Page 61 of The Pucking Proposal

Mom pops her head out of the kitchen. “Thanks, Jim. Appreciate the teamwork as always.” She smiles at him happily, and then her eyes light up even more when she sees the tree, with its overabundance of sentimental decorations, strands of multicolored lights, and stacks of gifts below. I wonder if Mom leaves some of the work of Christmas till the last minute on purpose to create a sense of surprise and wonder that wouldn’t be the same if all the presents were under the tree weeks ago.

Last-minute wrapping also gives her and Dad another holiday date, in addition to driving around to see the town’s Christmas light displays, visiting the Winter Festival, and going shopping together. Yeah, Dad is definitely not the type to askWhat’d we get you?when it’s time to unwrap things. He knows exactly what he and Mom planned, shopped for, and wrapped, plus he always comes up with great gifts to surprise Mom. Like last year, he had an artist do a watercolor painting of the two of them based on a selfie they’d taken. It’s hanging in their bedroom so she sees it first thing every morning and last thing every night. I’m curious to see how he’s gonna top that this year.

“Let me take a picture of the tree,” I say as I finish unpacking my bag of Santa goodies and spread them out amid the other packages. I stand back, snapping a picture with my phone, and then click to send the picture to Dalton.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Looks like Santa came early!

He left two days ago to go home for the holiday, and we’ve been texting like crazy, sharing our Christmas traditions along with some things that’d definitely put me on Santa’s naughty list.

Looks great! Wish I were there or you were here.

A picture comes through, and I expect it to be his family Christmas tree. But a laugh pops out of my mouth when I see what he’s sent. The picture is of his lap, with one hand resting at the crease of his thigh, highlighting the bulge in his dark denim jeans. He wishes I werethere.

“What?” Shep asks.

I jerk my eyes up as I quickly hit the button to turn the screen off. “Nothing. Just noticing that there’s only a couple of presents with your name on them.”

“No there’s not,” he balks, rushing for the tree to double-check.

He must not have done a very good job snooping if he doesn’t know exactly how many presents are for him, I think with a smirk.

Ready?

I send the text and then smile when the FaceTime call comes through.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” he replies.

He’s in his truck, which surprises me, but he’s parked somewhere with good lighting because though it’s dim, I can see his face clearly in the yellowish glow.

“Where are you?”

He looks out the window at his side and then the passenger window. “My mom’s driveway. She and June are still up watching movies, so I didn’t want to take the call in the house in case—”

I laugh. “You didn’t want to potentially jack off in your childhood bedroom, but in the truck outside, where anyone might see, is fair game?”

He dips his chin, but it does nothing to hide his cocky grin. “It’s dark out here and nobody’s around. In the house, my mom might hear. Plus, my childhood bedroom isn’t exactly sexy.”

“Probably didn’t stop you when you were a teenage boy full of hormones and bad ideas,” I quip.

He laughs hard. “It definitely didn’t stop me a bit. You already home?”

He can see my couch behind me, so he knows exactly where I am. “Yeah, we did dinner and presents, talked and played Uno, and I came home about an hour ago.” I sent him at least a dozen messages today—showing him pictures of our family feast, telling him how I made Shepherd draw twelve cards (because I don’t care what the instructions say, Draw Four cards are totally stackable), and displaying the engraved gold bracelet Mom and Dad gave me. I might’ve also sent a cleavage picture that I took in the bathroom with an accompanying text oftalk later?which is how we ended up here. “How’s your day been?”

His smile is soft, and his eyes dart up to what I’d bet is the house in front of him. “It was good to see Mom and June. It’s been a while since the last time, and I didn’t realize how much I missed them until I hugged Mom and she was hugging me back like she was trying to squeeze the life outta me.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Mom and June?” he asks, and I nod. He sighs happily as he shares. “Mom’s name is Tracy. She’s the best, no offense to yours, who’s a great team mother. But Mom’s been through the wringer, somehow always managing to come out the other side stronger. Fuck knows I put her through it myself half a dozen times with broken bones here, sprained ankles there, concussions everywhere. And that’s before you get to the girl drama she put up with in high school.”

He sends me a glance, likely gauging my jealousy meter, but I chuckle. “You were a player even then? Back in the old days of black-and-white pictures, and four TV channels that went off the air at eight p.m.?”

“Har har,” he deadpans. “And no, I wasn’t a player. I kinda didn’t know what to do with girls then,” he admits, seeming embarrassed by that, “but they would aggressively text me, show up on our doorstep, and make posters to hold up at the games. It was a lot, and Mom ran defense for me, making sure I concentrated on hockey and school.”

“Guess you figured it out,” I say.

He shrugs, not the least bit chagrined by his past. “I figured out that casual hookups filled a need while letting me keep my focus on what I should be doing for the draft. That’s worked out pretty well, until recently.”

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