Page 38 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Which one?” he asks.

Bastard.

“Giving Grayson your gloves, of course. What else could I possibly have been talking about?”

“Right,” he says. “Not the other, er, thing then? That wasn’t nice?”

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? Yes, it was nice. It was nicer than nice. It was the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me.

Shit.

I can’t think that.

I can’t allow myself to believe that a man I’ll be around for, at most, three weeks of my life has just been responsible for the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me.

That would be too tragic a waste to contemplate.

And possibly make the rest of my life a disappointment in waiting.

But it’s impossible not to admit that on a scale of niceness, it was definitely at the extremely nice end of nice.

Anyway, his mouth might be amazing, but it’s attached to an incredibly annoying human. An incredibly annoying human with the most phenomenal body I have ever been this close to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.

He shakes a little with a silent chuckle. But I refuse to turn my head to look in case I lose all control and grab him again. Because while giving his gloves to Grayson was panty-meltingly adorable, after what I read online, it’s impossible to be sure that he really is that good of a person when it comes to women.

Last night I remembered what Aunt Lou had said about stories in the papers about him a few years ago, so I did some more thorough research.

Turns out he cheated on an ex-girlfriend with her best friend.

What kind of a total shit does that? A really shitty total shit, that’s what kind.

There was a ton of photos of the betrayed ex, Madison Shaw, who was basically everything I’m not.

A model.

It happened just over two years ago, a year after he joined the Apollos, and of course the media has picked probably the most salacious and outrageous pictures of her they could find. In one she’s lying on a sofa draped in nothing but the strategically placed towels she was advertising. Another has her wearing one of those outrageous runway outfits that you couldn’t wear in normal life because you wouldn’t fit through any reasonably-sized door.

But there was one more “normal” paparazzi-style shot of her with Gabe where they’re heading out to breakfast and she’s wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants, baseball cap and no makeup. She looked way more beautiful in this one. And they’re both smiling and happy.

She, and her life, are the exact opposite of me.

Not that I’d ever have thought someone like Gabe would be interested in someone like me.

It’s just another item on the giant scroll of reasons why kissing him was a bad idea.

Along with the fact that he and his life are everything I am not. He’s a grumpy Christmas-hating famous sports person with a massive salary who lives in New York City, probably in a glamorous penthouse, with more women throwing themselves at him than he can shake a hockey stick at.

And I’m a teacher who loves close-knit communities but am forcing myself to move to a big city to prove I’m not scared of it—even though it fills me with dread.

“When do you go back to New York?” I ask with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

“Depends on my shoulder. You might end up leavingtown before me.”

I snort a little. “I never leave town before anyone.”

His body shifts against mine, sending a shiver down my side as he turns his head to look at me.

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