Page 22 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

She picks up the rolling pin and gets to work on the mound. “Me saving your ass. Backing up your story. Not telling them you’ve engineered the whole thing so you can spend the holidays alone, away from all festivities, and them, for the first time in your life.”

Definitely a quick learner. “You might be extrapolating a little enthusiastically there.”

“I think I’m extrapolating exactly the right amount.” She gives the dough a quarter turn. “Which bit did I get wrong? Or overextrapolate?”

“Is the tree off the road yet?” I drain my mug of tepid coffee.

She sprinkles a bit more flour on thedough, then gets back to rolling. “You are totally helping stage the play on ice.”

“Oh no, I am not.”

“Do you want your parents to find out you’re not having any treatment at all, other than a dose of solitude in a house you just bought?” The dough gets another quarter turn.

“You wouldn’t know how to get a hold of them.”

“Well, I know their last name.” She waves the rolling pin in the air. “And behind them was a giant banner saying, ‘Welcome to The Maiden of the Blue, the jewel of the Caribbean Cruise Lines’ fleet,’ so I don’t think it would be too tricky to track them down.”

Would she do that? No, of course she wouldn’t. Why would anyone go to the effort to contact a cruise ship? And she’s not a bad person. In fact, she is probably an extremely good, if extremely irritating, person.

“You’re blackmailing me to help you with a kids’ Christmas play?”

“I prefer not to think of it as blackmail.” She gives the dough a pat, appears satisfied with it and picks up a gingerbread man cutter. “More like encouraging your previously untapped community spirit.” She cocks her head toward me and raises her eyebrows.

“You don’t need me. I’m sure the town will rally around.”

“All my volunteers are busy. We worked hard to get everything done in advance, before they all either left town to visit family or had to start prepping for family to visit them here.” She moves the cookie cutter around the dough, slamming it down with her palm each time. “And now all the scenery and costumes have burned to a crispand I have no help. So who better to help me put on a show on ice than a world-famous hockey player?”

“I’m notworldfamous.” It’s not like I get recognized in the street. Well, not unless it’s by someone who’s a major fan.

“How disappointed would your mom and dad be if they found out, Gabe?” She sounds like she’s threatening a kid in her class with telling their parents how badly they’ve behaved.

Tragically disappointed, that’s how disappointed. But I’m not giving in. “Stop. I’m not getting involved.”

“You owe me.” She gives the cutter an extra forceful thump into the dough.

I can’t help but laugh. “Oweyou? I don’t owe you. Why would I owe you?”

“You attacked me. You hurt my ankle.” She lifts it out in front of her and points at it in case I might not be certain what an ankle is. “Youoweme.”

Even if I don’t believe she’d rat me out to my parents, she’s definitely got me there. That’s true. And I do feel bad about it. I’ll hurl my entire body weight at a dude on the ice without batting an eyelid. But throwing a woman to the ground and spraining her ankle is definitely not cool.

But I was justified. “It was actually you who attacked me. I was defending myself from a mugger bunny.”

“You threw me to the ground and sprained my ankle, and you should see the giant bruise on my thigh.”

She wipes her hands on the nearest cloth and, right before me, she starts to unbutton her jeans. At the first sound of the zipper I turn away and raise my hands as if protecting my eyes from the dazzling light of a thousand suns—or the lights she’s covered my house in.

I definitely do not need to catch the slightestglimpse of her underwear or what is undoubtedly an extremely tantalizing thigh to verify whether it’s bruised or not.

“All right, all right. Please keep your pants on.”

“You mean youwilldo it?”

I turn back to see a pair of wide blue eyes filled with more hope than I could ever have imagined. Hope that’s pinned on me.

Oh for the love of fucking God. “A bit. I’ll help abit. But I can’t do anything that might aggravate my shoulder because that’s the thing that’s actually important.”

She hops up and down. “Yay. I knew you would. I knew there must be a good guy under all that”—she gestures at my general presence—“beardy grumpy stuff.”

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