Page 25 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

“Really?” she asked, the doubt clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” I said, doubling down now that I was in it. “It’s new, but…I like her. She, uh, works with the team.”

Sharon blinked, processing that information. I didn’t say Rachel’s name, but her face flashed in my mind, unbidden. The way we’d talked last night—before I screwed everything up by mentioning Roman—had been easy. Natural. Unlike this forced, painful dance with Sharon.

“Well,” Sharon said, leaning back in her chair with a smug smile. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

I gritted my teeth, my frustration bubbling under the surface. “I’m serious. You need to stop waiting for me. It’s over.”

She gave me a look like she didn’t believe me for a second, but before I could say anything else, the waitress brought our check. Sharon slid her sleek platinum credit card across the table without missing a beat.

As she signed the receipt, I caught myself thinking about Rachel again. I wasn’t dating her—hell, she’d probably slap me if she knew I was even thinking about using her to get Sharon off my back. But the more I considered the possibility of letting Sharon think Rachel and I were together, the more I liked it. Hell, even just the idea of spending more time with RachelHenning, under false pretenses or not, even if she was destined to yell at me again…it had a strong appeal.

Sharon glanced up at me as we left, still smug as she pressed her body against mine in a hug that I didn’t want. She was still convinced she had time to win me back. But as I walked out of the café, the sight of Rachel’s face in the dark of her parents’ backyard fortified me.

I’d rather fake date Rachel than really get back with Sharon any day. Now, I just had to find a way to do it.

14

ROMAN

Ihad to hand it to downtown Mistletoe—teeny tiny and socially dead as it could be when it came to nightlife, it was goddamn charming on a regular day. Quaint, some people would probably call it, with gingerbread trim piping the doorways and windows to the various little shops, the year-round Christmas bows that adorned the old-fashioned streetlamps, and the smiling, friendly people who milled about as they did their errands. I’d only been in this little town as long as I’d been on the Skatin’ Santas, and other than hanging with Sawyer, Mike, and Wes, I spent a lot of my downtime a bit outside of town, either hiking the surrounding woods for some non-hockey exercise or even further out, closer to real civilization.

Today, though, I was living as a real Mistletoe boy. Taking a page out of Michael Henning’s much less exciting book. I was runningmy own errands.In the daylight, no less.

And they say people never change.

As I strolled down the main strip, hands in my jacket pockets, I caught sight of a few familiar faces. The town was small enough that you started to recognize everyone if you spent morethan a minute walking around. The smell of cinnamon and pine wafted from a nearby bakery, and somewhere across the street, Christmas carols were playing—because of course they were. Mistletoe didn’t know how to do anything but lean hard into the holiday spirit.

Normally, this sort of wholesome, cutesy stuff would bore me to tears. But it was kind of charming today. Maybe it was because lately, I hadn’t been as easily distracted by the usual vices that dulled my experience of the world. I hadn’t been partying, or fucking around, or…well, much of anything. Not since I slept with Rachel fucking Henning.

I could’ve called it a fluke. Just two people getting their needs met, scratching an itch that had been driving us both a little batshit. It should’ve been simple. In fact, it usually was. I’d had plenty of one-off nights like that—no complications, no strings. Just mutual pleasure and a graceful exit the next morning. But with Rachel?

It wasn’t quite so simple.

I could try to pretend it was just because the sex was good. And, hell, it was great. But that didn’t explain why I hadn’t been interested in going out and finding someone else to pass the time with. I’d tried. A few times, even. But no one had really struck me as worth the effort. Not like Rachel.

I scowled at myself as I passed a holiday-themed coffee shop with a little snowman logo on the window. The truth was, I wanted to sleep with her again so bad I could scream. Usually, I didn’t feel the need to go back for round two unless the woman practically begged for it, or it was the easiest option at the time. I liked to keep my high libido appeased, and it wasn’t always worth searching for someone newer and more exciting when there was an available gorgeous woman within arm’s reach. But Rachel? Rachel hadn’t shown even a hint of interest in repeatingthe night we’d shared, and instead of moving on like I should, I was…fixating.

It was probably just because she was so different from the others. Yeah, that had to be it. She didn’t give a damn about my usual lines, and she sure as hell wasn’t impressed by me being Roman Jett, hockey star extraordinaire. She was prickly, sharp-tongued, and could slice through my ego in seconds. But damn if that wasn’t part of the appeal.

Not that I was emotionally invested or anything. That would be ridiculous.

My musings were interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from across the street. I glanced over and recognized a group of women heading my way. One of them, a tall blonde in a puffy red jacket, waved excitedly when she saw me.

“Roman! Hey!”

Great. Just what I needed.

While they crossed the street toward me, I quickly searched my brain for their names. I recognized all three of them—some of the usual puck bunnies, the kind who followed the team around and had no problem getting cozy with other players besides just me. I’d hooked up with each of them at different times. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember all their names. Was one of them named Haley? Halley?

“Hey, ladies,” I said, plastering on my usual easy grin, albeit with more effort than usual. “How’s it going?”

The blonde—Halley, I decided—sidled up close. A little too close, actually. Her ample breasts were almost pressed against my crossed arms, and I could see that she had a hair stuck in her lip gloss. She batted her eyelashes at me. “Oh, you know, just doing some Christmas shopping. You getting ready for the season?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I forced a chuckle, but it sounded as hollow to me as it probably did to them. The othertwo women, both brunettes, smiled and gave me a little wave, less forward than their friend and ringleader, but their interest was still clear from the way they looked at me. I was used to this—being the center of attention, catching flirty gazes left and right. Normally, I’d be using this as an opportunity to turn on the charm, to reel them in for a repeat performance.

But today? I just wasn’t feeling it.

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