Page 14 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

Wes didn’t quite loosen up as he shared bits of himself with me, but there was a gentle opening, like a flower at the start of the morning preparing to greet the sun. And even when I askedhim hockey questions, things about his hopes for the upcoming season and favorite moments on the ice last year, somehow he found ways to be genuine and goddamnlovable.One story he told involved Michael, even, and the two of us ended up laughing together, breathless and uncontrolled, borderline bonding over the one thing we had the most in common—how much we both cared about my brother.

By the time I got to one of my last questions, I was almost embarrassed to ask it. Like he’d become a human being to me rather than a subject to study, just through the half hour or so we’d been talking in my office. Christ, had it really almost been a half hour? Time really flew by.

“Okay, I’m sorry to ask this,” I winced as I flipped the page in my list of questions I’d prepared. “But one thing a lot of Santas’ fans want to know about is, um, your dating life. So I won’t prytoomuch?—”

“I’m single,” Wes hurried to say, and I hoped how quickly my eyes snapped to his wasn’t too much of a dead giveaway that I wanted to jump his bones. And damn it, his cheeks were all blotchy and red, which was too cute to be fair.

“Um, actually, I knew that,” I told him quickly, blushing too. I hoped my makeup hid it well enough. “Facebook status.”

“Ah,” he let out, a little hoarse.

“The, uh, question is actually about what you look for in a girl—a woman. Someone you’d date.”

Again, there was a long, thoughtful pause. Compared to the silence when he’d first entered the room, this one was far more comfortable to endure. He cleared his throat before he answered.

“I really just want someone…genuine. Someone who will like me for me, and not for whatever dumb status symbol they might see in the prospect of dating a hockey player. Someone who—” he cut himself off, as if thinking better of what he wasgoing to say next, but he decided to spill the beans. “Someone who challenges me. Calls me out on my shit. Like if I’m being arrogant, or not acting like myself.”

Oh my God. It had to be intentional, the way he threw my own words back at me like that. Why did I suddenly want to giggle like a schoolgirl? The entire vibe in the room changed, a crackling sort of tension that I was positive he could feel too.

“That’s…a good answer,” I told him, staring down at my desk to avoid his eyes. They weretooblue, maybe. That shouldn’t be allowed. His sincerity knocked me off balance, and I found myself struggling to find my footing.

“Well, I think that covers everything,” I hurried to say, trying to keep my voice steady as I shuffled my notes together. “Thanks for coming in.”

Wes stood up slowly, giving me that same intense, thoughtful look that had become all too familiar during our interview. “Anytime, Rachel.”

He strode toward my office door, but before he opened it, he paused, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small, almost shy smile as he looked back at me, “Make me look good, alright?”

He left before I could respond, and the moment the door closed behind him, I exhaled loudly, slumping back into my chair. What just happened? My pulse was still racing, and I couldn’t get his last words out of my head. It wasn’t flirting—at least, I didn’t think so. But there was something…more. Something I wasn’t prepared to confront.

I glanced at my schedule, grateful for a distraction. Sawyer was supposed to be next, but when I checked the time, I realized he was already ten minutes late. Of course I’d gotten distracted and run over time. I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to his interview, but the idea of him ignoring my directive completely pissed me off. Sure enough, when I checked in the hallwayoutside of my office, he was nowhere to be seen. I got a sick feeling he’d never shown up to begin with.

Another five minutes passed with no sign of Sawyer. And of course, there was no sight of Roman either, who was the only other player I had left to talk to, since I’d been avoiding him. Instead of screaming like I sort of wanted to, I snapped in a quieter way. Grabbing the first thing I could reach—a stress ball shaped like a miniature hockey stick I’d been given in a “Welcome to the team!” care package Lulu had arranged—I hurled it at the wall. It collided with athwack, and I watched as it bounced to the floor, rolling to an anticlimactic stop by my foot.

“Great,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Just great.”

I let out a slow breath. I wasn’t sure what had happened with Wes, or why I was so rattled by it. And I certainly didn’t know what I was supposed to do about two of the star players blowing me off. But one thing was clear: if this job was going to keep throwing curveballs like this—er, shooting trick shots? Something more hockey appropriate?—I would quickly run out of nonbreakable things to throw.

8

SAWYER

The sharp slice of my skate blades over the ice was like music to my ears. It was quiet enough on the rink this morning that I could hear that rare sound—not a soul was here this early besides me.

I mean, shit, the sun was barely up. I hadn’t been here so long before practice in a while, but it felt like I really needed the time to work out my body and my thoughts before I had to interact with humans. At my core, I was a morning person. Not for any stereotypical chipper sunshine reasons, but because I could avoid human interaction if everyone else was asleep. Besides, the quiet before the rest of the world was awake felt like where I belonged. Just like I belonged on the ice, defending the goal with all I had.

I was a goalie for fuck’s sake. Not a goddamn model or, God forbid, someone worthinterviewing.

Luckily, I’d been able to avoid Rachel Henning’s attempts to rope me into her marketing scheme so far. Over the past few days, I’d avoided her before, during, and after practice like I’d been trained in espionage. She’d even tried to catch me on a break at practice once, just to “chat” for my “social mediaprofile,” and I’d sidestepped her straight into the place she couldn’t follow: the men’s room.

To be honest, I was kind of having fun with this game of cat and mouse. But I’d never say that out loud. I had a grumpy reputation to uphold, and besides, it was better for me to avoid the first woman who had caught my eye since my divorce.

I pushed off the boards and glided across the ice, letting the cold air clear my head. Hockey had always been my escape, my way to shut out everything else. And lately, I needed that escape more than ever. I wasn’t ready for women, or relationships, and I definitely wasn’t ready to be the face of some promotional campaign. I liked my privacy too much to spill my guts for the masses.

But as I skated, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Rachel. She was persistent, I’d give her that. And annoyingly attractive, with those bright eyes that seemed to see right through me and that damn confident smile. I wasn’t used to someone like her, someone who could get under my skin without even trying.

I shot a glance toward the glass, half expecting her to be standing there, clipboard in hand, ready to pounce. But the rink was empty, just how I liked it.

Or so I thought.

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