Page 2 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“Christmas coming up. You should just head on back here. Allie and I will put you up for the holidays, assuming our NHL off-time schedules match up.”

I close my eyes for a second. The thought of Christmas has been gnawing at me ever since I stepped off the plane in Denver. A funny combination of Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations are already up everywhere here, lights in the windows, wreaths on doors.

The holidays have always been a hard time for me. Losing my parents when I was just a kid, being raised by my grandparents… the holidays never felt right after that.

“And butt in on one of your and Allie’s first Christmases together? No way, dude,” I say, pushing the thought aside. “But I’ll deal with it here on my own. No biggie.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” There’s a pause on the line, then Jake clears his throat. “Well, listen, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out, alright? Even if it’s just to talk. I may kick your butt out there on the ice during games, but off the ice, we’re still chill. We’re friends.”

I can’t stop the smirk from coming back on my face. This is the guy who used to be the league’s hottest ladies’ man for a decade, and now he’s all settled down and mature. I can hardly believe how much he changed when he met Allie. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

We hang up, and I set the phone on the counter, staring down at it for a second longer. It’s quiet now, just the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house and the sound of the wind picking up outside.

I toss away the apple core, push myself off the counter and head toward the living room, flipping on another light as I pass through. The house is beautiful, no denying that, but it’s way too big for just me. I miss my penthouse bachelor pad back in Nashville.

I head down to the steam room, strip naked, noting the small fridge with bottles of cold water in it and lots of neatly rolled up towels on teak shelving. Okay, maybe the house is a bit big for me, but it is well-stocked with more than the essentials.

I wrap a towel around my waist and sit in the sauna, letting the sweat and heat wash away my amped up thoughts. I need to relax if I have a prayer of a chance of sleeping at all tonight.

Half an hour later and freshly showered off in the basement shower, the adrenaline of flying to a new state and settling into a new house is gone. I clutch the towel to my waist and whistle as I walk up the basement stairs.

It’s late—past nine o’clock—and I briefly contemplate trying to order food for delivery.

Absentmindedly, I look at my phone but then freeze at the top step. I hear the distinct click of the front door opening, followed by the shuffle of footsteps. Not sure what’s going on, I charge toward the entryway at the front of the house. I thought I was supposed to have this place to myself. In fact, Coach Stanton assured me that the only souls who would come here would be the cleaning service once a week. It’s too late for the intruder to be them.

I step into the entryway just as a woman walks in. She’s hauling a suitcase behind her, her dark hair pulled back into a messy bun, and she’s muttering something under her breath. She doesn’t notice me right away—too focused on balancing her luggage and a slim computer bag tucked under her arm.

“Excuse me… you’re in the wrong house,” I say, crossing my arms over my suddenly very bare-feeling chest. I almost laugh at the absurdity—I’m only wearing a towel and still I’m trying to look intimidating?

The dark-haired girl jumps, nearly dropping everything as she whips around to face me. Her eyes go wide and then they turn sultry as she surveys my muscled chest and core. I’m an athlete, so being chiseled sort of comes with the territory.

“Wow,” she says, then snaps her mouth shut. I bite back a laugh. I guess she likes what she sees.

She’s astonishingly pretty with rosy cheeks and a slender build and eyes as blue as sapphires. She’s gorgeous. And is also becoming very mad, right before my eyes.

“I’m in the wrong house? Excuse you,” she slices her words through the air, eyes narrowing as she scans me up and down, all traces of lust gone. “Maybe you better tell me what you are doing inmyhouse?”

“Your house?”

She says it with such vehemence that I suddenly doubt whether I’m in the right spot. “Pretty sure this place belongs to Bill Stanton. Does the name ring a bell? He told me I could stay here for a while.”

Her jaw drops. “Kathy—his ex-wife—said I could stay here. I’m new in town and just arrived tonight. I think you must’ve made amistake. Or maybe Kathy got it wrong. They use this place for an Airbnb you know.”

“Or maybe you got it wrong. Are you sure you were supposed to show up today?” I know Coach Bill well enough to know the man is not hazy about his details.

She gives me a cold smile, and it actually freezes me for a moment. “Oh, I’m very certain that this house,” she points her finger around, luggage by her feet, “is supposed to be for my use only until I find a place of my own in Denver. Are we clear? I think you should head out, mister.”

I uncross my arms to take a step towards her. At that moment, my towel drops, leaving me as naked as the day I was born. Her eyes drop and she stares at my cock, which, either to my chagrin or pride, has started to grow to its fullest length.

“Wow,” she says again, just making my arousal more pronounced.

I immediately wonder what it would be like to hear that word every day from her… as platonic housemates, of course.

Chapter two

Jessica

Why am I monosyllabic?I press my lips together and force my eyeballs to get off this man’s impressive length and back up into my own head. My gosh. What a stallion, as my mom’s generation would say.

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