“Typical Turley,” Liam says.
“And now she’s back and planting kisses on you. Destiny, bro,” Mikey says.
I shake my head. “I’m not looking for relationship complications right now.” Much. I mean, if the right woman came along that didn’t result in a microphone stand base to my jaw by an angry boyfriend, I might consider something serious.
The guys are unusually quiet and I don’t think it’s because they’re hanging onto my every word.
“I need to focus on convincing Badaszek to let me back on the ice.”
“Speaking of complications. Have you checked your email today?” Liam wears a suspicious grin.
My stomach drops. “Why?”
“No reason,” he says innocently. Too innocently. Then Hayden shows up with Leah and their attention turns, thankfully, away from me.
It’s nearly midnight when I get home. Nina’s house glows like a beacon at the end of the block, festooned with enough lights to be visible from space. She makes Clark Griswold look like an amateur. My own dark porch is particularly pathetic in comparison. I have a wreath and a few decorations. That’s not Christmas. I should at least get a tree.
As I unlock the door, I glance back over my shoulder at what may as well be Mrs. Claus’s starter home. Is Bree in there now? Is she thinking about the kiss? Or has she already dismissed it as an embarrassing mishap?
“This isn’t college anymore. Time to grow up, Fletch,” I mutter to myself as I enter my empty townhouse.
I take a shower, then I’m reviewing NHL stats and news when my phone buzzes with a notification. It’s from the Knights group chat, suggesting that I check my email. With a groan, I finally open it and see what the guys had been hinting at all night.
From:[email protected]
Subject: Your Mail-Order Match Has Been Selected!
I givemy head a little jingle bell shake. My match? Already? So much for traditional courtship. This must be about the stupid bet I lost, resulting in them signing me up for a matchmaking service—the modern-day equivalent of a mail-order bride. Apparently,the guys made good on their word to complete my application. I imagine they made me look and sound like a troll.
I skim the email, expecting automated nonsense, but find myself intrigued despite my better judgment. The service isn’t about looks. Rather, personality and compatibility—extensive questionnaires, interest matching, and even communication style analysis. My match apparently shares my love of classic movies, enjoys both quiet evenings and adventurous activities, and values honesty above all else.
Maybe Liam, the ring leader, and the others didn’t do me dirty.
I close the email without responding. This is absurd. I can’t actually participate. I should be focusing on recovery and on getting back on the ice, not on a blind date set up with a random woman.
As I drift off to sleep, it’s not a faceless match I’m thinking of. It’s a pair of hazel eyes that shift from brown to green. It’s the scent of melted chocolate. It’s the brush of soft lips against mine beneath a sprig of mistletoe.
My phone explodes with notifications at six a.m. Disoriented, I fumble for it, afraid I’ve slept through practice before remembering I’m still sidelined with my injury.
It’s a barrage of texts from the guys, but not in the group thread. They’re individually peppering me with notifications.
Hayden: DUDE, CHECK YOUR EMAIL!!
Mikey: You have to do this, man. No backing out now.
Pierre: If you don’t go to this meeting, we’re signing you up for speed datingnext.
Liam: Go to this meeting or there will be consequences.
Groggily, I reopen the email from last night and read further down—to the part I’d ignored.
Based on our comprehensive analysis, we believe we’ve found your perfect match. Your compatibility score is in our top 1%. We’re pleased to inform you that your match has also registered interest in an initial meeting.
It is scheduled for Saturday, December 4th, at 3 p.m. at the Cobbiton Christmas Market. Look for the red bench by the big Christmas tree. Your match will be wearing a snowflake pin. You will receive a candy cane pin for identification by courier.
My phone rings. It’s Mikey.
Not going to deny it, my pulse picks up. I was already thinking about Bree and how I told her I was going to marry her someday.
