Page 12 of Holiday Hostilities

“Yes, actually.”

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, I get it. You’re thewham bam thank you ma’amtype. The kind of guy who doesn’t have the decency to take women on dates and woo them first.”

I know I should be bothered by what Olivia’s implying, but I have to chuckle. “Woothem?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “Am I wrong, Marino?”

“Extremely,” I tell her cheerfully, then take a slug of my coffee.

She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried.

I’ve never ghosted anyone in my life, and always treat the women I date with respect, no matter how short-lived the flirtation. But I’m not dating at all right now.

In fact, the last time I went on a date was back in the spring. I remember the day, the time, the setting, everything. Because it was also the night I saw Olivia again.

We Cyclones all went to a fancy nightclub downtown after a game, and I’d arranged to meet my date for the evening there. But then, Olivia walked into the VIP section with her head heldhigh, lit up beneath the flashing lights like some kind of religious vision.

The woman I was on a date with—while beautiful and funny and charming—was a total nonstarter. She had zero interest in me because she was totally in love with someone else.

And I, in turn, was so in shock from seeing Livvy Griswold after literal years, that I could only sit there, stunned and staring, mouth open like a goldfish as I took in that blaze of red hair and slinky silver dress that hugged every one of her curves.

My date ended up telling me all about the guy she was really into, and I spilled a little of my history with Olivia. How we’d known each other since high school, when I became friends with Jake. How we never got along, bickering back and forth as Jake laughed at our inability to get along.

How, underneath all the banter and sparring, I was always kind of obsessed with the fire in her eyes.

It was a weird conversation for a date, that’s for sure. But all’s well that ends well, because she ended up engaged to the guy she was actually into.

Not long after that, I found out that I was being considered for captain of the Cyclones, and I decided to give that all of my focus. Rearranged all of my priorities and put my dating life on the backburner.

I was officially named captain just as preseason got underway, and ever since, I’ve been dedicated to my new role. It’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly, and it’s made me realize that I just don't have time for dating at the moment.

More than that, I don’t want even a whiff of another scandal attached to my name. The impromptu proposal news was enough without it even being attached to a real relationship. Part of my duty in leading this team is to set aside all potential distractions and focus on the task at hand: getting my team to the playoffs, at minimum.

But I’m sure if I tried to tell Olivia any of that, she’d laugh. Not believe me for a second.

So, instead of saying a word, I swallow my last bite of waffle, make a mental note to change my phone number—again—and look up to see Jake by the door of the restaurant, signaling that he’ll meet us outside.

I nod at my friend, then nudge my elbow against Olivia’s. “You gonna eat that?”

She blinks at me as I nod towards her breakfast burrito, half of which is sitting untouched on her plate.

Before she can answer, I swipe it, lightning quick, then sink my teeth into it.

“Hey!” she squawks. “I was saving that for lunch!”

I swallow my mouthful of eggs and bacon wrapped in tortilla, raising a brow. “Hours-old soggy scrambled eggs? I don’t think so.”

“Actually, soggy scrambled eggs areexactlywhat I want for lunch.”

I smile at her sheer ridiculousness. “Well, hey, this one’s on me. That way, you can order another one to go and let it go soggy just in time for lunch. Deal?”

Her eyes are narrowed slits, her cheeks pink. “You are such a jerk.”

“As we have already established.” I polish off the remainder of her burrito.

Olivia sighs tiredly. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere practicing hitting a puck into a net instead of hanging out here annoying me?”

I smirk. “Practice? Baby, I don’t miss.”

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