Page 63 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“When are you next”—she coughs—“working on the playwith him?”

I’m not taking the bait of that heavy euphemism either. “The day after tomorrow. He’s coming to the first run-through on the ice after school. He can’t help tomorrow because he’s busy with training, and PT, and team meetings and, you know, hockey stuff.”

“And will you bring him to the pig lighting after?”

“Oh, right, yeah. That’s on Thursday too. I’ve lost track of the days. My brain is frazzled with all the new things.” Including having a handsome, hulking hockey player between my legs. “I’ll have to make sure we wrap up rehearsal in time for everyone to go home in between.”

Aunt Lou looks at me across the table in silence, blinking.

“What now?” I ask her.

“So will you bring him?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I wave my fork at her to dismiss the question. “Not sure it’s his thing. Actually, I know it’s definitely not his thing. He doesn’t even like Christmas.”

“Maybe you could ask,” she says.

“Maybe.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way.

“Great,” she says. “And after that maybe you’ll end up working late again for one reason or another.”

Scooping up the last bit of shepherd’s pie I shift in my seat, still able to feel where he was last night.

And my cheeks get hotter and hotter.

CHAPTER 21

GABE

I’ll never admit this when I get back to the team, but fuck, these kids look cute on the ice. And they aren’t even in their costumes yet.

There was a bit of flailing around at the start, some squealing, and one round of tears when a girl fell and landed on her knees. But Abigail told her to pull herself together because “the show must go on,” and she was all good in a couple of minutes. Abi would do well on a top-tier coaching bench.

Watching Natalie organize them has been surprisingly hot. And not only because I can’t stop picturing her coming on my dick the other night—that’s an image I haven’t been able to shake from my head since.

Yesterday, I decided to tell myself the only reason she raced off afterward was because she was embarrassed. Not because she regretted it and doesn’t want to do it again.

I sure as hell want to do it again.

Sometime right about now would be perfect.

The way these kids look up to her, adore her, and hang on her every word is a turn-on I never expected. I also never expected to find it kind of inspiring. Maybe I should rethink getting involved with that Apollos’ kids’ program when I get back to work.

An entirely separate part of my brain wonders if this is called Turtle Pond because actual turtles live here. If so, they’ll have buried themselves under the mud at the bottom to survive the winter. There was a show about the turtles in Central Park doing that, and I’d imagine it happens throughout the turtle world. If so, they’ll be oblivious to the kids gathered on the ice above them.

We’re nearing the end of the run-through, and the play is fucking hilarious. Natalie’s script is brilliant—simple but funny.

All this, and it’s set against a picture-perfect backdrop of the sun setting in a cloudless blue sky, a dazzling frozen pond surrounded by crisp fresh snow, and a bandstand straight from the picture on a cookie tin just off to the right.

It’s like I’ve walked onto the set of one of those nauseatingly cutesy Christmas movies, where the out-of-towner falls for the local girl. Except those movies always have a happy ending. In this one, both the out-of-towner and the local girl will go their separate ways very soon.

“Hey,” I call out to the kid playing the messenger as she skates around the back of the gathered townsfolk. “No need to pick up your foot when you make that turn. Just lean your body weight and your ankles into the bend and you’ll glide around. Less likely to fall that way.”

From her spot on the edge of the pond about twenty feet away, Natalie gives me a smile that warms my frozen extremities before turning back to the messenger kid.

“Try it again,” she calls out.

The little girl does another lap of the townsfolk, this time cornering perfectly smoothly, her blades never losing contact with the ice.

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