Page 23 of The Holiday Games

“Evil little woman,” Dirk mutters.

“For real,” Millie agrees, but she sounds excited, and Jenna actually laughs as she says, “Sweet. What’s the prize for first place?”

“First place gets gourmet high tea at The Ritz tomorrow afternoon, plus immunity from the losers’ challenge tomorrow morning,” Leo says, grinning as he backs away from the rink’s edge. “Believe me, you’re going to want that immunity, friends. It’s a gross one. You’ll never look at clowns the same way again.”

I exhale, my pulse racing as Ainsley puts her whistle to her lips and the rest of us queue up on the red line.

Okay, then first place it is. Clowns and I don’t get along under normal circumstances, let alone “gross” ones. I can’t imagine what they’ve cooked up that combines the creepiness of clowns and something “gross,” and I don’t want to find out.

I curl my fingers into fists and scan the skaters, deciding fetching hot chocolate will be my first mission. That’s going to require more control and care. Afterwards, I can crawl around on the floor gathering “coal” if I have to.

I’m so busy memorizing the location of the people with red scarves that I’m not paying attention to the other contestants. That proves to be a potentially fatal mistake when Ainsley blows the whistle, and I’m suddenly falling flat on my face.

I land with anoofand a hiss of pain as my bare hands scrape against the pavement and look up in time to see Jenna laughing over her shoulder at me as she skates away. By the time I’m back on my feet, everyone else has hot chocolate or coal in hand. So, I do what any good innkeeper would do—I think fast and outside the box.

Breezing over to the first red-scarfed cutie, I grab her arm and announce brightly, “Up for a game?”

ten

. . .

Leo

Caroline’s a genius, and so charming I’m not the least bit surprised when she manages to get all four of her “guests” organized into a roller-skating conga line that she parades past the hot chocolate stand, sparing herself the hassle of handling the tray in skates.

A beat later, she has her giant bag in hand and is making her halting way toward several large chunks of fake coal.

“That’s cheating!” Jenna shouts from across the band shell, where’s she’s handing out her last mug to a man in a black scarf.

“It’s not,” Ainsley calls out. “It’s creative problem solving. Better hurry, Jenna. You’re no longer in the lead. Jenna and Caroline are now tied for first!”

Jenna hurls her tray like a frisbee, sending it sailing over the low temporary wall surrounding the rink. Then, she’s off like a shot, speed-skating over to the bags at Krampus’s feet. On her way across the open space, she leaps over a piece of coal, landing with the skill of an Olympic skater.

Dirk, who’s a few feet away, gasps and thrusts an arm her way, causing the hot chocolate on his tray to slosh over the rims of the mugs. “Ridiculous! This is ridiculous! She’s a plant! A ringer. We’ve been hoodwinked. Hornswoggled!”

His gesturing grows so animated that he knocks himself off balance and goes crashing to the ground, spilling hot chocolate all over himself and a silver-haired woman in a green scarf. Thankfully, she takes the soaking with a good-natured laugh and assurances that she’s fine as Dirk climbs awkwardly back to his feet, apologizing profusely.

But he’s so far behind now, I don’t see how he can possibly recover.

Still, he fetches his tray and rolls back toward the beverage stand, managing not to trip over the pieces of coal Jenna kicks away from the other contestants as she fills her own bag.

Millie nearly gets a skate in the forehead, but rolls away just in time, shouting, “Careful, please! I don’t need a concussion for Christmas.”

“Then you’d better move faster,” Jenna calls back, cackling as she kicks another piece of coal away before Millie can grab it, even though her own bag is full, and her first place win assured.

Across the band shell, Caroline lunges to the left, opening her bag in time to catch the missile, filling her bag to max capacity as well.

“First and second place are locked,” Ainsley says. “Now, we play to see who’s still standing at the end of the night, and who’s leaving with a bag full of coal.”

“It’s me,” Dirk says from the hot chocolate station, where he’s somehow managed to spill another four mugs full of cocoa all over himself. “That’s it. It’s over. I give up. Just throw me a towel to help mop up my shame, will ya?”

“Oh, come on, Dirk,” Millie says as she cruises in a wide arc, filling the rest of her bag. “You can do it. Innkeepers never say die.”

“But they do say uncle,” Eduardo crows as he snags a particularly large piece of coal and shoves it into his overflowingsack. “That’s third place for Millie and fourth for me. That leaves you at the end of the line, Dirkly McGee.”

“My name isn’t McGee, it’s Hathaway, of the Hathaway Inn in San Diego, California,” Dirks drawls, his lips pushing into a pout as he flicks his salt-and-pepper hair from his forehead with damp fingers. “At least get that part right before you kick me out. If I don’t get some free publicity from this, my financial advisor is going to have a stroke. Bookings have been in the shitter since the new Gaylord resort opened down the street.”

“Aw, you’re the only gay lord I’d want to stay with if I were cruising Southern California,” Millie says, rolling over to pat Dirk on the back.

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