Page 3 of Jingle Devil

“I—uh—”

“Is there a valid reason you’re flashing your abs in the coaching offices?”

I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand to suppress the laughter fighting its way out. Jake’s face is bright red, and he’s pulled his shirt down so low the neckline is almost at his nipples. He shakes his head so fast I think it may pop off, mumbles something about a Merry Christmas, and flees down the hallway.

“That was mean.” I smile as I spin back and forth in my chair.

Mick runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He was ruining my appetite. I’ll take the chicken sandwich.”

“So…” I need something, anything to deflate the tension that’s left in this tiny office. Hockey usually works. “You think you’re going to beat Toronto tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

“Such confidence. Too bad Toronto is on a winning streak.”

“Is that your nice way of saying you think they’re going to win?” Mick leans against the corner of my desk and crosses his arms.

“They’re absolutely going to win.”

Normally, I’m all for supporting the home team, and I do hope the boys can do it, but Toronto has been on fire lately. They’re in line for a top spot in the playoffs, they have the highest scoring player around, and to top it off, their goalie is the best in the league.

“You wound me.” He eyes me for several seconds before continuing, “How do you feel about a bet?”

“A bet?” I repeat, turning those words over in my mind as I clasp my hands in front of me and rock on my heels.

He strokes a hand over the stubble on his chin, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like between my legs. Most of the guys I’ve dated have been clean-shaven, but Mick always has a five o’clock shadow. I bet it would feel rough against the smooth skin of my inner thigh and my core clenches as I imagine it marking my flesh.

“If the Devils beat Toronto tomorrow afternoon, then I win, and if Toronto beats us then you win.”

He hasn’t set the terms of the bet, and my heart is beating a hundred miles a minute. “What do I get if I win?” I whisper.

Mick’s gaze travels the length of my body, pausing at my lips, and then meeting my eyes. This is the first time I’ve seen him checking me out, and I can almost feel his hands on me, coasting along my hips and trailing up my back. “Anything you want.”

I gasp and my eyes widen. I want several things, none of which I will voice out loud, and all of them involve at least one of us being naked. “And if you win?”

“Then I want a date.” He states this so simply like he’s asking to borrow my stapler. Unless I’m taking this the wrong way, and he wants me to find him a date. Which doesn’t make sense because looking like that, he can get any date he wants. He doesn’t need my help. Instead of assuming or questioning him like an airhead, I remain silent, fidgeting with my fingers because that’s so much better. He leans across my desk, grabbing an official Nashville Devil’s stress ball, and tossing it between his hands. “Shall I take your silence as a yes?”

I blink. And then I blink again. “With me?”

Mick drops his head and a deep laugh rumbles through his chest. He doesn’t laugh a lot, but when he does it’s like the melody to your favorite country song. It just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“Yes, with you. Who else do you think I’m talking about? You think I want you to set me up with Simmons? I don’t think it was my attention he was trying to get.”

“I’m sure any of the rookies would say yes for some one-on-one time with their…” Hot as fuck. Magically delicious. “Coach.”

“There’s a charity dinner after our game tomorrow, and I don’t think any of them would look very good in a dress.”

“Maybe if they shaved their legs.”

He chuckles again, and I almost swoon. Or maybe it's low blood sugar; it is lunch time, after all. “So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?” He flashes me a smile.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity served up on a silver platter. One dinner. One date with Mick. I should say no and go back to my desk to order lunch. I know I should. It’s the smart and most logical thing to do because I don’t want something to go wrong and put my job at risk.

On the other hand, I don’t have sexy grade-A hunks of beef like Mick lined up at my door to take me to charity dinners every night. And I’ve been lusting after him for months.

I was planning on spending Christmas Eve alone in my apartment watching all the Netflix holiday movies. Not much different from my normal night, except these movies have Santa. Since I moved here from Florida, my nights aren’t that exciting, though I guess if I’m honest, I didn’t have much of a life there either.

I’m overthinking this. He probably wants to go as friends, in which case I’m making it weird. Or maybe he wants to cross the line—although I doubt it—and if that’s true, I owe it to myself to find out. I’ll regret it if I don’t. And a one-night stand with a real man doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been a few months and while my BOB is a good companion, it doesn’t replicate the feel of a man’s hands or tongue. If it turns into a one-night thing, I’m adult enough to pretend like nothing happened the next day.

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