Page 45 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

SAWYER

The Rowdy Reindeer was the only place to go after a disappointing win. Maybe for some people that phrase would be an oxymoron, but not for me, or for my fellow hockey-obsessed friends who sat with me at a high-top table. Sure, we came out of that game victorious, but it had been a struggle. Too much of a struggle for a game against a team we’d never once been worried about facing. Embarrassing, really.

We had higher standards for ourselves. Which was why we were all here now, waiting for Rachel.

God, I hated waiting.

Part of me—a bigger part than I wanted to admit—was half terrified she wouldn’t show. It was bold of us to all go out in public like this. To act like we were any normal couple on a date. What was even the term for what we were trying to be? A quadrouple? A foursome? Rachel’s brother-boyfriends?

Fuck, they all sounded stupid. But I knew one thing for sure: I wanted to be hers. Even though there was a flavor of anxiety that came with that knowledge too.

Wes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “We should’ve cleaned up in that game,” he muttered, eyesnarrowed at the television mounted over the bar. Highlights from the league were playing on the screen, but none of us were really watching. The sting of our own lackluster performance was still fresh.

Roman snorted, nursing his beer. “Speak for yourself, Robbins. You were the only one skating like you actually gave a damn.”

“I always give a damn.” Wes smirked, glancing at Roman with that cocky edge that only someone playing at his level could pull off. It suited him way better than his low self-esteem bullshit had in the past. “Some of us just didn’t eat our Wheaties.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not the damn Wheaties, idiot. I just—” I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. I knew what the problem was, and it had nothing to do with what I ate for breakfast. “I’ve been distracted. I think both of us have,” I said, roping in Roman.

Roman raised a brow. “Yeah? By what?”

I shot him a look, and it didn’t take long for the realization to dawn on him. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You’re right. Rachel fucking Henning.”

Wes chuckled. “Sure, sure, blame it on the girl. Classic move.”

“This is why I didn’t get involved with anyone for years after Alicia,” I insisted, scowling. “I can’t focus.”

Roman scoffed, slouching deeper into his chair. “Yeah, sure, it’s definitely because of hockey and not because of all the women lining up to date you.”

Wes laughed outright at that, and I felt my face heat up despite myself. They were busting my balls, as usual, but it didn’t change the fact that I was off my game. All I could think about was Rachel—the way she got under my skin, the way she owned every room she walked into. And lately, how fucking bonkers itwas that I was cool with sleeping with her alongside two other guys.

“She’s different,” I said, quieter this time, staring into my nearly drained beer glass. “She doesn’t bullshit you. I respect that. I mean, when I first met her, I thought she was just some puck bunny. You know the type.” I shook my head at the memory. “I was way off. She’s smart, driven, upfront about what she wants.”

Roman grinned. “And what she wants is all of us.”

Wes’s smile faded slightly. “You sure about that, Rome? Because I don’t see her here yet.”

The words hit harder than I expected. The doubts I’d been trying to ignore gnawed at me, and I glanced toward the door, hoping Rachel would walk in any second and prove us all wrong. She was a busy woman, and it wasn’t so late that we could assume she was standing us up, but still. The sooner she got here, the better.

Roman, always the joker, leaned forward with a gleam in his green eyes that made me want to smack him. “You know, I’m still gonna win in the end. Rachel’s gonna pick me.”

That got Wes’s attention. He shot Roman a look, and I felt my own gut twist with a twinge of jealousy. It was irrational, stupid even, but the thought of Rachel choosing just one of us—choosing him—rubbed me the wrong way.

Roman laughed, waving a hand. “Relax, boys. I’m just messing with you. I don’t mind sharing. Hell, I’ve never been the monogamous type, but this…” He leaned back, gesturing vaguely between the three of us. “This is different. It works. I can finally see myself withonewoman long term, maybe even forever.”

Wes shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but I knew what Roman meant. There was something about Rachel that made this whole situation make sense, even thoughit shouldn’t. Even after Alicia, even after everything, I wasn’t jealous. Not really. There was no sneaking around, no betrayal. It was open, honest. And these guys—they were my friends.

“I don’t care about sharing,” I admitted, the words feeling truer as I said them.

“Yeah,” Wes agreed quietly. “She’s just…I don’t know. She feels like ours.”

Before anyone else could respond, the door to the bar swung open, and there she was. Rachel Henning, walking in like she owned the place, a smirk playing on her lips as she looked straight at us.

“Hello, boys.”

And just like that, the rest of the bar faded away.

She was always a fucking knockout, but it was clear that Rachel was a little late because she’d put in extra effort to blow our minds tonight. She wore a sexy, skin-tight red dress that dipped low and rose up high, showing off her amazing chest, those long legs. The sky-high heels she’d donned accentuated the whole effect, even the clicking sound they made on the floor sending a bolt of need through me like lightning.

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