Page 84 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Come on, I’ve got Call of Duty all loaded up in the game room. It’s gonna be fun.”

The game room in the cabin is straight out of a millionaire’s dream. Every inch of it screams luxury, from the plush leather sectional that could easily seat a football team to the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a stunning snow-covered view of the mountains. A massive, state-of-the-art flat-screen TV dominates the wall, flanked by sleek, built-in shelving holding an impressive collection of consoles, games, and custom controllers. Everything is polished, gleaming—like it was designed to be looked at, but not touched.

There’s a full-sized pool table in the corner, the rich mahogany wood gleaming under the soft glow of recessed lighting. Next to it, an arcade machine hums quietly, retro games flashing on the screen, adding a nostalgic touch to the otherwise modern, high-tech space. The walls are adorned with framed posters of classic video games and signed memorabilia, all carefully curated to give the room a mix of elegance and fun.

But what really catches the eye is the Christmas décor. The tinsel draped over the TV stand, stockings hung from the mantle of a stone fireplace, and fairy lights strung up around the windows make it feel like Santa’s workshop took over a billionaire’s playroom. Grace stands in the middle of it all, bundled up in her blinking reindeer-nose sweater and a tiny pair of shorts, staring at the setup like she’s just stepped into another world. It’s a blend of holiday warmth and obscene luxury, and I can tell she’s as impressed as I am amused.

“Okay, so what’s the deal here? I thought you’d be more of a muscle-bound hitman type and less of a...what is this game?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Call of Duty.” I grin, grabbing the controller. “Also known as the world’s most inaccurate war simulator. Seriously, this game’s got more plot holes than a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“Hey!” she gasps in mock outrage, crossing her arms. “I love Hallmark movies.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your Christmas Cookie Baking Disaster playlist. But this? This is my world.” I boot up the game, and the familiar music pumps through the speakers. “Prepare to be amazed by my complete domination.”

“Domination, huh?” She slides into the chair next to me, narrowing her eyes. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it. But this-” I gesture to the screen, “-is all about unrealistic expectations.”

After a little bit of set up bullshit, the match loads to the countdown timer just running out, and I’m dropped into the middle of a chaotic battlefield. Bullets flying, explosions going off–your typical day in COD land. Grace’s eyes are glued to the screen, and I can already tell she’s fascinated, even though I’m about to drop a major truth bomb on her.

“You see that?” I point at the screen. “Completely unrealistic. If I was really in the middle of a gunfight, you couldn’t do that. If you tried, you’d be dead in seconds.”

She laughs, her eyes darting between the carnage on screen and my overly dramatic commentary. “And you’re telling me all this as a hitman, right? I feel like I should take notes.”

I smirk, dodging a grenade that somehow manages to explode in the least damaging way possible. “You should. If COD has taught me anything, it’s that war is just a series of respawns and badly timed headshots.”

Grace, now fully invested in the game, leans forward. “Why does that guy look like he’s carrying enough weapons to arm a small country?”

“Exactly!” I throw my hands up, nearly losing control of the character. “No one runs that fast with that much gear. It’s like they think we’re all superhuman.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re not superhuman?” She raises an eyebrow, giving me a playful shove.

I grin. “Only in bed, darling. Only in bed.”

The next explosion on screen sends us both into fits of laughter, and for the next hour, it’s just us, hurling insults at the TV, laughing at the absurdity of it all. At one point, Grace gasps when I throw a flashbang in the wrong direction, temporarily blinding my own team. “And this is why you don’t get to lead missions, Teddy.”

“Hey, I’ve led plenty of successfuloperations.”

She just shakes her head, completely unimpressed with my in-game strategy, and I can’t help but love every second of it. The game is wild, but playing it with Grace? That’s next-level entertainment.

“Okay, okay, I see why you like this,” she admits after a particularly ridiculous sequence where my character sprinted through a hail of bullets like a superhero. “But it’s still super unrealistic.”

“Told you.” I nudge her shoulder, glad she’s having fun. “But that’s half the charm. Sometimes you just want to blow stuff up without thinking too hard.”

Grace watches as my character gets caught in a sniper’s scope, and she groans. “That was the most dramatic death I’ve ever seen.”

I lean back, smirking. “Yup, and just like that, I’m back in the game. See? No consequences.”

“Not like real life at all,” she says softly, her gaze lingering on the screen for a moment before turning back to me. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, and I know she’s not just talking about the game anymore.

“Well, here, the stakes are lower,” I say, my tone growing softer to match hers. “In real life, you don’t get a respawn button.”

Grace’s smile returns, though it’s gentler now, and she leans her head on my shoulder, making my heart do a weird little flip. “But maybe that’s why you like it,” she murmurs. “It’s a break from the real thing.”

I glance down at her, surprised. “You know, you’re pretty insightful for someone who just accused me of being unrealistic.”

“Hey, I’m full of surprises,” she teases, leaning back and rubbing her chin with her thumb. A look of intent concentration washing over her face. “Now, show me how to actually win a match, Mr. Hitman.”

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