“You need to be careful.”
I kiss her again, harder. Slide my hands up the curve of her thighs and ass. “I’m an NHL player—you pay me to take risks.” I kiss the soft skin right under her ear.
She shivers but not from the cold. “If someone gets a photo of this, I’m blaming you.”
“I hope they do,” I murmur, not moving. “Make a nice Christmas card.”
There’s commotion up the path. I ignore it, settling my hands on her hips, grinding slowly against her.
“Coach!” There’s more yelling. “Coach Ellie!”
She shoves away from me.
“He’s touching it!” The rookies are freaking out as we walk up.
“Raccoon!” The Finn is amazed. He clutches the very large, very confused raccoon.
Ren has a gun pointed at it.
“That is not a pet,” Ellie squawks.
Jovi sprays some whipped cream in the raccoon’s mouth.
“Jovi, no. Drop it.”
“But they’re best friends. It’s a Christmas miracle!”
The raccoon hisses at Ellie. I heft my chainsaw, and the raccoon trundles away through the snow, bag of snacks in his mouth.
“Ugh, shoo. Here.” Ellie takes out her hand sanitizer. “Gross, guys, that wasn’t safe.”
Ren shakes his head, and the weapon disappears. “He’s lucky he can play hockey, because that boy ain’t right.”
Dana’s caris in the parking lot when we pull up outside of the stadium.
“That’s not good.” Ellie shrinks in her seat. “Dana never comes to the stadium.”
I pick up the box of empty containers—the guys took every last crumb of leftovers. “You can tell her you’re going to be in a very important meeting.”
I follow Ellie into the building. Do I want to fuck her? Yeah. But more urgently, I need an excuse to go up to the offices and steal Dana’s tablet.
23
ELLIE
Kissing Fletcher? It was a mistake.
Actually, no. This morning was a mistake. At the Christmas tree farm? It was worse than a mistake. It was a betrayal. It was a betrayal of my father, of my ideals, of the sport of hockey, of the NHL.
“TheHstands for ‘hell,’ which is where you’re going,” I whisper to myself.
My dad is going to be so disappointed, I think as I hurry to my office. Kissing a player? At least I didn’t sleep with him, right?
Fletcher’s boot catches the door before I can slam it shut. Eyes wide, I stare up at him.
“Can I come in, Coach Candy Cane?” The deep voice is a low purr.
He crowds me as he steps into the office, box of stuff in one arm. He quietly shuts the door.
