Page 23 of Holiday Power Play

Before the thought completely overtakes me, he tickles the area beneath my ribs, which is the most ticklish spot on my body. I cry out for him to stop and pull away from him, just as he shoves his hand down my pants and pulls out his phone.

"What is wrong with you?" He chuckles, holding the phone away from my grasp. "You don't want me to see what's in this room that much?"

I'm still holding the side of my body where his fingers dug into me and made me lose all control just moments before. "Don't," I breathe out as he puts his hand on the door handle.

He grins triumphantly and pushes the door open. The second he does, the lights come on illuminating the entire house, but especially this space in such a way that it feels like a special middle finger from the entire universe to me.

Heatwave merch is everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I meaneverywhere,from the bedspread with the signature flaming puck logo with a giant H to the jerseys lining the wall of every player in this season's starting lineup. Orange and yellow are the colors accenting the black in the space.

The owner of this cabin isn't just a fan of the Houston Heatwave; he might just be their number one fan.

Which is excellent… just freakin' fantastic.

Trevor spots his number two jersey among the others. Balinger, O'Connor, Ferguson, Hicks (who doesn't even play for them anymore, but hey), Landry, and of course…

"Would you look at that?" he says with a grin so incorrigible I might slap it off his face. "That must be the jersey he wants me to sign."

All the others already sport his teammate's signatures.

The front door slams, and my brother stomps his feet at the entrance before his heavy footsteps meet us at the end of the hall.

"Well, we got pow—Woah," Vance says, mouth agape as he enters the space.

"There's more Heatwave merch here than at the store at Space City Arena." Vance points to the wall of jerseys. "They forgot the best player, though."

I shove him in the side. "Alright, you two narcissists, let's figure out what the hell we're going to eat tonight."

I turn the light off and head to the kitchen. And I can hear them playing rock, paper, scissors over who gets the Heatwave room.

“Gah! Best two out of three,” Trevor offers.

“Nope, enjoy the toddler bed,” my brother says to him.

Now that the house is completely illuminated I'm able to really take in its charm. It's warm like a cute family might stay here every once in a while, but not overly decorated that it feels gaudy. The typical things you'd find in a mountain cabin occupy the space. Hand-carved furniture, wool blankets, oil paintings of mountainous scenes, and candles. Lots of candles everywhere. Probably due to the fact that they lose power a lot out here as we just witnessed.

Trevor opens a cabinet in the kitchen. "They have a lot of canned goods." He opens another. "Like, a lot of canned foods."

Vance grabs one from the open cabinet. "Peaches, corn, peas… we can make quite a canned food casserole."

I make a heaving sound.

"Oh, hush. You love my cooking."

"Excuse me?" I laugh out. "Your cooking? Since when do you cook?"

"Excuse me," my brother mimics me. "But I've cooked ever since I realized that girls are more attracted to Chef Daddy than a hockey one."

"A Chef Daddy?" Trevor snorts to himself, still searching cabinets and then opens the fridge—empty. But in the freezer, he sees something that makes him smile.

"You guys…" he pulls it out and shakes the chilled bottle at us.

"Vodka? I don't know, man," my brother hesitates.

"Are you pro players not allowed to drink vodka?" I ask him, leaning against the small island in the middle of the kitchen; I'm rubbing my arms because it's still so cold in this house.

"Our training staff aren't too keen on us partaking in alcoholic beverages during the season," Vance clarifies.

"But lucky for us," Trevor opens the lid and downs a big gulp. "None of them are here right now."

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