, lifting it until my eyes meet his heated gaze. His voice is gravel thick as he says, "All you've done is show me you're an honest person. You live your truth, whatever it may be, regardless of who likes it or not. I find that so damn hot, Sierra."

I take a sharp breath. If his words weren't enough, he lifts his thumb to run the pad softly against my bottom lip. The friction sends a shock of electricity all the way down to my toes.

Keeping his thumb on my lower lip, Conor leans back down to close his lips on my upper one, sucking it slightly and coercing a shiver out of me. "You're so damn hot," he says while still savoring me. "It's driving me wild."

"Why didn't you kiss me in the elevator, then?" I ask, letting out the last of my insecurities.

"Because of this." He slides his hands up my back, past my shoulders and down my arms. Holding one of my hands, he places it back on his chest where I can feel the frenetic beat of his heart. My other hand he brings up to his face, making sure I can feel just how absurdly hot his red skin is. Conor's chuckle is low and throaty. "I didn't want this to happen in the middle of the office. I would've given us away."

"Oh, I see." I swallow hard and brush my nose against his. "That would've been embarrassing."

"Very."

"So you did want to kiss me." I nibble his bottom lip gently.

Conor expels air so harshly it almost sounds like a growl. "Desperately. I'm trying to make up for it. Is it working?"

"Very much." I smile against his lips. "And this time we didn't even need mistletoe."