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My jaw hangs open in shock. How could one person have such impossibly bad luck? She smirks a little, like she just won this little game.
“See. Christmas and I are not on speaking terms. I don’t have a problem with anyoneelseenjoying the holiday—though when people decorate before Thanksgiving, that does overcook my grits a bit—but over the years the entire thing just got too wrapped up in all my bad memories and now, I just want to get through December in once piece and pretend Christmas doesn’t exist.”
“That…I honestly don’t even know what to say to all of that. I’ve never met anyone who truly hated Christmas before. Even the Grinch comes around at the end!” She laughs lightly.
“Why do you love it so much?”
“Well,” I say, thinking about it seriously, “I suppose for the opposite reasons you hate it. Take all of your bad memories, and replace them with amazing ones. That’s my experience with Christmas. It’s always been…magical for me. I know that sounds stupid and cliché and whatever else, but it’s true. Our family always made a huge deal out of it. It was the only time of year we got to see my grandparents because they lived in Italy—grandpa was a teacher there and grandma’s family owned a vineyard—but theyalwaysmade the trip for Christmas, so the entire family came together from all across the country at my uncle’s cabin up in the mountains in Colorado. The pond out back is where I learned to skate, we would all go sledding and have epic snowball fights, we’d make cookies, my mom would constantly be singing Christmas carols under her breath while she was doing damn near anything, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it…” I trail off when I catch her look. She’s staring at me with an odd expression that I can’t quite decipher. “And I’m going to shut up now,” I finish, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, a little embarrassed.
“No, that all sounds…it sounds really nice.” She sounds sincere, but also so wistful, like she wants those memories to be her own so badly she nearly aches. It tugs at something in my chest uncomfortably. I make a decision, quick and fast, like most of my decisions. I’m known for being a bit impulsive. Not reckless, exactly, but I don’t take a long time to deliberate on things. I see the options in front of me and make a choice, simple as that.
And then I follow through on that choice, no matter what.
“Well, that’s that then. I’ve officially made it my mission to make this Christmas your first good one.”
She snorts. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to fill this holiday season with so many great memories, you and Santa will be besties by New Year’s Eve.”
“You seem very sure of yourself,” she says, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“Oh I am. Haven’t you heard? All hockey players are cocky assholes.” She huffs out a laugh and then eyes me in that way that tells me she’s studying me, her wheels turning and burning in that head of hers.
“Alright, my turn for a personal question then.”
“I suppose that’s fair.”
“You said you were a reformed playboy.” I nod. “So, why the change? I’ve seen the women at the games and the ones who a lot of the guys end up leaving with. I’ve seen some of the comments on social media posts.” She doesn't sound bitter or jealous the way some girls would, just matter of fact and maybe even a little amused. “So, why did you decide to stop…indulging?”
Before I can answer, Coach calls my name, beckoning with a raised hand.
“I gotta go. I’ll tell you more about it later, but the main gist is that that life just wasn’t for me anymore.”
She looks a little skeptical, but nods and waves as I skate away. I wonder what she thinks about it. Is she asking just out of curiosity or because she’s interested in something more than friendship and wants to be sure I’m not really that guy anymore? I’m not going to push anything with Hattie, I’m going to let her take the lead here and I’ll be good with whatever she wants because I’m already loving having her in my life as a friend. If it stays that way, I’ll be alright, though a part of me will always wonder.
I’d be lying if I didn’t want her physically.Dear Goddo I want her physically. I think about it way more often than I should, think about all the different ways I could take her, the different things I could do to make her squirm and moan and scream. I let myself daydream about what she might like, what might drive her wild. I have my ideas, and it's rare that someone surprises me in that regard, but I feel like if anyone could do it, it would be Hattie McNamara.
But until she decides otherwise, we’ll remain just friends.
Chapter Seven
Hattie
One of the best perks about working for the Vipers, other than getting paid to hang around with and film a bunch of ridiculously attractive hockey players, of course, is the gym. It’s as big as an entire Fitness World, but nicer than any gym I’ve ever been to in my life. Every machine is top of the line and in pristine condition, the convenience of it being in the same building as my office is aces, and somehow, despite a bunch of hockey players using it every day, it doesn’t smell like Eau De Sweaty Dude. So, bottom line: it’s awesome.
There are times when it’s reserved for the team, but any others, it’s open for any staff member of the organization to use. I head down late in the afternoon for my daily workout, waving to the handful of players that are here. They have their own time, but a few always end up coming in again for a second workout of the day. I guess when you’re literally paid to be in good shape, you take it pretty seriously. I’m slightly hung-over still from the Halloween party the night before, but I’m still going to force myself to run. Or maybe jog. Or possibly just walk.
The party had been pretty fun actually and I’m glad I went, though I admittedly wish that Connor had been there. I drunk texted him a few times, but thankfully nothing too crazy. Mostly talking about the costumes and giving him a play-by-play on all of the girls competing for Rizzo’s attentions throughout the night. He’d left with three of them in tow—a slutty nurse, a slutty pirate, and a slutty Tootsie Roll (which, why is that even a thing??)—and I’d be lying if I wasn’t insanely curious as to how that particular configuration worked once they got wherever they were going.
I make my way towards the treadmills sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling screens. The sections in front of each treadmill can be changed to a different scene, so you get the feeling that you’re actually outside running on the beach or through the woods or up a mountain or whatever you want. It’s pretty freaking cool. Though I prefer running outside, my lungs donotlove running in the cold, so for now, this will do. Plus, I can pretend I’m back running the beaches along the Gulf.
I slow my steps as I get closer and see a little girl sitting on a bench nearby, reading a book. It’s refreshing to see a kid actually reading and not just playing on a tablet, but I’m a little confused on why she’s sitting in here alone. I’m sure she’s somebody’s daughter and they’re just in the bathroom or something, but I’ve always loved kids and want to be sure she’s ok, so I approach her.
“Hi,” I say, giving her a warm smile.
She looks up from her book, big golden-brown eyes meeting mine, and smiles back. Her light brown hair is in two French braids that I’m honestly a bit jealous of: mine never come out that straight and smooth—with a cat-ears headband. She’s wearing a NASA t-shirt with a glittery tutu skirt over bright purple leggings, and pink Converse All Stars. Basically, she’s the cutest kid I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Hi,” she says back, voice high and sweet. “I’m Ollie.”
