Mistletoe and Margaritas by Shannon Stacey

Author:Shannon Stacey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2011-01-13T23:00:00+00:00

Justin opened his eyes just long enough to register where he was and focus on the empty pillow beside him, and then closed them again. Shit. He was in Claire’s bed.

Brendan’s bed.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, even as memories of the night before played through his mind like an X-rated slideshow. It had been nothing short of amazing and he wanted to do it again. As soon as possible. Now would be good, though from the mouthwatering aromas drifting into the bedroom, she was already up and working on breakfast.

After rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms up over his head and opened his eyes again. He’d been in her bedroom before and remembering that made him realize he hadn’t technically spent the night in Brendan’s bed. A few months after the accident, Claire had gotten rid of their queen-sized bed and replaced it with a double. When he’d shown up to help her set it up, she’d explained she wanted the extra space in the room. To his eye, the difference wasn’t worth the effort and he suspected she’d been hit by a need to be rid of the bed they’d shared.

He jerked sideways and almost fell off the bed when something furry brushed his armpit. “Jesus, Moxie! Meow or something before you do that.”

The cat headbutted him in the chin a few times before jumping off the bed. When she squeezed through the slightly open door, it opened wider and let in the mouthwatering aroma of a good, old-fashioned breakfast. With bacon.

As good as it smelled, he hoped it wasn’t ready to go on the table yet because he needed a few more minutes before he could face what they’d done. What he’d done.

“Ten minutes,” she yelled from the kitchen.

He didn’t have to wonder how she knew he was up. If there was a sleeping human to be found, her cat wouldn’t be budged from his or her side. As soon as Moxie left the bedroom, she knew he was awake.

Thankfully, he managed to slip from the bedroom into the bathroom without having to make eye contact, since she was busy at the stove. He shaved and showered, pulling a set of clean clothes from “his” shelf in her linen closet. He crashed on her couch often enough so it make sense for him to keep some stuff there, but it was a one-bedroom and they couldn’t very well share a dresser drawer. That would be weird.

Like sleeping together.

He put off facing the music as long as he could, even taking an exceptionally long time brushing his teeth, but when she banged on the door and told him breakfast was on the table, he finished up and took a deep breath before opening the door.

She didn’t look any different. The hair he’d buried his face in only hours before was piled on top of her head in a messy knot. She’d thrown on a T-shirt and sweatpants, along with the clunky, sheepskin-lined slippers he’d bought her for Christmas last year.

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