Page 24 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

“And for the record,” Rachel started, standing up straighter and bringing her face nearly nose to nose with mine like she was gearing up to some grand finale that I knew would hurt, “if your goal was to keep me from sleeping with him, that ship has already sailed. We fucked, and it was fantastic. Roman is even better in bed than everyone says. Was that what you were so worried about?”

Holy shit. The words punched through my chest, knocking the wind out of me. Before I could try to suss out if she was serious, if the hissed obscenities she’d released like a witch’s curse were just a hurtful lie or a more painful truth, I heard myself muttering a strained goodnight, and I was turning away.

I didn’t stop until I was back to the safety of my mom’s house, thoughts of Rachel and Roman pounding like a migraine inside my skull.

The morning sunpoured through the big front windows of Sharon’s café of choice, casting the whole place in a golden glow. It was a beautiful morning in Mistletoe, and this local business was brimming with activity, but somehow, Sharon’s presence managed to drain the life right out of the room.

She was just as pretty as ever, of course—well dressed, perfectly styled blonde hair, wearing a sleek pink lip gloss I knew tasted like pink lemonade. I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on my coffee, the dark liquid still steaming in the cup in front of me while she talked at me.

“Remember that trip we took to Chicago?” Sharon asked, a syrupy sweetness coating her words. “That was such a good time, wasn’t it? The art institute, and of course that night at our hotel…”

I barely suppressed a groan hearing her giggle, a put-upon coquettish gesture that felt false.

“Yeah,” I replied, though the memory didn’t bring the warmth she seemed to expect. All I could think about was how exhausting that trip had been—how she’d dragged me from one overpriced boutique to another, acting like I should be grateful to have the privilege of carrying her bags. But I wasn’t about to start a fight. Not here, not now.

Her smile widened, as if we were two old friends reminiscing about a perfect day instead of exes with nothing left to talk about. She stirred her iced latte, the sound of the spoon clinking against the glass grating on my nerves.

“You were so cute back then,” she added, her gaze flicking over me. “A little nerdy, but in an adorable way. Hard to believe you’re the same guy sometimes.”

There it was. The subtle jab. The reminder that I hadn’t always looked like this. I’d worked my ass off to get stronger, to bulk up for hockey, but Sharon had always taken credit for it in some way, like she’d sculpted me herself.

I swallowed, trying not to let it get to me. It wasn’t like she was completely wrong. I had been nerdy when we first met. Hell, I still kind of was under all the muscle. But it didn’t mean I owed her anything for it.

“Yeah, well,” I said, forcing a smile. “Times change.”

Sharon’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than was comfortable, and I glanced down at the muffin I’d ordered. I hadn’t really wanted to eat breakfast with her, but I wouldn’t have time to grab anything else before practice, since Mistletoe’s drive-thru places were few and far between. The muffin looked good, anyway, and it was probably the only thing keeping me from snapping right now. I picked it up, peeling back the wrapper from its side in preparation for a bite.

“Do you really think you should eat that?” Sharon said suddenly, her voice soft but with an edge of condescension. “I mean, you’ve worked so hard on your physique, Wes. It’d be a shame to ruin all that.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unwelcome. My grip tightened on the edge of the table, and for a second, I imagined throwing the damn thing right at her. But, of course, I didn’t. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and shrugged, taking a large bite that wasn’t as sweet as I’d hoped after her bitter comment.

“Pretty sure it won’t kill me.”

Her lips twitched in a way that made my skin crawl, but she let it go. For now, anyway. The silence stretched between us, awkward and uncomfortable, and I found myself wishing I could disappear. How did I ever think this relationship was a good idea?

I was hoping I could steer the conversation to something neutral—anything that wouldn’t make me feel like I was suffocating—when Sharon leaned forward, her hand resting on the table between us. Pink nails filed in that square shape I’d never liked much.

“I miss you, Wes,” she said, her voice lower now, almost intimate. “I know we ended things, but…I think we were good together. Don’t you?”

I clenched my jaw. Thatwe, the implication that our breakup had been mutual…it made me want to scream. I should’ve seen this coming, should’ve known the real reason she’d insisted on seeing me was to get her manicured claws back into me and never let go.

“Sharon—”

She cut me off. “I get that you needed space. I do. But I’ve waited. I’ve given you time, and I’m still here, Wesley. We belong together. You know that, right?”

I could feel my frustration building, a knot forming in my chest. Belong together? I knew she was good at rewriting history, but this was a whole new level. The truth was, being with Sharon had made me feel like shit most of the time. She’d always found a way to make me question myself, to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough unless I was constantly changing, improving—for her.

And now, here she was, acting like she’d done me some grand favor by sticking around, waiting for me to realize I couldn’t do better than her. It made my skin crawl.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “We broke up for a reason, Shar. I’ve told you that I’m not interested in getting back together, and I meant it.”

Her expression didn’t change much, just a slight twitch of her lips like she didn’t quite believe me. “You haven’t been dating anyone else,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Not a singledate since we…parted ways. Don’t act like that doesn’t mean anything, Wesley.”

The fact that she was keeping tabs on me—knew that I wasn’t dating anyone—had my blood boiling. How much had she been watching? What gave her the right to act like she knew me better than I knew myself?

Without thinking, I blurted, “Your information is off, actually. I am seeing someone.”

The words were out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted it. Sharon’s eyes widened in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up.

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