Page 1 of Jingle Devil

ONE

Mick

Hello, my name is Mick Weller, head coach of the Nashville Devils hockey team, and I’m addicted to white peppermint mochas. With soy milk, no less, because regular milk is for real men.

Which I am not, with this drink in my hand.

It’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum from the black coffee I always drank before. All it took was one mix-up with my assistant and a sip of peppermint heaven, and I was a goner. Black coffee turned to sludge in my mouth; nothing else could compare.

I would damn my assistant, Tessa Risen, but I do that enough already. Although it’s not totally in a bad way. More like dayum every time she bends over, or wears anything tight, or revealing, or sweeps her hair up exposing her neck or... At this point pretty much everything she wears or does makes me and mini me rise to attention. She’s been torturing me with her low-cut blouses and mile high heels since Jazz Benson, part-owner of the Devils, hired her for me a little over three months ago.

That’s three months of celibacy because my dick refuses to get hard for anyone else. But it sure as hell comes to attention every time she leans over my desk, giving me a bird’s eye view of her ample cleavage. It’s very distracting when I’m looking at players’ stats or reviewing game footage. Not to mention it’s physically uncomfortable in one particular area of my dress pants.

You might think I’m happy about this. After all, she’s close by. Should be easy to seal the deal. But the truth is, I couldn’t be more annoyed.

I don’t want to want my assistant. I certainly don’t want to become another cliched old man with a hard on for his young secretary. But here we are. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, because it’s in all the movies. Give me a name of a movie with an older man and a younger assistant, and I’d bet you any money he’s fucking her on that fancy-ass office desk of his.

Just like Tessa and I are doing in the fantasies I can’t seem to control.

For instance, the one where I hold a second soy milk peppermint mocha under my fancy-ass office desk and insist she come and find it. Preferably in lingerie that leaves next to nothing to the imagination. With her face that close to my lap, would she be tempted to touch me? To jingle my bells? To take me in her mouth and suck me off? I’m getting a chub just thinking about it, and since I’m almost to my office in the Devils’ arena, I need it to deflate.

I turn my thoughts to the least arousing thing in the arena: the fishy smell in the locker room. It seems to radiate from multiple places, and no one can figure out where it’s coming from or what’s causing it. My money’s on the Bruiser brothers; they’re always getting into something and there’s a good chance the smell is intentional.

My thoughts try to redirect to Tessa, despite my best efforts. With a low growl, I force myself to think about the new trade with the attitude problem we’re getting as a late Christmas present. That might be one gift I’d like to return, but I won’t be able to do anything without a receipt. Rumor has it, Rhett Remington is nothing but trouble, and I don’t need more of that.

Just when I think I have a handle on things, I walk into the coaching offices, past the fully decorated Christmas tree, take one look at my assistant, and it’s a problem again. If there’s not already a rule about pitching tents over your assistant so close to Christmas, there should be. I’m not sure Jesus had this in mind when he preached about goodwill to your fellow man.

“Good morning, boss,” Tessa greets me with one of her warm smiles as she snags the coffee I extend to her and takes a small sip. “Look at you, ordering this drink all by yourself.”

“I figured you ordered it enough this week for the both of us. You should’ve seen the look the barista gave me. I felt judged.” I laugh and try my best not to make it obvious I’m checking her out, but I am. It’s part of my morning routine.

Consistency is key, and practice makes everything perfect.

She’s wearing a low-cut red button-up blouse that immediately puts me in the holiday spirit. It’s paired with black dress pants and red stilettos that look more like bedroom heels than office shoes. I doubt they’re comfortable to walk in, but no question they’re sexy as hell. Her curly dark brown hair is swept up in a high ponytail, exposing the length of her tanned neck, and her hazel eyes are more brown than green today. She’s absolutely stunning.

And at twenty-three, she’s almost half my age. I’m usually not attracted to much younger women, but there’s something about Tessa that’s worked its way under my skin, and it would take all of Santa’s elves to get her out.

With a smirk, Tessa leans over and squeezes my bicep. It doesn’t escape my notice that her hand lingers on my muscles for a few extra seconds before falling away. “I think you can handle a little judgment, Coach. You can give most of the rookies a run for their money.”

“What do you know about the rookies?”

“They do come in here from time to time.” A pink blush colors her cheeks, and she averts her eyes.

My gut clenches and my blood boils as jealousy gets the better of me. I have no claim to this woman on a personal level; she can talk to whoever she wants. That’s what the logical side of my brain says anyway, but my caveman side gives zero fucks.

Looks like me and the rookies need to have a little heart to heart about bothering my assistant. If I’m not here, there’s no reason for any of them to be.

I understand a lot of the previous assistants were bunnies who wanted to work the players more than their computers, but Tessa is different. She’s never been anything more than polite to the players, and she’s a great worker. Plus, I’ve put her off limits to everyone on the team, including me. Maybe especially me. I’m not sure how she’d respond to a forty-five-year-old man putting the moves on her. I’m probably the same age as her father. Damn if that realization doesn’t sting.

I’m way too old for her and she’s way too young for me. When I was her age, she was a baby. A literal baby. Out of the office, I’m sure we’d have no chemistry and nothing in common. She’d try to make small talk while I stared at her tits. Total mismatch. Like Rudolph and the Abominable Snowman. The Grinch and the entire town of Whoville. Mr. Scrooge and… well, everyone.

“Oh, they do?” I prop my hands on my hips. “And what exactly do they come in here for?”

“Sometimes they stop by to say hello or chat.”

I narrow my gaze at her and purse my lips in a playful way. “Chat, huh? Hmmm. Sounds suspicious.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” She pushes on my shoulder and smiles. “I put those stats you asked for on your desk.”

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