Page 36 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

They were sort of thank-you flowers, to be fair. Not just “thanks for deigning to fuck me!” but an expression of gratitude for the kind words she’d spoken to me beforehand, and how saidconfidence boost had fueled me on the ice in our first hockey game of the season. My teammates all knew something was up with me by how aggressively, how ruthlessly I’d played that day. It was like Rachel had unlocked some level of confidence I hadn’t known I needed.

And the way she stuck up for me with Sharon…yeah, that deserved a thank-you too. I hadn’t heard from the Wicked Witch of Mistletoe since we sent that video and text message read receipts told me she’d gotten it. It was the most insane thing I’d ever done, but something about it was thrilling too. Rachel had emboldened me even before I’d gotten to experience the bliss of being inside her.

Before I could make it to Rachel’s door, an unmistakable voice boomed across the yard. I used my athletic instincts to dart quickly behind a hedge, tucking the bouquet of flowers in the shadows with me.

Michael laughed at something I didn’t hear—something one of the other Hennings said, I presumed. He walked within a few feet of me in my secret bush hiding spot as he left through the back gate, whistling, not a care in the world. It was the most accurate summation of my best friend’s personality possible. And for the first time, while I held a cheap bouquet of flowers for his twin sister, I considered what all of this meant for my relationship with Michael.

Rachel was a big girl, obviously. She was allowed to date—or at least sleep with, since that was just my own wishful thinking getting away from me—whoever she wanted, regardless of how it may affect her brother. But I wasn’t sure how my fooling around with Rachel would impact her relationship with Michael, or my relationship with him, for that matter.

He was a nice guy. The nicest, really—he’d been kind to me even when I was that nerdy kid and he was the typical cool guy every underdog learned to fear, but without the bad attitude. Hestood up for people like me, and fostered genuine friendships with us too. Surely he was kind and understanding enough to know my character, that I wasn’t going to hurt Rachel and I cared about her more than was probably logical at this point. He didn’t have to ever know the filth the two of us had gotten up to in her office that day, just that I liked her and wanted to see her again. I knew he’d want the best for Rachel too. For both of us.

But again, getting ahead of myself. I didn’t know if Rachel would even want more from me, no matter how much she seemed to enjoy what I did to her—what we did for each other.

Anyway, hopefully the flowers would be a point in the “give Wes a chance” column.

I darted over to the guest house now that Michael was gone, hoping not to be caught by any other stray Hennings on my quick trip over here. I knocked on the door before I could convince myself not to.

I heard some shuffling inside the guest house. And then…more shuffling. I imagined, absurdly, that Rachel was in the middle of some complicated task, like she was assembling furniture. But the door finally opened eventually, and Rachel popped her head and shoulders out through the narrow space she allowed.

She looked different. Less polished than normal. Partly because of her messy dark hair, the fuzzy gray robe she seemed to have thrown on before answering the door. But also, she hadglasseson. Plastic tortoiseshell frames, a warm contrast to her cool eyes, which were looking up at me with utter shock. I tried to contain my blush.

“Wes? What are you…doing here?” she asked slowly as she began to notice the flowers I held out to her. She blinked, adjusted her robe so that she was holding it closed with one hand, and reached for the bouquet. It crinkled as she took it. “These are…lovely. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I told her. “I know it’s weird for me to just, uh, drop by. Like, without calling or anything. But I was hoping, if you had a minute, that we could talk?”

Rachel’s eyes darted back over her shoulder, as if she was concerned about something—someone—interrupting or making itself known. This cagey behavior made me notice her a little more closely. The mess of her hair, like she’d been sleeping…or freshly fucked. The fact that she held that robe tightly as if there was nothing underneath it.

Christ. Was Roman inside her guest house right now, having just slept with her again? Was she still sleeping with him, even after she’d slept with me? Was I really that stupid? I didn’t have a great track record with women, but I never thought I was the type to read too much into a brief situationship.

“Is someone in there?” I asked Rachel, my tone more demanding than I had a right to be. I wasn’t normally a jealous person, but there was no denying that was the response this woman was eliciting in me right now. Her eyes grew wide, the blush on her cheeks confirming my suspicion even before I went a little mad and shoved through the door, pushing past her despite her weak protest.

And I was right—therewassomeone sprawled out comfortably in Rachel’s bed. I didn’t find who I expected to see, though.

“Sawyer?”

Somehow, the sight of the steady, commitment-driven goalie threw me off guard so much that all the anger flowed out of me. The pissed-off wind stopped propelling my sails like the sudden ocean stillness before a storm.

But there was no sight of the storm either. Just…calm. And underneath my bizarre acceptance of this ridiculous situation, I had another inexplicable feeling. Something like…affection?

The longer I gaped in silence at my friend, who I would have thought seemed unbothered if I didn’t know him well enough to notice how his posture was subtly tensed as if to fight or flee, the firmer my thoughts became. Somehow, on some weird deeply buried level of my subconscious, I washappyfor Sawyer. That he’d finally found a way to get back out there after his ex-wife shattered his heart. That he was, at the very least, back in the habit of sleeping with other women. That was the first step to moving on.

But did he have to move on with Rachel?A less-mature part of my brain was ready to get the rage going again. God, this whole situation was amess.

“What the hell are you doing here, Wes?” Sawyer demanded, sitting up further in bed so that his whole shirtless torso was bare. His hair looked just as mussed as Rachel’s had been—more, even, since his curls were frizzing and poofy. He gripped Rachel’s bedding around his crotch, hiding the fact that he must have been naked under there. Damn it. God fuckingdamn it.

“Me? I’m here to see Rachel.” I waved the bouquet of flowers lamely in my hand. Rachel came up behind me and grabbed them, muttering a quiet thank-you that I didn’t have time to acknowledge. “What the hell areyoudoing here?” I asked my friend.

“I thought it’d be pretty obvious,” Sawyer deadpanned, and it took way too much self-control to keep myself from running over and dragging his ass out of bed by his hair.

Maybe I was a jealous person after all. And borderline catty to boot.

“You’re sleeping with Rachel,” I practically spat the words. Sawyer raised an eyebrow.

“Jealous?”

“This is sofucked,”I almost laughed. I looked at Rachel, who held the bouquet like some kind of shield, her face screwed up ina near permanent cringe. I didn’t know what to do about the fact that she made my heart skip a couple of beats even when I’d just learned about her boninganotherof my friends. “Are you just making your way through our whole team?”

“Of course not,” Rachel snapped. She laid the bouquet on top of the nearest piece of furniture and stepped closer, her bare feet on the floor less intimidating than her usual work heels. She seemed so much smaller, even though she was still on the taller side without the towering shoes. “I don’t have interest in anyone else. Just…you two.”

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