Page 64 of The Mistletoe Makeover

“I thought you didn’t play hockey,” I say.

“I don’t,” she says. “Except with my brothers.”

“But they’re professional players.”

One of her brothers hits the puck so hard, she has to accelerate to catch it. “I don’t mind a game of friendly competition.” She whacks it toward me, and I stop it with my stick.

“Are you challenging me to a game?”

She skates over, making a hard stop in front of me. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m chasing the fun. And seeing you get beat makes meso happy,” she adds, referring to my little happiness dare.

“I’m glad my humiliation is so entertaining,” I tell her with a smirk.

“Then may the best person win,” she says, readying her defensive stance.

I don’t care that I’m about to get beat by a girl.

She drops a puck between us and hits it toward the goal before I can even react.

“Hey, I wasn’t ready,” I complain, hurrying after her.

“I can’t help it if you’re slow,” she tosses over her shoulder.

Her challenge pushes me to skate faster, and I catch her just as she swings her stick. I don’t block it. Instead, I do the only thing I can think of: I bodycheck her.

As she slams into me, we tumble down together, and I reach out to buffer us against the fall. The cold shock of ice hits my arm, and I cradle her against me so that I take the brunt of the impact.

As I hover over her, her eyes flutter open, and we stare at each other for a second. I’m only inches from her lips and my hand is still wrapped around her waist.

“Good catch,” she murmurs. “But that move wassoillegal.”

“Illegal... but necessary,” I reply, my body heating from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I couldn’t let you win. In this sport, everything’s legal.”Except the way I’m feeling about her now.

I wonder if she can feel my heart hammering, my breathing ragged, the way I don’t want to move from her. We’re pinned together, our eyes locked to see who will give up first.

“So you like to cheat?” she asks.

“Not cheat,” I say. “Unless it involves winning.” Because right now, the only person I want to win over is her.

She pushes up, and I roll to the side so she can stand.

“Let’s play again,” she says, rising.

I don’t know what just happened between us, but where our bodies met, the force of friction is still sparking, like a live wire.

From the side of the ice rink, a throat clears before Brax says, “Looks like you’re pretty well matched.”

I’m not the only one who noticed what happened on the hockey rink.

The only question is:What am I going to do about it?

FIFTEEN

Mia

Ever since our hockey accident, Jace’s texting has veered into dangerous territory. Likemore thancasual acquaintanceterritory.

Now he’s sending me a daily morning text before I wake up, which is so sweet and strangely addictive.

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