Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt
1
Landon
Life is sometimes nothing but a series of mistakes.
Mistakes that leave you wondering a few hours later what the hell you were thinking.
Mistakes that seem like a brilliant idea at the time.
“Ooh, coffee,” my latest mistake says, walking into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a hockey jersey. My hockey jersey, which was hanging in my closet until a few minutes ago.
“I’m going to need that soon.” I nod at the item of clothing.
The blonde, whose name I can’t quite remember, sidles up to me. I met her at the bar Adam, Connor, and I went to last night. I hadn’t gone there to get laid, but here I am, with a strange woman in my town house.
“I didn’t know you play hockey,” she says with a seductive purr. It was a turn-on last night. Now, not so much. “I loooove hockey.”
Something about the way she says this hints that it’s not entirely true. I recognize the look in her eyes from my days in junior hockey.
She’s not a real fan of the game. Hooking up with hockey players is her sport of choice.
I’d dealt with a few of those in my past, back before I realized I’d never be good enough to play in the NHL.
I give her a single nod—because there isn’t anything more to say on the subject. She’s just reminding me why I don’t typically bring one-night stands to my place.
Not that one-night stands are a habit of mine these days.
Blondie is one of those rare occasions.
She doesn’t get the hint and leans against the granite kitchen counter. “Can I have some, please?” Her gaze drops to the mug in my hand, and I stiffen.
But while I’m not exactly happy she’s still here, I’m not going to be an asshole and kick her out of my home.
Yet.
If she decides to overstay her welcome, I’ll politely ask her to leave.
I remove a mug from the kitchen cabinet, fill it partway, and hand it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip and pouts at me. “You’ve already showered?” she says, stating the obvious. My hair’s still damp.
My goal had been for her to wake up while I was in the shower and be the kind of woman who bails while the guy’s preoccupied.
Instead, she slept the entire time and only woke up when the coffee had finished brewing.
“I was hoping we could shower…together.” She flashes me a look that reminds me of Mojo—my colleague’s Bernese mountain dog—whenever he sees his favorite treat.
Then she winks at me…which lasts an incredibly long time. Like her eye has frozen shut. “Oh, darn it. My false eyelashes are stuck together. Can you help me, Landon?”
Sorry, sweetheart, you’re on your own.
Before I can voice that out loud, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” plays from my phone on the kitchen table.
Saved by Pat Benatar.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” I don’t suppose you’ll be gone by the time I return.…
I pick up my phone and head upstairs to my office.
Inside, I close the door behind me. “What’s up?” I ask Liam. My boss.
The owner of Quade Security and Investigations.
My former brother in arms.
Liam doesn’t call the team on a Sunday unless it’s super important. He’s a family man through and through—especially since his daughter was born over a year ago.
Cassie and his wife, Ava, are his world.
“I need you to come into the office this morning. I’m calling the entire team in.”
“I’d ask what this is about, but now’s not a good time for me to talk.” I have no idea if Blondie’s the curious type—if snooping gets her off. “As soon as I get some baggage out of my house, I’ll be there.”
Liam has been my friend for too long to miss the hidden meaning between the words. “You know, if you found a nice woman to settle down with, the overstaying-their-welcome baggage wouldn’t be a problem.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Your mom is a wise woman.”
We end the call, and I head downstairs. Blondie is still in the kitchen, in my hockey jersey, coffee mug in hand, in no particular rush to leave. Her eyelashes are no longer stuck together.
“I have to go to work now,” I tell her, hoping she gets the hint this time.
She frowns, her pout resembling that of a toddler denied a cookie more than it resembles the pout of a supermodel selling sexy lingerie. “Work? But it’s Sunday.”
I shrug because it is what it is.
“You never did tell me what you do for a living.” She sips on her coffee.