Page 28 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

I step back a few inches and tuck my chin in disbelief, and Noah simply nods through soft laughter.

“I’m serious. He thinks of you like a daughter, and he gave methe talk.He said if my intentions aren’t good, I should hang up the Santa coat, and he’ll find a replacement.”

“He said that?” My eyes haven’t blinked.

Noah nods, his fingers lifting my chin again.

“He also said he’s not sure if I’m good enough for you, but he’s willing to give me a tryout. Then I think he may have insinuated I was a dumb jock, saying something like, ‘You know what a tryout is, right punk?’”

“Okay, now you’re making things up,” I protest.

But Noah doubles down, shaking his head and stepping back a bit to cross his heart.

“Scout’s honor. Or, well, goalie’s honor. My honor. Whatever. You know what I mean. And I’m telling the truth.”

My mouth hangs open, and I shiver from the cold. Noah holds up a finger and then snags my backpack, pulling out the pair of sweats from inside. He kneels in front of me as I brace on his shoulders for balance and step one foot at a time into the sweatpants. He slides them up my legs, his hands hugging my hips when they’re fully around my waist.

My tongue peeks through my lips, quelling that itch I get every time I want to kiss him. He sways me side-to-side, the air crackling with delicious energy. And then the first flake falls.

“No. Way.” I tilt my head to the sky, the dark gray clouds glowing from the city’s light pollution as the air fills with more and more specks.

“I told you it was going to snow,” he says.

My mouth stretches wide, and I hold out my tongue as the flurries pick up. Noah does the same, but his hands never leave my hips. We sway, our faces waiting to taste more of winter, and despite the lack of music, it’s the most perfect dance I’ve ever had. We giggle, bragging with each flake we catch on our tongues, laughing through kisses that are interrupted by snowflakes that quickly melt against our skin. His beard begins to sparkle, and I shake it out only to watch it collect more flakes.

“I don’t know how long the eyelash glue is going to last if it keeps this up,” I say.

Noah tugs the side of his mustache, and it peels away.

“Oh!” He quickly presses it back in place, but it doesn’t stay.

“Good thing it’s late enough for Conner and the other kids to be home in bed.” I reach up and press his upper lip with my fingertips, seeing if I have the magic touch. After two failedattempts, I give up. Before I can pull my hand away, however, Noah grabs it with his own, turning my wrist so he can press his mouth against my soft skin as he stares into my eyes.

I’m in trouble. And not the lust-filled kind I’ve indulged in, but serious, I’m going to open my heart again, trouble. And I’m scared, but I’m going to keep going. Fighting this is no use. It’s been years in the making.

“What did you say? To Norris. About your tryout?” I shiver, and not from the cold.

Noah holds my hand against his cheek and tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening and his smile matching.

“I told him I always make the team. And I’m always the best player.” His finger strokes the back of my hand as he holds my palm to his face.

I swallow my emotion, my throat so dry in this wet, frozen land.

“Is that what you are? A player? Thebestplayer?” My meaning is pretty clear. I can tell Noah reads my hidden message by the way his smile falters and his eyes slope. He breathes out through his nose then slowly shakes his head.

“I’m not playing. Not at this. I promise.”

I blink rapidly, partly from the snowflakes tickling my face and partly from the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I’m about to lift on my toes when an engine rumbles in the distance, drawing our attention to the other side of the parking lot near the arena.

My brother’s car speeds away. And when I look back at Noah, his eyes flutter shut, and his mouth forms a silentfuck. But Anthony is not in charge of who gets cut in this tryout. And if he saw something, if he says something, if he ruins this . . . I am not only making sure his Christmas is nothing but coal. I’ll personally cram it down his throat.

10/

noah

Because my momis usually the only one in the house, our pantry is awfully full. Even when my dad and I are home, we have too much food on hand.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. How much we have. How much others need.

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