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I turn then, coming face-to-face with his broad chest. I tilt my head up, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. “I just googled you. You’re a professional hockey player.”
“So? That doesn’t mean I’m a professional player when it comes to women.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. I might not be in sports PR, but pro athletes are just as bad as rockstars and actors. You guys have your own groupies.” I know because when Savannah and Max started dating, I did a lot of research. I was extremely worried at first because Savannah has had her heart broken by cheaters before. But Max put my fears to rest pretty quickly. He’s a genuine guy who truly loves my sister and puts her needs first. From my research, he seems to be the exception and not the rule.
His jaw tightens. “That’s quite the generalization. And for your information, I wouldn’t have ‘cut and run’ as you put it. In fact, I was looking forward to waking up and burying my face between your soft thighs.”
It suddenly feels like noon on a July day in Southern California. I know my cheeks are scarlet by the way he smirks and steps closer. “Would you have objected?”
My body sways toward him of its own volition. I clear my throat. “It was just one night.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says and my nipples ache in response to his low whisper.
I step back and my lady bits whimper in displeasure. “I don’t have time for a distraction. I need to figure out the perfect Christmas wedding activities.”
“Right. Well, luckily for your sister, my sister enlisted my help and winter activities are something I know a little bit about.”
“Is that why they call you the Gingerbread Man?”
He barks out a laugh. “No, they call me that because I’m fast as fast can be.” He leans in. “Except with you. With you I want to take my time getting to all the good places.”
My legs tremble. “I have a list.”
“That sounds promising.”
I glare at him. “I mean for the wedding.” I pull my phone out and swipe up to my organization app. He wiggles his fingers in a give me motion and I had it over.
He whistles. “Color-coded and everything.” He scrolls up with his pointer finger. “Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
Oh no. I’m barely able to resist touching him now. Although what’s the worst that will happen if I did? That I’d have a few more of those incredible orgasms he gave me last night? As long as I remind myself that this is just a little holiday hook-up, I won’t get invested. Maybe it’s just what I need to reset the bad luck I’ve had lately.
“I’m sorry I left without waking you.” I tuck my arms inside the heavy shirt Olivia lent me. Realization dawns. “Oh, shit. This is your hockey shirt, isn’t it?”
He nods. “It’s called a jersey. And yeah, it’s my vintage jersey.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m not quite sure what that means, but it sounds important. “I’ll find something else to wear when I go inside.”
Owen reaches out, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulls me toward him. My heart races, but he doesn’t kiss me, like I expected him to, instead he releases me and looks me over, head to toe. Then he strokes his chin and walks behind me. I swivel. “What are you doing?”
“I like how you look in it.” He brushes my hair forward, draping it over my shoulder. “I like seeing my name across your back.”
My breath catches. He sounds downright possessive. And I like it more than I should.
He stands in front of me again. “So where should we start?”
I’m about to blurt out something like redoing our hotel wake-up, when he holds up my phone. “Ice fishing? Skiing? Building an Igloo?” He raises his brows at me. “What kind of Christmas activity list is this?”
I stick out my chin. “What? They’re all winter activities.”
“The best kind of Christmas activities are the nostalgic ones. The ones rooted in tradition. What kind of traditions did you and your sister have growing up?”
I sigh. This is whole problem with this perfect Christmas wedding that Sav wants. We didn’t have any traditions, unless you count watching Christmas movies and shows with elaborate Christmas themes and sets while we waited for our mom to come home from whatever job she was working at the time. Or at least Savannah watched them. They all seemed impossibly unrealistic to me and completely out of reach.
As we got older, our mom came home less and less until it was just me and Sav most of the time. One day, our grandmother showed up shaking her head as she looked around our sparse apartment. I know now how lucky we were, even though at the time it didn’t feel like it. She reinforced how important school was and helped us with scholarship and grant applications. Our grandmother used to be a nanny for a music executive and her family and when Savannah started winning talent shows, she reached out to her, and the rest is history.
Once Savannah made it, she swore we’d have a Christmas just like in the movies she watched growing up, but hiring the best interior decorator in Los Angeles to decorate isn’t really a tradition. We know what Christmas looks like, but we’re just not sure what it’s supposed to feel like, no matter how many triple-platinum Christmas albums Savannah releases. But for this fairytale winter wedding, I admit I was at a bit of a loss. The bed and breakfast already looks like something out of a movie, with colored lights and happy family memories and smells like I imagine Christmas does in other homes too, with hot chocolate and cookies all on cute Christmas-themed trays and serving platters. I know Savannah doesn’t want to go ice fishing for her wedding, but I was trying to think of things that people do in the snow.
“Serena?” Owen tilts his head, looking at me carefully. “What were your favorite Christmas traditions?”
