Page 27 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

Padding back into his room, I approach his tall, dark dresser, one drawer slightly ajar. I can’t help the curiosity that flutters through me as I pull it open a little more. Inside, everything is neatly folded—this man’s discipline clearly extends beyond the rink—and I rifle through the stack until I find what I’m searching for.

The Mississippi Titans hockey jersey is baby blue, bold with the team’s logo in a dark green and white. When I lift it, the soft material brushes over my hands, and the scent hits me immediately: smokey and crisp, like a campfire on a winter’s day. It’s enormous, the fabric thick and well-worn from countless practices and games.

I pull it over my head, and it practically swallows me. The hem drapes down to my mid-thigh, and the neckline slips off one shoulder. I tug at the sleeves, which drape past my fingers,and roll them up before using ponytail holders from my hair to hold them in place. My toes are always freezing, so I rummage through his drawers for a pair of socks. As I slip on his massive socks, it all makes sense—no wonder his dick barely fits in my mouth. Does this guy wear a size 14 shoe? I bunch up the socks around my ankles for extra warmth.

Satisfied with my makeshift outfit, I tiptoe downstairs, each step creaking slightly underfoot. My stomach growls and I start to investigate where the hell the kitchen could be in a house this huge. Determined, I make a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs and start to hunt for where the kitchen is.

I move through the hallways, peeking into rooms—a home gym, a small office, a sitting room filled with bookshelves—but the kitchen remains elusive.

Just as I’m about to give up and wake up Christopher, a voice from behind makes me jump nearly out of my skin. “So… you’re Josie?”

I whirl around, my heart pounding, to find Abby, Christopher's niece standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. She’s petite, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with wavy ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, sharp brown eyes, and a confident stance that seems far too grown-up.

“Uh, hi,” I say, clutching the too-big jersey around me. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Abby raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did I? Sorry.” she says, though she doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. Her eyes narrow a little as she looks me up and down. “But you shouldn’t be snooping around our house.”

I cough, shifting on my feet, because it totally looks like I am snooping. “I am looking for the kitchen. I wanted to make your Uncle breakfast!” I smile, in a way that feels strange to my mouth, and she returns her smile tightly.

“Right…I’ll show you the kitchen.” She nods towards the hallway, and I am silently guided to the kitchen. Her head held high and me embarrassed to have been snooping in her Uncle’s jersey sans underwear.

After two left turns down a short hallway, we reach the kitchen and the space is a dream: stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and an island big enough to host a small dinner party. Sunlight pours through the windows, and I feel more at home here, especially knowing what I’m about to make.

“Wow,” I gasp, looking around, before turning back to her. “Thanks.”

“So,” she shrugs, ignoring my gratitude and leaning against the counter. “Are you and my Uncle dating?”

The way she saysdatingmakes it sound like something dangerous or disgusting, and I fumble for a response. “Well, I mean, yes. We’re… figuring things out.” I try to sound confident, but her glare makes me feel like I’ve been put under a microscope.

She tilts her head. “He really likes you, you know,” she says, her tone guarded.

I blink, surprised. It’s the first time anyone has said anything about Christopher liking me, and given that his niece knows about me. I would bet hard cold cash that this is more than like. “I know.” I say earnestly, “I like him too.”

Abby studies me for a moment, then sighs, “Good, so, how are you going to impress my Uncle with breakfast?” Abby asks, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

“Pancakes,” I say, with a smile. “I make killer pancakes.”

Abby crosses her arms and watches me work, her eyes narrowing slightly, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her expression. “Uncle doesn’t like pancakes,” she says, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

I grin and begin searching through cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, and baking powder, and lining them up on the counter. “Trust me. He will like these, it’s a secret family recipe.”

She huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t be mad if he spits it out.”

“Oh, I will totally be mad, but he is not going to spit them out,” I nod, looking at all of the ingredients. “Now pass me some milk and eggs, please and thank you.”

We fall into a comfortable rhythm. I talk her through the steps, letting her crack eggs into the bowl while I rummage through the fridge for milk and butter. I pass her the whisk, and she starts mixing the batter until it’s smooth. The more we chat, the more I notice her guard slipping, bit by bit. As I pour the first pancake onto the griddle, Abby gets a message on her phone. She opens it, scoffs and then sucks her teeth as she pushes the phone away.

“Okay, spill it, nothing that’s not totally crazy or juicy drama makes a girl act like that.” I say, glancing over my shoulder at her.

Abby looks taken aback for a second, but then she bites her lip, her eyes softening. “It’s stupid,” she mutters. “You don’t want to hear about my boy problems, besides I have to go back. Uncle Chris said so.”

“Well,” I counter, checking the edges of the pancake. “That’s the great thing about your Uncle having me. I can convince him to do things, if there is a valid reason to break out my puppy dog eyes.”

She rolls her eyes but finally gives in, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “It’s about this guy, Ricardo. He was, well, my boyfriend… until like two weeks ago”

I pause in the middle of flipping a pancake, raising an eyebrow. “Two weeks? What happened?”

Abby sucks her teeth again, clearly agitated. “Well, apparently I wasn’t good enough for him anymore, so he’s moved on to some other girl. They’re all over each other, and I just—ugh!” She throws her hands up in the air in frustration. “To make it official, his new girlfriend, my freaking friend, threw a tray of spaghetti at my head in the middle of lunch. Like, who does that?”

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