Page 41 of The Hat Trick

16

The last week of games before Christmas flies by, and despite me trying to get Chandler to come to every single one, she’s shot me down. Claiming it’s because she has an actual job, and “can’t be out at hockey games every other day.”

Which also apparently means she can’t be with any hockeyplayersduring this time either because she’s shot down my attempts to see her as well. That excuse has to do with sleep, but I’m willing to give up my eight hours to be with her. Though I won’t say that because I know it makes me look desperate for her. Which, I just might be.

Collee has been much calmer about asking to see her. I’m pretty sure he only asked once, and she shot him down as well. I don’t like it, but by some miracle I did convince her to come to the charity event on Christmas Eve. On the one condition that she doesn’t arrive or leave with either of us.

I want to show her off, which is something foreign to me, but at the same time I like seeing her with Collee as well, and I know whatever this is has to be balanced delicately. Which is the only reason I agree to her terms, knowing full well even if we all technicallyleaveseparately, we will not be going to separate places afterward.

McQuaid has also made it his mission to piss me off as much as possible. Luckily, it usually happens before a game which only gets me fired up, and I take my aggression out on the ice. Sometimes I imagine it’s him who I slam into the boards slightly harder than necessary.

I also enjoy getting a nice chuckle in every single time he gets his ass thrown in the sin bin. I feel like he has to have some kind of record in the NHL because it seems like he’s in there at least once per game. Sometimes it’s for something stupid, a rookie mistake like a trip or holding. Other times his temper is what does it. Whether it’s for a fight or unsportsmanlike conduct, doesn’t matter, the result is the same.

By the end of the week, we’ve only lost one of our games. Unfortunately, it was the last one before the holiday which is not the way the team wants to go out. We have another game two days after Christmas, so I know we will all be fired up for it.

Now, I’m getting ready for the charity event that Chandler has already tried to get out of. I started a group chat with her and Collee because I felt like it would make things easier, and she texted us both this morning with her pointless excuse.

Chandler: Can’t go, nothing to wear. Sorry, guys, have fun!

Brent: That’s a lie. I know for a fact that Dumont sent over several dresses for you to try.

Chandler: And I hated them all.

Vince: Lie. Show us.

Chandler: No. I’m not going.

Brent: It’ll be boring anyway.

Vince: You’re going, baby, even if I have to bring you in whatever you’re wearing now.

Chandler: Oh no, suddenly I’m super sick too. Go on without me!

Brent: Now you’re just being ridiculous.

Vince: Show us the dress options, baby.

I went to some store that had dresses, had one of the workers pick out a bunch of different options, did my best to describe Chandler’s glorious body without being too graphic to the poor worker, and then had them send over all the dresses. I have no idea how to shop for a woman, and I probably could have asked Em, but didn’t want to deal with the questions.

Chandler finally sent over three pictures in three different dresses, and she looked stunning in all of them. I didn’t know what to say, and I definitely didn’t want to just pick one.

Vince: All of them.

Brent: Green one.

I look at the one Brent picked, and it’s a dark green floor length dress with a slit that shows her right leg up to her mid-thigh. It accentuates the swells of her cleavage, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my hands off her.

That thought becomes even more apparent when I see her walk through the door of the giant ballroom the event is being held in. Brent got here first, and I spotted him at the bar when I walked in. We’ve been here for about fifteen minutes sipping our drinks when I notice the flash of emerald in my peripheral.

She stands near the entryway clutching the little purse in her hand so tight I can see her white knuckles from here. I hit the back of my hand against Collee’s chest before taking off in her direction.

Once I reach her, she gives me a soft smile. I want to lean down and kiss her pink shiny lips, but I know I can’t. And I hate that.

“You look fucking amazing,” I tell her, unable to find any other words, even if “fucking amazing” doesn’t even fully encompass how I’m feeling about looking at her.

“Hi, beautiful,” Collee joins, his voice low, probably to avoid anyone overhearing. Even though I want to wrap her in my arms, shove my tongue in her mouth, and scream to everyone here that this breathtakingly beautiful woman is here with us.

Her cheeks flush pink, and she glances at our hands holding our drinks.

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