Page 3 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

The wind and the snow swirl around us, the monkey’s organ music switches from “Deck the Halls” to “Ding Dong! Merrily on High.”

“And what the hell are you doing on my property?” I grab the flashing light-wrapped ears and yank the head upward.

It pops off to reveal a mass of blond hair.

And I find myself eye to startled eye with the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.

CHAPTER 2

NATALIE

“I think you mean, who the fuck areyou?” Unable to get my knees to the crotch of the man kneeling astride me, I bash them into the two rocks of muscle that make up his ass.

The hulking human is holding my wrists above my head with his right hand while his left dangles my bunny head by its fluffy long ears—the battery-powered lights wrapped around them still flashing.

“And what are you doing at the Sullivans’ house?” I pant, breathless from the struggle.

Stunned and winded by the swift move that landed me on my back, I’m not as afraid as I probably should be. I’d have thought that if a strange man threw me to the ground and pinned me down it would be terrifying.

But for some reason, it’s just annoying. Also, I did jump on his back, and it turns out he’s not the person I thought he was so, to be fair, perhaps it was me who scared the crap out of him.

“This ismyplace,” he says, nodding the peak of his New York Apollos cap toward the house I’ve spent all afternoon decorating.

Oh, he must be a lost tourist. “It’s not. You’re confused. And could you please get off me?” I wiggle around between his legs to try to free myself.

It’s like being held down by a grizzly bear. If the grizzly bear had broad shoulders, thick thighs, a close-trimmed beard, and a twinkle in its green eyes. Or maybe that’s just the reflection of the fifty feet of Winter Emerald lights I spent ages winding around the porch.

He purses his remarkably full lips and scans my face. If I’d met him in a bar, I’d think he was eyeing me up. But there’s a clear flash of pissed-offness behind the Winter Emerald, and since I’m currently trapped under his body weight, which resembles that of a tractor, I’m guessing he’s not.

The scowl is another clue. The shadows of the deep ridges across his forehead are revealed every time the glowing, twirling holly bushes staked into the ground between the reindeer flash by.

Yeah, he’s clearly not feeling much goodwill to all men, or indeed any men…or women.

“Okay,” he says, narrowing his eyes and loosening his grip on my wrists. “I guess you look pretty…” He runs his gaze over the part of my bunny suit visible between his knees and my chin.

“What? I look prettywhat? Because I can tell you exactly whatyoulook like. A jerk who’ll throw a defenseless woman to the ground just for saying Merry Christmas.”

“…harmless,” he finishes. “You look pretty harmless. Andthat’s what you were saying when you jumped me? Merry Christmas?”

“Hoppy Christmas, actually.” I rub my wrists where he’d been holding them and have to be careful not to brush against his groin, which is hovering directly above my ribs. “It’s a bunny joke.”

He doesn’t smile. In fact, he looks like his smile muscles have never been utilized. If he even has any.

“You know.” For some reason I feel the need to explain it. “NotHappyChristmas.Hopp?—”

“I get it,” he grunts, rising from his knees to stand next to me and blocking so much light from the house that I’m suddenly lying in full shadow.

He offers me his non-bunny-head-holding hand to help me up. Not an act of chivalry I’d expect from someone who hurled me to the ground just moments ago.

“I can manage.” I am not going to give him the satisfaction of helping me, despite the fact that just walking in these giant rabbit feet was hard enough so I’m certainly not confident I can get from lying to standing in them. Particularly not with snow being blown right into my face and Mr. Muscles the impostor/trespasser man—or whoever the hell he is—watching me.

At least it’s only my face that’s cold—wearing this furry suit for the last two hours has kept me unexpectedly warm. They should market these things to Arctic explorers. Would certainly jazz up those North Pole flag-planting photos.

Bending my knees, I push my bunny hands into the snow and lever myself up.

“Argh.” A searing pain shoots through my left ankle, and I collapse onto my backside. “Oh my God. What haveyou done to me?”

“Thought you could manage.” There’s an amused titter under his gruff voice as he holds his hand out again.

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