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Elio recalled he was supposed to grab a glass of wine for Liza. Gianna must have remembered the same thing as she picked up another glass and filled it.
“For Liza?” he asked.
She nodded. “She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”
“Joey has the gift of gab,” he said, walking back toward the doorway that led to the living room.
Gianna followed, laughing. “You’re not kidding. How’s your collarbone?”
He drew her attention to the cup he was holding with his injured arm by lifting it slightly. “Almost completely healed. Hoping to get out of this sling right before Christmas.”
“That’s great news. I can’t imagine it’s been comfortable wearing it all this time. We were here the night you got hurt, actually, watching the game,” Gianna said.
Liza had called him shortly after he’d been helped off the ice, after he’d gotten word from the team doc that his collarbone was broken. She’d told him about the hockey viewing party, and he’d hated knowing that most of his family had watched him take that hit.
“It’s a rough game,” Gianna added.
“It can be.”
“Guess I’ll go deliver this wine to Liza,” she said. They’d paused in the threshold between the kitchen and living room, both about to return to the party when Keeley stopped them.
“Freeze!” she yelled, capturing their attention.
“What’s wrong?” Gianna asked.
Rather than respond verbally, Keeley pointed to a spot above their heads.
Gianna and Elio looked up at the same time.
“Seriously, Kee?” Gianna said. “Mistletoe?”
“You know the tradition. Don’t bring bad luck into my house by snubbing your nose at it.”
“You don’t consider a haunted house bad luck already?” Gianna joked.
Keeley snorted. “We have friendly ghosts. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
Gianna gave Elio an apologetic look that he didn’t understand. “Sorry,” she muttered.
He tilted his head. “Why?” He could see his question had taken her aback.
“I…” she started. “Well, uh…I’m sure you don’t want to…um…”
“Kiss you?” he finished for her.
She blushed, the innocent look surprisingly endearing.
Elio’s teammates claimed he had a type, but they’d been wrong about what it was. They’d made their assumptions based on the women he always went out with, but his dates weren’t driven by genuine attraction so much as by…well, availability. He was no stranger to beautiful, bold, sexually experienced women, the rink bunnies who went out of their way to attract the attention of a well-paid professional athlete. Paula had definitely fit that mold.
He was used to being sought after and approached by the fairer sex. The women he slept with almost always made the first move, and he was fine with that. It meant he didn’t have to work that hard to get laid. A woman would flirt, bat come-hither eyes at him, and he’d take her to bed.
For one night. He never stuck around for sleepovers, never got phone numbers, never pursued anything more than the sexual release.
The only reason Paula stuck around as long as she had was because she’d played the game better. Until she didn’t.
Gianna, however, was not that type. And there were too many parts of him not only noticing that fact but appreciating it.
“I’m just saying,” Gianna stammered, none of the casual flirting he’d seen her laying on Miles apparent at the moment. “It’s just a silly tradition, so…”
