Page 8 of The Kiss Class

I snort through my nose. “Meaning it’s going to ward them off.”

Teddy waggles his eyebrows. “Some would argue the opposite.”

Now, he’s just being ridiculous.

Micah breezes through and claps his hand on my shoulder. “Pierre, this is your chance to be the man you want to be and not who the fans or puck bunnies think you are.”

My eyes bulge. Not him, too.

“Trust the sweater,” Micah says with a twinkle in his eye before leaving the locker room.

Something about that felt slightly like a bro-to-heart. Like a heart-to-heart between dudes, which is different than the usual locker room banter, but I can’t be sure of anything other than that I do not trust the ugliest sweater south of the North Pole.

Hammer groans. “Looks like I’ll be Santa.”

“Guys, I know this is my first season with the team, but what is going on?” The front line and my fellow defenseman ignores me, so I turn to Liam, who’s expression is pure grump as if passing off an explanation to our even grumpier goalie.

“Each year, Coach selects one of us to dress as Santa Claus for the Christmas party. It’s an honor and means he respects and trusts you to put on the red suit. You made the improvements he suggested. That kind of thing.”

“Where does the bet fit into this?” I ask Hammer.

His expression doesn’t change in the slightest. There’s none of the typical locker room teasing from this guy. “They wagered. You lost, meaning you have to wear the sweater of shame.”

I ball it up in my hand, ready to toss it into the corner, but then realize that also means I let the team down. That I haven’tlived up to expectations. That’s not who I want to be. Not the game I want to play.

“We’re heading to the Fish Bowl for a few rounds of darts. Everyone in?” Ted asks. Then he grins at me. “Everyone in, especially Pierre in the sweater.”

“I hear Badaszek’s daughters are home for the holidays,” Hayden says.

“That means he’s going to be in a good mood for the rest of the month,” Micah adds.

Ted chuckles. “Especially when he sees Pierre in the sweater.”

“Two of them are married,” Redd says, filling everyone in with the details about how one of them used his wife’s tea brand and handmade ceramic cups as favors at the reception.

“That means the one visiting from Los Angeles is officially the only one who’s now off-limits.” Ted levels me with a glare.

“Off limits,” they all repeat, as if I’d dare try anything with the coach’s daughter.

CHAPTER THREE

My father hasa reputation as being the toughest coach in the NHL. Even though I know his soft spots (homemade corn muffins grilled with butter, us girls, and Christmas), he doesn’t let too many people see that side of him, so it’s a surprise when he greets me—in public at the arrivals lane at Eppley—with a big hug.

We don’t so much as get a whistle from the worker in safety yellow. The traffic security officers must somehow sense that he’s the master of laying on the whistle on the ice and off. Let’s just say, while growing up, we didn’t have an alarm clock in our house. No, it was the blast of our father’s shrill Fox40 Super Force CMG Finger Grip screecher.

If you know, you know.

When I get in the car, he has the heater running and the Christmas carols playing.

“I missed you, Badaszek,” he says.

“I missed you too, Dadaszek,” I repeat, using my sisters’ and my custom dad title. Just like he does with everyone exceptMom, he’s always called us by our last name. Since I’m the last one he has yet to walk down the aisle, I’m still Badaszek.

“You’re unusually cheerful,” I say, soaking it up.

While it was devastating to lose Mom to cancer, our father made every effort to keep her memory with us. But without who he called his “Number one teammate,” parts of him got even tougher over time. I imagine those were the aspects that a wife would’ve kept soft and sweet. Or it could have something to do with spending most of his time with some of the roughest athletes in the world.

Either way, he doesn’t usually sing along to “Frosty the Snowman.” No, he’s better described as Frosty the Ice King.

---