Page 26 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

I kept the conversation light, friendly, but distant. The kind of casual chit-chat that led to nothing but a polite goodbye, and for once, that’s exactly what I wanted. I didn’t bother flirting back, didn’t suggest meeting up later. And though the blonde kept dropping hints, I found myself getting impatient to move on.

“Anyway, ladies, I gotta run,” I said, taking a step back. “Catch you at the next game?”

“Of course!” Halley practically purred, but I was already turning away, barely hearing her.

I was just stepping out of the bakery, a bag of muffins in hand—because I was apparently in a festive mood and who could resist a holiday muffin?—when I saw her.

Rachel Henning was across the street, walking with her mom. I knew Paula pretty well—she never missed a game, and she was the kind of mom who made you feel like you were a good guy just for existing. Like a TV mom instead of whatever sad excuse for parents I’d been stuck with as a kid. Rachel was distracted, probably listening to her mom’s animated chatter—or, more likely, pretending—but when our lines of sight crossed, my heart did a stupid little flip.

Without thinking, I waved at her. Big, goofy ass grin and all. Like I was a goddamn cartoon character.

Rachel’s expression morphed into one of utter confusion. I was grinning like an idiot, my hand still in the air.Smooth, Jett. Real smooth.

Despite the embarrassment bubbling up in my chest, I found myself crossing the street toward them. Maybe I could just say hi. I could charm Paula a little, show Rachel I wasn’t a complete jerk.

Because for some reason, I actually cared what she thought of me. Which was new.

“Roman!” Paula greeted me with the enthusiasm of a proud hockey mom. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Doing great, Mrs. Henning. How about you? Looking forward to the season?”

“Oh, you know I can’t wait,” she said, her smile wide. “I’ll be at every game. Well, until I get too busy with my charity gala. You understand.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” I smiled, trying to ignore the way Rachel was glaring at me from beside her mother. It was her classicwhat the hell are you doinglook, and normally, I’d be riling her up just to get that expression to come out. But right now, I wasn’t sure why I was doing this. Maybe I just wanted her to see me differently. See that I wasn’t always the cocky, flirty guy with no more substance beyond that. I wasn’t just that, was I?

Paula’s eyes lit up. “You should join us for lunch, Roman! We’re just headed to the Holiday Hearth.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, latching onto mine for only a second before she shot her mom a look that saidabsolutely not. Not that Paula noticed, since she was still watching me with an expectant smile.

“Uh, I wouldn’t want to intrude—” I started carefully, even though I really wanted to agree. To get a little extra time with Rachel without the chance that either of us would end up naked and sweaty.

“Nonsense!” Paula waved me off, her eyes twinkling. “We’d love to have you.”

I glanced at Rachel, who looked like she might throw her coffee at me, but hell if I could say no now. “Sure,” I said, smiling brightly at Paula. “I’d love to.”

Rachel’s fiery gaze could’ve melted the snow on the rooftops, and it only made me remember how much softer she’d been in my arms, how sweetly she’d taken my cock. The way her stormy eyes slid closed in pleasure when I made her come. But as we started walking toward the restaurant, I realized I wasn’t reliving those moments with my usual hunger to repeat them—purely physical, driven by instinct. Honestly, I didn’t actually care about sex right now. I just…wanted to spend time with Rachel, to show her I was good for more than pleasure.

And that realization freaked me out. Big time.

15

RACHEL

Iwas more excited than I should have been to see Leonard the photographer’s name in my email inbox. The attached folder full of photo files especially thrilled me. These were the final results of the Santa photoshoot, and though I’d never admit it out loud, I had more than professional interest in seeing how the pictures turned out.

The first few pictures were adorable. They were the fully clothed festive promo pics of my dreams, all the guys smiling with friendly openness and posing with appropriate props—holding giant candy canes like wizard staffs or using them as a kickstand while they gave razzle-dazzle Broadway energy. I knew these would be amazing for my planned marketing campaign throughout the season. We’d sell tons of tickets. Hell, I could maybe even gather them into a Skatin’ Santas’ wall calendar, for the oldies who still used such things in our digital world.

But eventually, I clicked through to the real reason I was excited. The shirtless pictures. Sexy Santas on full display—at least from the waist up. And while I didn’t care in the slightest about the photos featuring all of the other players on the team,once I let myself take in the glory of Wes, Sawyer, and Roman’s shirtless chests and abs and toned stomachs, I couldn’t stop looking. Gawking, really, my body starting to sing to life just from the photos that were technically barely more than PG.

Well, that wasn’t fully true. Roman brought his signature sinful energy to the whole affair. The forward thrust of his hips, the sultry look on his face…and of course, the tattoos didn’t help. But even Sawyer and Wes, who were less comfortable in front of the camera, had my insides turning molten. Sawyer’s thick, long, curly hair fell so gracefully around his face, a romantic contrast to his hard, manly features. That same hair dusted his broad chest, covering the succulent, taught pectorals that I wanted to bite. And the trail of hair that went from his belly button down to the red waistband of the stupid Santa pants…I wanted to nuzzle my face in it before I took his cock into my mouth. My horny brain justknewit would be substantial—thick, long, and perfectly hard in my fantasy.

I could tell any part of sex with Sawyer would be good. The way he’d kissed me that day on the ice…it was enough to fill me with lust for weeks. And we’d still never spoken of it, never even been in the same room long enough to exchange a knowing look about it. The uncertainty was killing me. The need for more.

I could feel myself getting wet. I was thankful that my office door was closed, hoping I had locked it behind me, but far too engrossed in the photos to get up and check. Nothing could drag my eyes away from my computer screen long enough to do that. Besides, there was something thrilling about the idea of someone walking in, especially as I crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs together for the delicious pressure it gave me. Letting myself accept the pleasure in this private moment as I found a particularly delectable photo of Wes to study next.

His pants were slung low on his hips, and something about the extra spice in this photo—definitely not safe forpublic consumption—made the fit of said pants look borderline pornographic. He was turned in such a way that I could see every detail of his well-formed ass, and it may have been arousal mixed with wishful thinking, but I could swear the outline of his dick was pressing into the red fabric too. Wes was so tall, so elegantly sculpted, like a greek statue. The sinews of his arms were prominent as he posed, filling my mind with thoughts of those arms around me, those long-fingered hands exploring every inch of my body.

It was just unfair how hot he was, with that close-cropped hair, those striking eyes…he may have rubbed me the wrong way in most of our social interactions thus far, but I knew of the three of them, he was the gentlest too. That he’d take care of a woman in bed the same way he took care of people in his daily life.

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