Page 104 of The Mistletoe Kisser

“The kissing booth line?” He took a hit of breath spray and licked his thin lips.

Sammy shuddered.

“Fitz, if you don’t get the hell away from my girl, I’ll send you to IRS jail,” Ryan threatened.

“Jeez. Okay,” Fitz said, holding up his mittened hands. “Mind if I hang out?”

“Aren’t you late?” Sammy asked.

He frowned. “Late for what?”

“The Pants Off Dance Off at the gazebo,” she improvised.

Fitz’s face lit up. “Sweet! Finally some real entertainment. Later, dudes!” He hurried off toward what would soon be a very confused audience.

“Now, where were we?” Ryan demanded.

His fiercely frowning mouth was so close. She could feel his breath, warm and sweet on her face. “Is this happening?” she whispered as her heart thudded in her chest.

“You’re damn right it is,” he said. “Now get used to it.”

She melted against him, ready to seal the Official Most Romantic Moment of her life with a kiss under the mistletoe. “In that case, I think we were right about here,” she said, rising on tiptoe.

“Wait!” someone yelled, breaking the spell.

Chest heaving, Sammy tried to jump back, but Ryan merely tightened his grip on her vest.

“Stop! He’s the wrong Ryan!” Ellery stormed into the clearing, dragging a man behind her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Wrong Ryan groused.

“Is that you, Ry?” the newcomer asked with a lazy grin. He was wearing white pants, a pink Oxford, and a long wool coat. He had a green sweater wrapped around his neck like a scarf. “Heard you got shit-canned. Sucks to be you.”

There was something unsettlingly familiar about him, Sammy thought.

“What the hell are you doing here, Shufflebottom?” snapped Wrong Ryan.

Oh, shit. Ryan Shufflebottom, the Original Mistletoe Kisser, was back.

“Dude, Esme here told me there was an emergency and paid for my plane ticket,” First Kiss Ryan said.

“Ellery,” Wrong Ryan corrected. “And there’s no emergency. You can go.”

“Dunno. I kinda like this place,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of those blinding white pants. “It’s sexy.”

“What the hell is happening?” Sammy demanded.

“This only works if you kiss Original Ryan in the same spot as your first kiss. It’s all about symmetry,” Ellery insisted knowledgeably.

“Original Ryan?” Wrong Ryan scoffed.

“Holy shit! It’s Fried Tofu Chick,” Original Ryan said, chewing his gum harder. “I totally remember you. You got even hotter. Man, we could have had some real fun that night if my parents hadn’t caught me stealing cash from the Salvation Army kettle in the park.”

“Ellery, if you don’t want a murder on your conscience, get this douchewaffle out of here now,” Wrong Ryan warned.

“So, you want me to just kiss her, or can I try for a little third base action?” Douchewaffle Ryan asked, firing off pistol fingers and a lecherous wink in Sammy’s direction.

“Ew,” she said.