Page 6 of Santa's Pucking Hat Trick

And sure, there were the other guys too. The whole Skatin’ Santas’ squad were looking tight and ready for the season ahead. But in addition to being my best friends, Mike, Sawyer, Wes, and I were the undisputed star players. I had no trouble admitting it. It felt fucking great to be a star.

“Don’t let your one killer shot go to your already massive head, Rome,” Michael joked as we skated to the edge of the ice at our first break. “Doesn’t mean you’re God’s gift to hockey.”

“You’re so right, Henny,” I teased him back, using the nickname for his last name that he hated—I’d come up with it originally, of course. “I’m a great player, obviously. But God’s gift? That’s reserved for all the sweet puck bunnies I take home after practice.” I shot him a wink that made him gag.

Sawyer and Wes came up behind us making similar gagging sounds, basically full-on fake retching, which made me cackle. My friends were dicks, but only because I pushed them to it first. It was a dynamic I’d grown to love.

All of us pulled off our helmets, shaking out our hair, which was surprisingly damp with sweat for how cold it had to be on the ice. A sign of us working our asses off at the game we loved. Of course, we teased Wes for his buzzcut—“Too bad you can’t shake yours out, bro, since all you’ve got is fuzz”—but there was affection in it. Wes had to know we only picked on him because he was a handsome son-of-a-bitch and, other than me, was the most sought-after player on the team with the ladies. Of course, he’d never use his powers to get laid well and often like I did.

“Did I tell you guys about the sweet redhead I had over the weekend?” I asked my three buddies as all our teammates grouped up in different clumps outside the rink, chugging Gatorade and stretching out their muscles during our downtime. “Man, she was a real firecracker. Real bendy too, since she teaches yoga or some shit. And you should have heard thescreams she let out—practically shook the walls. Talk about an ego boost.”

“Your neighbors must hate you,” Sawyer grumbled while he pulled off one of his skates to apply tape to his ankle for extra support.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Did you get this one’s name, at least?” Wes asked me pointedly. I smirked and shrugged.

“Wasn’t a lot of time for talking, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh, yeah. We all know what you mean. Sicko,” Michael shot back with some genuine disapproval in his voice. He always got like this, all creased brow and holier-than-thou because he was in a long-term relationship and had a twin sister. As if that made him some great feminist compared to the rest of us—hell, I had a few sisters too.

“Nothing sick about giving a woman what she wants and getting mine in return,” I countered. “You’re jealous because your girl isn’t as freaky now that you’re all settled and in love, or what?”

“Watch it,” Wes warned me, his voice low. Michael didn’t have much of a temper, though, so he waved off the attempt at reining me in.

“It’s fine, Wes. We’ve all got our flaws. Rome’s just happens to be that he sees women as objects.”

“Hey, I love women,” I rebuked him. “I just also love freedom, and fucking without the expectation of a ring and babies someday. Glad you’re that guy, but commitment’s never really been my style.”

“You’ve been with the Santas for longer than all of your past relationships combined,” Wes pointed out, and Sawyer snorted.

“Hey, that’s hockey. Totally different,” I told them, which had them all exchanging looks and disbelieving smiles at myexpense. I wasn’t bothered. I knew my casual style worked for me, and none of my past partners had any complaints.

Well, almost none.

“Jett!” a stern voice barked from across the way, making me turn my head. I spotted one of the suits who worked for the team, Jerry Fenton, standing at the threshold of a hallway that led back into the boring areas of the ice center. Offices and shit where people with boring regular jobs worked day-to-day. I could never remember what Jerry’s real title was, since he wasn’t our team manager, but he was a higher-up in some capacity. My job was to score goals, not keep track of details.

“Parker’s office,” Fenton continued, his tone practically a bark.Thatwas our team manager, Ray Parker. “Five minutes.”

“Ooo, someone’s in trouble,” a teammate sang in a low voice, and the rest of the team snickered, eyeing me with curiosity. I shook it off, throwing up a middle finger at all of those idiots as I started to unlace my skates and get ready for whatever dumb meeting I was getting dragged into now.

When I went into Ray’s office, he and Jerry were both there, as well as the older woman who I was pretty sure ran HR. That made me a little nervous, but I shrugged it off by shooting her a charming smile and a polite, “Hello, Lulu. Lovely seeing you today.”

She smiled at me, but it was a little strained. “You too, Roman. Would you mind taking a seat?”

I did, noticing the serious energy that permeated the air in the room. Jerry, Ray, and Lulu were all looking at me, and no-nonsense Ray wasted no time in getting straight into it.

“Roman, we’ve called you in here to talk about your recent behavior on and off the ice.”

“Troublemaking,” Jerry jumped in to elaborate, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared me down. The stuffy little nerd never liked me, and I felt like he was enjoying watching me getreprimanded a little too much. “You’ve been getting in fights even during friendlies, and it’s no secret to anyone how you comport yourself with women around town.”

I resisted the urge to snort. Poor bastard was probably just jealous that I got way more pussy than he ever would.

“It doesn’t really suit the team’s family-friendly image,” Ray said with more of a disappointed dad tone. The old man was always kind, and I appreciated that he kept that up even as he was scolding me like I was a kid in trouble with the school principal. “We’re the Skatin’ Santas, Roman. Not the…the…”

“Sexy Santas?” Lulu suggested. God, what a woman. She giggled like a schoolgirl when I winked at her.

“I can think of a more accurate S-word,” Jerry grumbled, and Ray shot him a disapproving look that made him pull back, a little sheepish. I let myself smile in satisfaction, loving to see him knocked off his high horse. But I only smiled a little, not showing my teeth. This was a professional setting, so I couldn’t be too much of a little shit. These people signed my paychecks.

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