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Victoria caught it with one hand and busied herself collecting the faded, chipped, stray balls from the pockets. She leaned forward and arranged them inside the triangle. Her wavy blond hair fell over her shoulder and glistened in the light of the pool table. His gaze fell to her lips.
When she moved back, a dangling object above her head caught his eye. “Hey, Vic, look up,” he said. Mistletoe was quickly becoming his favorite Christmas tradition.
Victoria paused and glanced toward the pool table light overhead and the thin, very old and worn piece of mistletoe hanging from the edge of the lampshade. She reached up and yanked it free, crumbling the brittle leaves as Luke approached. “Oh, no. You’re not getting me that way again.” She straightened and pointed a finger at him as he moved closer.
He lowered his head, enjoying the panic in her green eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Luke.” The words were strained and he heard her breath catch deep in her chest.
Luke moved his lips to the side of her face, against her flushed cheeks. Placing a hand on her waist, he drew her closer. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you,” he whispered in her ear.
Her eyes widened. “You’re not… I mean, good,” she said, evidently flustered.
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