Page 67 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

Ethan’s eyes darken slightly, his hand sliding around my waist. “Later, then.”

My smirk spreads, as I lean in close. “Oh, definitely later.”

We step back into the event, the crowd still buzzing, the team signing autographs, the tables full of fans eager to support the cause. The room hums with the kind of energy I had only dreamed of at the start of the day, and now, standing here with Ethan by my side, it feels like everything has fallen perfectly into place.

21

HOLLY

There’ssomething magical about Christmas in Chicago—especially when the air feels alive with a mixture of pine needles and cinnamon. Except in my case, today, the only magic I feel is from the vented heat in my office that’s trying its hardest to thaw me out from this morning’s blustery wind. A little too muchfrosty, not enoughfestive.

My office is a glorious mess of papers, post-its, and half-empty coffee mugs; it feels a bit like a festive bomb exploded in it. Red and green streamers dangle from the ceiling, and glittering snowflake decals cling stubbornly to the windows.

It’s as if Christmas decided to move in and make itselfverycomfortable.

Lauren and Mia are sprawled across the two visitor chairs in my office at the Blizzards arena, each balancing a cup of coffee like it’s the key to life. Mia’s somehow made herself at home, legs tucked under her, like she’s about to settle in for aReal Housewivesbinge, while Lauren is flipping through a list of Christmas events, eyeing it like it’s her worst enemy.

“If I have to hear one more rendition ofJingle Bell Rock, I swear I’m going to deck someone,” Lauren mutters, eyesnarrowing at the list like it’spersonallyresponsible for the world’s most overplayed holiday music.

“Come on, it’s Christmas!” Mia singsongs, flashing her best “holiday spirit” smile. She even has a tiny candy cane tucked behind her ear. Who does that?

“Exactly, Mia,” Lauren deadpans. “Christmas.Where every event is designed to test how much you can fake smile while dodging mistletoe and terrible Secret Santa gifts.”

It’s my turn to grin. “Speaking of terrible Secret Santa gifts, what are we getting the guys?”

Lauren turns up her nose. “What do you get adults who treat the locker room like a middle school gym?”

“They’re not that bad.” My laughter spreads, and the duo joins in.

“It’s bad enough when they can barely wrap their heads around tying their shoelaces but haveopinionson the best moisturizers,” Lauren snorts.

That sounds like typical Lauren having trouble with one of the guys—clearly Ryan, but I say nothing.

Mia twirls her candy cane. “I think Liam deserves socks?—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lauren says, her arms crossed, eyeing Mia with the intensity of someone about to throw down in a candy cane duel. “There’s no way Liam actuallywantssocks for Christmas.”

Mia leans back in her chair, completely unbothered. “What? The guy loves socks. He’s always losing them.”

“Socks are like ... a cry for help, not a gift,” I chime in, twirling a pen between my fingers. “That’s like saying, ‘Here, enjoy something youneedinstead of something fun.’ You might as well hand him a toothbrush.”

“Okay, okay,” Mia concedes, rolling her eyes. “Then what’s your brilliant idea? A puppy?”

Lauren grins. “I don’t know. Maybe a vacation. Somethingexciting.” She waves her hands in the air as if summoning visions of sun-soaked beaches and umbrella drinks. “Notsocks.”

“Ethan would probably lose his mind in two days without a game to obsess over,” my mumble is almost lost in soft laughter. “We’d turn around on vacation to find him building mini rinks out of sand.”

“See?” Mia sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “That’s why I say we give them socks; we can make sure they have their faces on them. That’s at least funny.”

My lips spread in a grin, as the banter between the sisters flows back and forth like a fast-paced tennis match. It’s moments like these that keep the stress from creeping in. After all, there’s something magical about December, and for the first time in a while, it feels like I’m actually enjoying it.

Ding.

The sudden chime of the office door swinging open catches our attention. We look up to see a delivery guy stroll in, holding what could only be described as the mostexquisitebouquet of flowers I have ever seen. The blooms are big, bright, and utterly perfect, like they’ve been plucked straight out of a dreamy Pinterest board.

Lavender roses, white lilies, and a sprinkle of baby’s breath. The whole ensemble screams, "I know your taste and nailed it."

“Holly Bennett?” the delivery guy asks, glancing down at a clipboard.

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