The Mistletoe Kisser - Lucy Score Page 0,1

herself being grinned at by a tall, lanky boy in a yellow parka straight out of the L.L.Bean catalog. His blond hair flopped artfully over his forehead. Long lashes edged amused brown eyes. He had braces, and a soft, mossy green scarf tied jauntily around his neck. Definitely a Ryan Phillippe type.

Realizing she’d been staring at him for much longer than acceptable, Sammy flashed him a weak smile and whipped around to face forward.

“Smooth, Sammy,” Layla teased.

Eden let out the barely audible, high-pitched squeal of a teenaged girl delighted for her friend. “He’s totally into you,” she whispered knowledgeably.

“Yeah. I don’t think so,” Sammy hedged. She was used to being the least interesting out of their little group. Layla was the boobed goddess next door who didn’t try too hard. Eden was the spunky rebel too busy dancing to the beat of her own drum to care if anyone thought she was cute.

“Hey,” a voice said behind them. A cute, teenaged, boy voice.

They whirled around as one.

“Hey,” Eden said with enviable chill.

“Hey,” Layla said with distinct distrust.

“Hi,” Sammy squeaked.

The boy grinned again and looked directly at her. “So, how’s the food here?” he asked, gesturing at the fried tofu stand in front of them.

“Great,” Eden said. “Layla and I have to go. We’ll catch up with you later, Sammy.” She hooked her arm through Layla’s even as Sammy started to shake her head. She wasn’t prepared to be abandoned.

“Are you new here?” Layla asked the boy, digging the heels of her sneakers into the ground. It wasn’t personal interest. She was making sure a stranger interested in her friend wasn’t a future criminal in the making.

“Yeah,” the boy said. “I’m in town visiting my great-uncle. Kinda lame,” he said with that flirty smile. This time, he gave a little head toss, dislodging the hair that had fallen over his eye.

Sammy wondered why he didn’t just cut it shorter. His neck probably got sore by the end of the day from all the hair tossing.

“Who’s your uncle?” Layla demanded while Eden tugged on her arm with more determination.

“It doesn’t matter who his uncle is,” Eden hissed.

Sammy pitied Layla’s future children—if she decided to have any—when they tried to bring dates home to meet the parents.

“Uh, my uncle is Carson Shufflebottom,” he said, eyeing her friends as if they were a sideshow at a discount circus. “He lives on a farm outside of town.”

All information reported after “Carson” was unnecessary of course because this was Blue Moon and everyone knew everyone else.

“How old are you?” Layla asked.

“Fifteen.”

“Okay then. We’ll be around,” she said ominously as Eden hooked her by the hood of her jacket and dragged her away.

Sammy waited a beat and then worked up the nerve to face the age-appropriate heartthrob. He was extremely cute up close.

“Your friends are… interesting,” he observed. Then, as if to take the sting out of any undertone of judgment, he flashed her that smile again.

She felt her hormones spiral into a riot. On one hand, he was very good-looking. Like “Jason Priestley on 90210” good-looking. Normally, she was more of a broody Luke Perry girl, but she was willing to make an exception.

“They are,” she agreed. “I’m Sammy, by the way.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” he said, amused. “I’m Ryan.”

A Ryan Phillipe look-alike named Ryan? Yes, please!

“I’m from Des Moines,” he added, saying it as if it made him geographically superior.

“I’m from here,” she said, daring him to object.

Instead, his gaze warmed. “Well, Sammy from here with the beautiful blue eyes. What do you say we forget about fried tofu?”

Beautiful blue eyes. Gulp. Okay, she could be into a Brandon Walsh type if he handed out compliments like that.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked. She might have been crushing hard, but that didn’t mean Dr. Anastasia Ames had raised a fool. If the next words were “Want to check out the back of my older brother’s van?” she was out of there regardless of his cuteness and compliments.

He glanced around. “Hot chocolate? My treat,” he offered with another little hair toss. This time, she found it endearing.

Ryan from Des Moines held out a hand. She looked at it and debated. He either thought she was cute or he thought she was a lost eight-year-old who needed to be reunited with her parents.

“I’m fourteen.” She blurted out the words to his ski glove.

“Really? I thought you were at least sixteen,” he said.

It was official. Sammy was in love. She slipped her mitten into his glove