Page 57 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

I groan, but there’s no way I’m saying no to that face. “Fine. But if I fall, you’re paying for my medical bills.”

She laughs, pulling me toward the rink. “Deal.”

Getting on the ice feels weird—like, I’m used to skating, obviously, but this is different. No puck, no pressure, just gliding. Holly’s beside me, holding my hand, laughing as she stumbles a little, and it’s nice. Really nice.

We skate around for a bit, falling into an easy rhythm. Every once in a while, she’ll squeeze my hand, or lean her head against my shoulder, and it’s like this whole world fades away, leaving just us.

After a while, we leave the rink and head back to the car. Holly’s humming some Christmas tune, and I’m just ... content. Which, honestly, isweird. But good-weird.

As we drive back, she starts telling me about her family Christmases—the big gatherings, the food, the laughter. It’s a world so different from mine, and yet, I can’t help but feel a little envious. She talks again about how her parents met at a Christmas party, kissed under the mistletoe, and fell in love. It’s cheesy, but kind of perfect.

I glance over at her, and she’s got this dreamy look on her face, like she’s lost in the memory. And for the first time, I realize just how much I want that. Not the mistletoe part, necessarily, but the connection. The warmth. The love.

Holly must sense my thoughts, because she turns to me with a soft smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice quiet. “I’m good. Just thinking.”

“About?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “About how you’re making me like Christmas.”

She laughs, a soft, musical sound that makes my chest ache in the best way. “Well, that’s a Christmas miracle if I’ve ever heard one.”

When we pull up to the house, Holly turns to me, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Wanna go inside and finish what we started earlier?”

A slow grin spreads across my face. “Nowthatsounds like the best Christmas present.”

We head inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around us like a blanket. And for the first time in years, I feel like maybe—justmaybe—this Christmas won’t be so bad after all.

18

HOLLY

There’snothing quite like being the third wheel. It’s a special kind of purgatory—wedged between Lauren, who’s talking about her job like it’s some must-see Netflix docuseries, and Mia, who’s nodding along but is definitely just planning her next caffeine fix. And me? I just sit there, nodding, smiling politely, but my mind? My mind’s halfway across town, wrapped up in a certain grumpy hockey player’s flannel shirt.

Ethan hasn’t called. Not even a text. Not a single emoji. Nada. Zero. Zilch.

Lauren gives me a side-eye from the driver’s seat. “You’re fidgeting like a squirrel on Red Bull. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” That kind of smooth lie is what you do when your mind’s doing backflips over a guy who’s sometimes about as emotionally available as a frozen pizza.

“Mm-hmm,” Lauren hums, not buying it for a second. “With you, it’s never nothing. Spill.”

From the passenger seat, Mia chimes in. “Is it work? That new event you’re planning? Or wait, it’s a man, isn’t it?”

Busted. Clearing my throat, my eyes flick back to my phone like it might magically light up if I stare long enough. “It’s fine. Just work. Blizzards business.”

Mia raises an eyebrow. “Right, because checking your phone every two seconds just screams ‘work stress.’”

Keeping anything secret from these two is like trying to hide snacks in a house full of teenagers—they sniff it out instantly. “Fine,” I admit, heat rising in my cheeks as their eyes drill into me. “Maybe I was kind of expecting a call.”

Lauren grins like she’s won a bet. “From who? You’ve been glowing lately, girl. Practically written across your forehead.”

“More like stamped across her heart,” Mia adds, smirking.

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “Dramatic, much?” But the truth is … they’re kind of right. Things with Ethan have been heating up in ways that are starting to feel less like casual banter and more like something real. And every time we’re together, there’s this electric pull between us, a tension that’s becoming impossible to ignore.

"Come on, Holly. You sure you don’t want to join us tonight? Girls' night out. No boys, no work talk, just us—and maybe a ridiculous number of margaritas," Mia suggests, her eyes glittering with mischief.

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