Page 2 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
“I do not,” I lie, heart pounding.
Because if I did, it would be wildly inconvenient, since it’s against some kind of rule, I’m sure. And maybe just a little bit fun.
“You're seconds from writing his name with candy canes in the snow.”
I smirk. “Please. If I was gonna write it anywhere, I’d use Christmas lights on the rink. Go big or go home.”
Daniel snorts. “And you sayI’mdramatic.”
“Starling! West! Back to work,” Todd barks, and I snap back into my goalie stance just in time to block a slap-shot from Peter. The puck ricochets off my pad, and I catch it in my trapper and chuck it back out onto the rink.
Max’s voice carries across the ice. “Nice save. Shame about the singing, though.”
I cup my glove around the cage of my helmet. “That’s calledstyle, Calder. You wouldn’t understand.”
He arches a brow, still writing something on his clipboard. “If style means sounding like a reindeer in distress, then you’re right. I don’t.”
“Oh, burn!” Peter yells from the blue line.
I slide backward into the net, keeping my eyes on Max. “This reindeer’s gonna lead the sleigh tonight,” I sing—loud, off-key, and perfectly obnoxious.
Daniel joins in on the chorus, leaning dramatically on his stick. “You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen?—”
“Bench yourselves,” Todd says, exasperated.
But Max’s mouth twitches, just enough for me to notice. It’s not a smile, exactly. More similar to the ghost of one he’s trying to strangle before it escapes.
I point my glove at him. “See? You’re not immune. Soon you’ll be wearing jingle bells.”
“Over my dead body,” he says.
“Challenge accepted.”
His eyes flick up to mine, and there’s something there—something warm beneath the frost—that makes my heart trip over itself. I spin away before I do something stupid, like sing him a love ballad in front of the team.
I settle onto the bench and start belting out ‘All I want for Christmas is a Hippopotamus.’
Todd finally blows the whistle, cutting through my beautiful performance. “Alright, enough. Starling, net, one more note out of you and you don't start in the next game. Daniel, you’re up.”
“Make up your mind, Captain Shawsy, bench or ice.” Daniel picks up his stick, and we both head back to the ice.
The rest of practice blurs into drills and shot-blocking, my legs burning and my brain still replaying the almost-smile I caught on Max’s face.
By the time we hit the locker room, the air is thick with the smell of sweaty hockey stink and post-practice chatter. I’m peeling off my gear when Todd strolls in, clapping his hands for attention.
“Alright, listen up. It’s time for the annual ‘Holiday Hunks’ calendar assignments for theHockey Diversity Alliancecharity that focuses on eliminating racism and increasing inclusion of hockey in underrepresented youth and communities. As you know, this is a great cause, and we need all of you to participate.”
A cheer goes up from half the guys, while the rest—including Peter—groan like they’ve just been sentenced to public execution.
Todd grins. “Groups are already set. Don’t complain, it’s for charity.” He starts reading off names: Daniel with Peter. Daniel fist-pumps; Peter just shakes his head. Todd with another defenseman, and a couple of the rookies together.
“And for December…” Todd pauses for dramatic effect. “Eli Starling… and Max Calder.”
My head snaps up. “Wait—Max? As in…Calder, Calder the Grinch?”
Across the room, Max uncrosses his arms just long enough to gesture at himself. “Why am I even on this list? I’m not a player.”
Todd grins. “We needed more variety. Plus, the fundraising committee says the ‘trainer/athlete’ pairing tests well.”
